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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/710-0.txt b/710-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..761d00e --- /dev/null +++ b/710-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5541 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Love of Life, by Jack London, Illustrated +by Charles Livingston Bull + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: Love of Life and Other Stories + +Author: Jack London + +Release Date: April 13, 2007 [eBook #710] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org, +from the 1913 Macmillan and Co. edition + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOVE OF LIFE*** + + + + +LOVE OF LIFE +AND OTHER STORIES + + +BY +JACK LONDON +AUTHOR OF "THE CALL OF THE WILD," "PEOPLE +OF THE ABYSS," ETC., ETC. + +New York +PUBLISHED FOR +THE REVIEW OF REVIEWS COMPANY +BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY +LONDON: MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD. +1913 +_All rights reserved_ + +COPYRIGHT, 1906, +By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY. + +{He watched the play of life before him: p0.jpg} + +Set up and electrotyped. Published September, 1907. Reprinted December, +1907; December, 1911. October, 1913. + + + + +LOVE OF LIFE + + + "This out of all will remain-- + They have lived and have tossed: + So much of the game will be gain, + Though the gold of the dice has been lost." + +They limped painfully down the bank, and once the foremost of the two +men staggered among the rough-strewn rocks. They were tired and weak, +and their faces had the drawn expression of patience which comes of +hardship long endured. They were heavily burdened with blanket packs +which were strapped to their shoulders. Head-straps, passing across the +forehead, helped support these packs. Each man carried a rifle. They +walked in a stooped posture, the shoulders well forward, the head still +farther forward, the eyes bent upon the ground. + +"I wish we had just about two of them cartridges that's layin' in that +cache of ourn," said the second man. + +His voice was utterly and drearily expressionless. He spoke without +enthusiasm; and the first man, limping into the milky stream that +foamed over the rocks, vouchsafed no reply. + +The other man followed at his heels. They did not remove their +foot-gear, though the water was icy cold--so cold that their ankles +ached and their feet went numb. In places the water dashed against +their knees, and both men staggered for footing. + +The man who followed slipped on a smooth boulder, nearly fell, but +recovered himself with a violent effort, at the same time uttering a +sharp exclamation of pain. He seemed faint and dizzy and put out his +free hand while he reeled, as though seeking support against the air. +When he had steadied himself he stepped forward, but reeled again and +nearly fell. Then he stood still and looked at the other man, who had +never turned his head. + +The man stood still for fully a minute, as though debating with +himself. Then he called out: + +"I say, Bill, I've sprained my ankle." + +Bill staggered on through the milky water. He did not look around. The +man watched him go, and though his face was expressionless as ever, his +eyes were like the eyes of a wounded deer. + +The other man limped up the farther bank and continued straight on +without looking back. The man in the stream watched him. His lips +trembled a little, so that the rough thatch of brown hair which covered +them was visibly agitated. His tongue even strayed out to moisten them. + +"Bill!" he cried out. + +It was the pleading cry of a strong man in distress, but Bill's head +did not turn. The man watched him go, limping grotesquely and lurching +forward with stammering gait up the slow slope toward the soft sky-line +of the low-lying hill. He watched him go till he passed over the crest +and disappeared. Then he turned his gaze and slowly took in the circle +of the world that remained to him now that Bill was gone. + +Near the horizon the sun was smouldering dimly, almost obscured by +formless mists and vapors, which gave an impression of mass and density +without outline or tangibility. The man pulled out his watch, the while +resting his weight on one leg. It was four o'clock, and as the season +was near the last of July or first of August,--he did not know the +precise date within a week or two,--he knew that the sun roughly marked +the northwest. He looked to the south and knew that somewhere beyond +those bleak hills lay the Great Bear Lake; also, he knew that in that +direction the Arctic Circle cut its forbidding way across the Canadian +Barrens. This stream in which he stood was a feeder to the Coppermine +River, which in turn flowed north and emptied into Coronation Gulf and +the Arctic Ocean. He had never been there, but he had seen it, once, on +a Hudson Bay Company chart. + +Again his gaze completed the circle of the world about him. It was not +a heartening spectacle. Everywhere was soft sky-line. The hills were +all low-lying. There were no trees, no shrubs, no grasses--naught but a +tremendous and terrible desolation that sent fear swiftly dawning into +his eyes. + +"Bill!" he whispered, once and twice; "Bill!" + +He cowered in the midst of the milky water, as though the vastness were +pressing in upon him with overwhelming force, brutally crushing him +with its complacent awfulness. He began to shake as with an ague-fit, +till the gun fell from his hand with a splash. This served to rouse +him. He fought with his fear and pulled himself together, groping in +the water and recovering the weapon. He hitched his pack farther over +on his left shoulder, so as to take a portion of its weight from off +the injured ankle. Then he proceeded, slowly and carefully, wincing +with pain, to the bank. + +He did not stop. With a desperation that was madness, unmindful of the +pain, he hurried up the slope to the crest of the hill over which his +comrade had disappeared--more grotesque and comical by far than that +limping, jerking comrade. But at the crest he saw a shallow valley, +empty of life. He fought with his fear again, overcame it, hitched the +pack still farther over on his left shoulder, and lurched on down the +slope. + +The bottom of the valley was soggy with water, which the thick moss +held, spongelike, close to the surface. This water squirted out from +under his feet at every step, and each time he lifted a foot the action +culminated in a sucking sound as the wet moss reluctantly released its +grip. He picked his way from muskeg to muskeg, and followed the other +man's footsteps along and across the rocky ledges which thrust like +islets through the sea of moss. + +Though alone, he was not lost. Farther on he knew he would come to +where dead spruce and fir, very small and weazened, bordered the +shore of a little lake, the _titchin-nichilie_, in the tongue of the +country, the "land of little sticks." And into that lake flowed a small +stream, the water of which was not milky. There was rush-grass on that +stream--this he remembered well--but no timber, and he would follow it +till its first trickle ceased at a divide. He would cross this divide +to the first trickle of another stream, flowing to the west, which he +would follow until it emptied into the river Dease, and here he would +find a cache under an upturned canoe and piled over with many rocks. +And in this cache would be ammunition for his empty gun, fish-hooks and +lines, a small net--all the utilities for the killing and snaring of +food. Also, he would find flour,--not much,--a piece of bacon, and some +beans. + +Bill would be waiting for him there, and they would paddle away south +down the Dease to the Great Bear Lake. And south across the lake they +would go, ever south, till they gained the Mackenzie. And south, still +south, they would go, while the winter raced vainly after them, and the +ice formed in the eddies, and the days grew chill and crisp, south to +some warm Hudson Bay Company post, where timber grew tall and generous +and there was grub without end. + +These were the thoughts of the man as he strove onward. But hard as +he strove with his body, he strove equally hard with his mind, trying +to think that Bill had not deserted him, that Bill would surely wait +for him at the cache. He was compelled to think this thought, or else +there would not be any use to strive, and he would have lain down and +died. And as the dim ball of the sun sank slowly into the northwest +he covered every inch--and many times--of his and Bill's flight south +before the downcoming winter. And he conned the grub of the cache and +the grub of the Hudson Bay Company post over and over again. He had not +eaten for two days; for a far longer time he had not had all he wanted +to eat. Often he stooped and picked pale muskeg berries, put them into +his mouth, and chewed and swallowed them. A muskeg berry is a bit of +seed enclosed in a bit of water. In the mouth the water melts away and +the seed chews sharp and bitter. The man knew there was no nourishment +in the berries, but he chewed them patiently with a hope greater than +knowledge and defying experience. + +At nine o'clock he stubbed his toe on a rocky ledge, and from sheer +weariness and weakness staggered and fell. He lay for some time, +without movement, on his side. Then he slipped out of the pack-straps +and clumsily dragged himself into a sitting posture. It was not yet +dark, and in the lingering twilight he groped about among the rocks for +shreds of dry moss. When he had gathered a heap he built a fire,--a +smouldering, smudgy fire,--and put a tin pot of water on to boil. + +He unwrapped his pack and the first thing he did was to count his +matches. There were sixty-seven. He counted them three times to make +sure. He divided them into several portions, wrapping them in oil +paper, disposing of one bunch in his empty tobacco pouch, of another +bunch in the inside band of his battered hat, of a third bunch under +his shirt on the chest. This accomplished, a panic came upon him, +and he unwrapped them all and counted them again. There were still +sixty-seven. + +He dried his wet foot-gear by the fire. The moccasins were in soggy +shreds. The blanket socks were worn through in places, and his feet +were raw and bleeding. His ankle was throbbing, and he gave it an +examination. It had swollen to the size of his knee. He tore a long +strip from one of his two blankets and bound the ankle tightly. He tore +other strips and bound them about his feet to serve for both moccasins +and socks. Then he drank the pot of water, steaming hot, wound his +watch, and crawled between his blankets. + +He slept like a dead man. The brief darkness around midnight came and +went. The sun arose in the northeast--at least the day dawned in that +quarter, for the sun was hidden by gray clouds. + +At six o'clock he awoke, quietly lying on his back. He gazed straight +up into the gray sky and knew that he was hungry. As he rolled over +on his elbow he was startled by a loud snort, and saw a bull caribou +regarding him with alert curiosity. The animal was not mere than fifty +feet away, and instantly into the man's mind leaped the vision and the +savor of a caribou steak sizzling and frying over a fire. Mechanically +he reached for the empty gun, drew a bead, and pulled the trigger. The +bull snorted and leaped away, his hoofs rattling and clattering as he +fled across the ledges. + +The man cursed and flung the empty gun from him. He groaned aloud as he +started to drag himself to his feet. It was a slow and arduous task. + +His joints were like rusty hinges. They worked harshly in their +sockets, with much friction, and each bending or unbending was +accomplished only through a sheer exertion of will. When he finally +gained his feet, another minute or so was consumed in straightening up, +so that he could stand erect as a man should stand. + +He crawled up a small knoll and surveyed the prospect. There were no +trees, no bushes, nothing but a gray sea of moss scarcely diversified +by gray rocks, gray lakelets, and gray streamlets. The sky was gray. +There was no sun nor hint of sun. He had no idea of north, and he +had forgotten the way he had come to this spot the night before. But +he was not lost. He knew that. Soon he would come to the land of the +little sticks. He felt that it lay off to the left somewhere, not +far--possibly just over the next low hill. + +He went back to put his pack into shape for travelling. He assured +himself of the existence of his three separate parcels of matches, +though he did not stop to count them. But he did linger, debating, +over a squat moose-hide sack. It was not large. He could hide it under +his two hands. He knew that it weighed fifteen pounds,--as much as all +the rest of the pack,--and it worried him. He finally set it to one +side and proceeded to roll the pack. He paused to gaze at the squat +moose-hide sack. He picked it up hastily with a defiant glance about +him, as though the desolation were trying to rob him of it; and when +he rose to his feet to stagger on into the day, it was included in the +pack on his back. + +He bore away to the left, stopping now and again to eat muskeg berries. +His ankle had stiffened, his limp was more pronounced, but the pain of +it was as nothing compared with the pain of his stomach. The hunger +pangs were sharp. They gnawed and gnawed until he could not keep his +mind steady on the course he must pursue to gain the land of little +sticks. The muskeg berries did not allay this gnawing, while they made +his tongue and the roof of his mouth sore with their irritating bite. + +He came upon a valley where rock ptarmigan rose on whirring wings from +the ledges and muskegs. Ker--ker--ker was the cry they made. He threw +stones at them, but could not hit them. He placed his pack on the +ground and stalked them as a cat stalks a sparrow. The sharp rocks cut +through his pants' legs till his knees left a trail of blood; but the +hurt was lost in the hurt of his hunger. He squirmed over the wet moss, +saturating his clothes and chilling his body; but he was not aware of +it, so great was his fever for food. And always the ptarmigan rose, +whirring, before him, till their ker--ker--ker became a mock to him, +and he cursed them and cried aloud at them with their own cry. + +Once he crawled upon one that must have been asleep. He did not see +it till it shot up in his face from its rocky nook. He made a clutch +as startled as was the rise of the ptarmigan, and there remained in +his hand three tail-feathers. As he watched its flight he hated it, +as though it had done him some terrible wrong. Then he returned and +shouldered his pack. + +As the day wore along he came into valleys or swales where game was +more plentiful. A band of caribou passed by, twenty and odd animals, +tantalizingly within rifle range. He felt a wild desire to run after +them, a certitude that he could run them down. A black fox came toward +him, carrying a ptarmigan in his mouth. The man shouted. It was a +fearful cry, but the fox, leaping away in fright, did not drop the +ptarmigan. + +Late in the afternoon he followed a stream, milky with lime, which ran +through sparse patches of rush-grass. Grasping these rushes firmly near +the root, he pulled up what resembled a young onion-sprout no larger +than a shingle-nail. It was tender, and his teeth sank into it with a +crunch that promised deliciously of food. But its fibers were tough. +It was composed of stringy filaments saturated with water, like the +berries, and devoid of nourishment. He threw off his pack and went into +the rush-grass on hands and knees, crunching and munching, like some +bovine creature. + +He was very weary and often wished to rest--to lie down and sleep; but +he was continually driven on--not so much by his desire to gain the +land of little sticks as by his hunger. He searched little ponds for +frogs and dug up the earth with his nails for worms, though he knew in +spite that neither frogs nor worms existed so far north. + +He looked into every pool of water vainly, until, as the long twilight +came on, he discovered a solitary fish, the size of a minnow, in such +a pool. He plunged his arm in up to the shoulder, but it eluded him. +He reached for it with both hands and stirred up the milky mud at the +bottom. In his excitement he fell in, wetting himself to the waist. +Then the water was too muddy to admit of his seeing the fish, and he +was compelled to wait until the sediment had settled. + +The pursuit was renewed, till the water was again muddied. But he could +not wait. He unstrapped the tin bucket and began to bale the pool. +He baled wildly at first, splashing himself and flinging the water +so short a distance that it ran back into the pool. He worked more +carefully, striving to be cool, though his heart was pounding against +his chest and his hands were trembling. At the end of half an hour the +pool was nearly dry. Not a cupful of water remained. And there was no +fish. He found a hidden crevice among the stones through which it had +escaped to the adjoining and larger pool--a pool which he could not +empty in a night and a day. Had he known of the crevice, he could have +closed it with a rock at the beginning and the fish would have been his. + +Thus he thought, and crumpled up and sank down upon the wet earth. At +first he cried softly to himself, then he cried loudly to the pitiless +desolation that ringed him around; and for a long time after he was +shaken by great dry sobs. + +He built a fire and warmed himself by drinking quarts of hot water, and +made camp on a rocky ledge in the same fashion he had the night before. +The last thing he did was to see that his matches were dry and to wind +his watch. The blankets were wet and clammy. His ankle pulsed with +pain. But he knew only that he was hungry, and through his restless +sleep he dreamed of feasts and banquets and of food served and spread +in all imaginable ways. + +He awoke chilled and sick. There was no sun. The gray of earth and +sky had become deeper, more profound. A raw wind was blowing, and the +first flurries of snow were whitening the hilltops. The air about him +thickened and grew white while he made a fire and boiled more water. +It was wet snow, half rain, and the flakes were large and soggy. At +first they melted as soon as they came in contact with the earth, but +ever more fell, covering the ground, putting out the fire, spoiling his +supply of moss-fuel. + +This was a signal for him to strap on his pack and stumble onward, he +knew not where. He was not concerned with the land of little sticks, +nor with Bill and the cache under the upturned canoe by the river +Dease. He was mastered by the verb "to eat." He was hunger-mad. He +took no heed of the course he pursued, so long as that course led him +through the swale bottoms. He felt his way through the wet snow to the +watery muskeg berries, and went by feel as he pulled up the rush-grass +by the roots. But it was tasteless stuff and did not satisfy. He found +a weed that tasted sour and he ate all he could find of it, which was +not much, for it was a creeping growth, easily hidden under the several +inches of snow. + +He had no fire that night, nor hot water, and crawled under his blanket +to sleep the broken hunger-sleep. The snow turned into a cold rain. +He awakened many times to feel it falling on his upturned face. Day +came--a gray day and no sun. It had ceased raining. The keenness of his +hunger had departed. Sensibility, as far as concerned the yearning for +food, had been exhausted. There was a dull, heavy ache in his stomach, +but it did not bother him so much. He was more rational, and once more +he was chiefly interested in the land of little sticks and the cache by +the river Dease. + +He ripped the remnant of one of his blankets into strips and bound +his bleeding feet. Also, he recinched the injured ankle and prepared +himself for a day of travel. When he came to his pack, he paused long +over the squat moose-hide sack, but in the end it went with him. + +The snow had melted under the rain, and only the hilltops showed white. +The sun came out, and he succeeded in locating the points of the +compass, though he knew now that he was lost. Perhaps, in his previous +days' wanderings, he had edged away too far to the left. He now bore +off to the right to counteract the possible deviation from his true +course. + +Though the hunger pangs were no longer so exquisite, he realized that +he was weak. He was compelled to pause for frequent rests, when he +attacked the muskeg berries and rush-grass patches. His tongue felt dry +and large, as though covered with a fine hairy growth, and it tasted +bitter in his mouth. His heart gave him a great deal of trouble. When +he had travelled a few minutes it would begin a remorseless thump, +thump, thump, and then leap up and away in a painful flutter of beats +that choked him and made him go faint and dizzy. + +In the middle of the day he found two minnows in a large pool. It was +impossible to bale it, but he was calmer now and managed to catch +them in his tin bucket. They were no longer than his little finger, +but he was not particularly hungry. The dull ache in his stomach had +been growing duller and fainter. It seemed almost that his stomach was +dozing. He ate the fish raw, masticating with painstaking care, for the +eating was an act of pure reason. While he had no desire to eat, he +knew that he must eat to live. + +In the evening he caught three more minnows, eating two and saving the +third for breakfast. The sun had dried stray shreds of moss, and he +was able to warm himself with hot water. He had not covered more than +ten miles that day; and the next day, travelling whenever his heart +permitted him, he covered no more than five miles. But his stomach did +not give him the slightest uneasiness. It had gone to sleep. He was in +a strange country, too, and the caribou were growing more plentiful, +also the wolves. Often their yelps drifted across the desolation, and +once he saw three of them slinking away before his path. + +Another night; and in the morning, being more rational, he untied +the leather string that fastened the squat moose-hide sack. From its +open mouth poured a yellow stream of coarse gold-dust and nuggets. He +roughly divided the gold in halves, caching one half on a prominent +ledge, wrapped in a piece of blanket, and returning the other half to +the sack. He also began to use strips of the one remaining blanket for +his feet. He still clung to his gun, for there were cartridges in that +cache by the river Dease. + +This was a day of fog, and this day hunger awoke in him again. He was +very weak and was afflicted with a giddiness which at times blinded +him. It was no uncommon thing now for him to stumble and fall; and +stumbling once, he fell squarely into a ptarmigan nest. There were four +newly hatched chicks, a day old--little specks of pulsating life no +more than a mouthful; and he ate them ravenously, thrusting them alive +into his mouth and crunching them like egg-shells between his teeth. +The mother ptarmigan beat about him with great outcry. He used his gun +as a club with which to knock her over, but she dodged out of reach. +He threw stones at her and with one chance shot broke a wing. Then she +fluttered away, running, trailing the broken wing, with him in pursuit. + +The little chicks had no more than whetted his appetite. He hopped +and bobbed clumsily along on his injured ankle, throwing stones and +screaming hoarsely at times; at other times hopping and bobbing +silently along, picking himself up grimly and patiently when he fell, +or rubbing his eyes with his hand when the giddiness threatened to +overpower him. + +The chase led him across swampy ground in the bottom of the valley, and +he came upon footprints in the soggy moss. They were not his own--he +could see that. They must be Bill's. But he could not stop, for the +mother ptarmigan was running on. He would catch her first, then he +would return and investigate. + +He exhausted the mother ptarmigan; but he exhausted himself. She lay +panting on her side. He lay panting on his side, a dozen feet away, +unable to crawl to her. And as he recovered she recovered, fluttering +out of reach as his hungry hand went out to her. The chase was resumed. +Night settled down and she escaped. He stumbled from weakness and +pitched head foremost on his face, cutting his cheek, his pack upon +his back. He did not move for a long while; then he rolled over on his +side, wound his watch, and lay there until morning. + +Another day of fog. Half of his last blanket had gone into +foot-wrappings. He failed to pick up Bill's trail. It did not matter. +His hunger was driving him too compellingly--only--only he wondered +if Bill, too, were lost. By midday the irk of his pack became too +oppressive. Again he divided the gold, this time merely spilling half +of it on the ground. In the afternoon he threw the rest of it away, +there remaining to him only the half-blanket, the tin bucket, and the +rifle. + +An hallucination began to trouble him. He felt confident that one +cartridge remained to him. It was in the chamber of the rifle and he +had overlooked it. On the other hand, he knew all the time that the +chamber was empty. But the hallucination persisted. He fought it off +for hours, then threw his rifle open and was confronted with emptiness. +The disappointment was as bitter as though he had really expected to +find the cartridge. + +He plodded on for half an hour, when the hallucination arose again. +Again he fought it, and still it persisted, till for very relief he +opened his rifle to unconvince himself. At times his mind wandered +farther afield, and he plodded on, a mere automaton, strange conceits +and whimsicalities gnawing at his brain like worms. But these +excursions out of the real were of brief duration, for ever the pangs +of the hunger-bite called him back. He was jerked back abruptly once +from such an excursion by a sight that caused him nearly to faint. He +reeled and swayed, doddering like a drunken man to keep from falling. +Before him stood a horse. A horse! He could not believe his eyes. A +thick mist was in them, intershot with sparkling points of light. He +rubbed his eyes savagely to clear his vision, and beheld, not a horse, +but a great brown bear. The animal was studying him with bellicose +curiosity. + +The man had brought his gun halfway to his shoulder before he realized. +He lowered it and drew his hunting-knife from its beaded sheath at +his hip. Before him was meat and life. He ran his thumb along the +edge of his knife. It was sharp. The point was sharp. He would fling +himself upon the bear and kill it. But his heart began its warning +thump, thump, thump. Then followed the wild upward leap and tattoo +of flutters, the pressing as of an iron band about his forehead, the +creeping of the dizziness into his brain. + +His desperate courage was evicted by a great surge of fear. In his +weakness, what if the animal attacked him? He drew himself up to his +most imposing stature, gripping the knife and staring hard at the bear. +The bear advanced clumsily a couple of steps, reared up, and gave vent +to a tentative growl. If the man ran, he would run after him; but the +man did not run. He was animated now with the courage of fear. He, too, +growled, savagely, terribly, voicing the fear that is to life germane +and that lies twisted about life's deepest roots. + +The bear edged away to one side, growling menacingly, himself appalled +by this mysterious creature that appeared upright and unafraid. But the +man did not move. He stood like a statue till the danger was past, when +he yielded to a fit of trembling and sank down into the wet moss. + +He pulled himself together and went on, afraid now in a new way. It +was not the fear that he should die passively from lack of food, but +that he should be destroyed violently before starvation had exhausted +the last particle of the endeavor in him that made toward surviving. +There were the wolves. Back and forth across the desolation drifted +their howls, weaving the very air into a fabric of menace that was so +tangible that he found himself, arms in the air, pressing it back from +him as it might be the walls of a wind-blown tent. + +Now and again the wolves, in packs of two and three, crossed his path. +But they sheered clear of him. They were not in sufficient numbers, and +besides they were hunting the caribou, which did not battle, while this +strange creature that walked erect might scratch and bite. + +In the late afternoon he came upon scattered bones where the wolves +had made a kill. The debris had been a caribou calf an hour before, +squawking and running and very much alive. He contemplated the bones, +clean-picked and polished, pink with the cell-life in them which had +not yet died. Could it possibly be that he might be that ere the day +was done! Such was life, eh? A vain and fleeting thing. It was only +life that pained. There was no hurt in death. To die was to sleep. It +meant cessation, rest. Then why was he not content to die? + +But he did not moralize long. He was squatting in the moss, a bone in +his mouth, sucking at the shreds of life that still dyed it faintly +pink. The sweet meaty taste, thin and elusive almost as a memory, +maddened him. He closed his jaws on the bones and crunched. Sometimes +it was the bone that broke, sometimes his teeth. Then he crushed the +bones between rocks, pounded them to a pulp, and swallowed them. He +pounded his fingers, too, in his haste, and yet found a moment in which +to feel surprise at the fact that his fingers did not hurt much when +caught under the descending rock. + +Came frightful days of snow and rain. He did not know when he made +camp, when he broke camp. He travelled in the night as much as in the +day. He rested wherever he fell, crawled on whenever the dying life in +him flickered up and burned less dimly. He, as a man, no longer strove. +It was the life in him, unwilling to die, that drove him on. He did not +suffer. His nerves had become blunted, numb, while his mind was filled +with weird visions and delicious dreams. + +But ever he sucked and chewed on the crushed bones of the caribou calf, +the least remnants of which he had gathered up and carried with him. He +crossed no more hills or divides, but automatically followed a large +stream which flowed through a wide and shallow valley. He did not see +this stream nor this valley. He saw nothing save visions. Soul and body +walked or crawled side by side, yet apart, so slender was the thread +that bound them. + +He awoke in his right mind, lying on his back on a rocky ledge. The sun +was shining bright and warm. Afar off he heard the squawking of caribou +calves. He was aware of vague memories of rain and wind and snow, but +whether he had been beaten by the storm for two days or two weeks he +did not know. + +For some time he lay without movement, the genial sunshine pouring upon +him and saturating his miserable body with its warmth. A fine day, +he thought. Perhaps he could manage to locate himself. By a painful +effort he rolled over on his side. Below him flowed a wide and sluggish +river. Its unfamiliarity puzzled him. Slowly he followed it with his +eyes, winding in wide sweeps among the bleak, bare hills, bleaker and +barer and lower-lying than any hills he had yet encountered. Slowly, +deliberately, without excitement or more than the most casual interest, +he followed the course of the strange stream toward the sky-line and +saw it emptying into a bright and shining sea. He was still unexcited. +Most unusual, he thought, a vision or a mirage--more likely a vision, +a trick of his disordered mind. He was confirmed in this by sight of +a ship lying at anchor in the midst of the shining sea. He closed his +eyes for a while, then opened them. Strange how the vision persisted! +Yet not strange. He knew there were no seas or ships in the heart of +the barren lands, just as he had known there was no cartridge in the +empty rifle. + +He heard a snuffle behind him--a half-choking gasp or cough. Very +slowly, because of his exceeding weakness and stiffness, he rolled over +on his other side. He could see nothing near at hand, but he waited +patiently. Again came the snuffle and cough, and outlined between two +jagged rocks not a score of feet away he made out the gray head of a +wolf. The sharp ears were not pricked so sharply as he had seen them +on other wolves; the eyes were bleared and bloodshot, the head seemed +to droop limply and forlornly. The animal blinked continually in the +sunshine. It seemed sick. As he looked it snuffled and coughed again. + +This, at least, was real, he thought, and turned on the other side so +that he might see the reality of the world which had been veiled from +him before by the vision. But the sea still shone in the distance and +the ship was plainly discernible. Was it reality, after all? He closed +his eyes for a long while and thought, and then it came to him. He had +been making north by east, away from the Dease Divide and into the +Coppermine Valley. This wide and sluggish river was the Coppermine. +That shining sea was the Arctic Ocean. That ship was a whaler, strayed +east, far east, from the mouth of the Mackenzie, and it was lying at +anchor in Coronation Gulf. He remembered the Hudson Bay Company chart +he had seen long ago, and it was all clear and reasonable to him. + +He sat up and turned his attention to immediate affairs. He had worn +through the blanket-wrappings, and his feet were shapeless lumps of raw +meat. His last blanket was gone. Rifle and knife were both missing. +He had lost his hat somewhere, with the bunch of matches in the band, +but the matches against his chest were safe and dry inside the tobacco +pouch and oil paper. He looked at his watch. It marked eleven o'clock +and was still running. Evidently he had kept it wound. + +He was calm and collected. Though extremely weak, he had no sensation +of pain. He was not hungry. The thought of food was not even pleasant +to him, and whatever he did was done by his reason alone. He ripped off +his pants' legs to the knees and bound them about his feet. Somehow he +had succeeded in retaining the tin bucket. He would have some hot water +before he began what he foresaw was to be a terrible journey to the +ship. + +His movements were slow. He shook as with a palsy. When he started to +collect dry moss, he found he could not rise to his feet. He tried +again and again, then contented himself with crawling about on hands +and knees. Once he crawled near to the sick wolf. The animal dragged +itself reluctantly out of his way, licking its chops with a tongue +which seemed hardly to have the strength to curl. The man noticed that +the tongue was not the customary healthy red. It was a yellowish brown +and seemed coated with a rough and half-dry mucus. + +After he had drunk a quart of hot water the man found he was able to +stand, and even to walk as well as a dying man might be supposed to +walk. Every minute or so he was compelled to rest. His steps were +feeble and uncertain, just as the wolf's that trailed him were feeble +and uncertain; and that night, when the shining sea was blotted out by +blackness, he knew he was nearer to it by no more than four miles. + +Throughout the night he heard the cough of the sick wolf, and now and +then the squawking of the caribou calves. There was life all around +him, but it was strong life, very much alive and well, and he knew the +sick wolf clung to the sick man's trail in the hope that the man would +die first. In the morning, on opening his eyes, he beheld it regarding +him with a wistful and hungry stare. It stood crouched, with tail +between its legs, like a miserable and woe-begone dog. It shivered in +the chill morning wind, and grinned dispiritedly when the man spoke to +it in a voice that achieved no more than a hoarse whisper. + +The sun rose brightly, and all morning the man tottered and fell toward +the ship on the shining sea. The weather was perfect. It was the brief +Indian Summer of the high latitudes. It might last a week. To-morrow or +next day it might he gone. + +In the afternoon the man came upon a trail. It was of another man, who +did not walk, but who dragged himself on all fours. The man thought +it might be Bill, but he thought in a dull, uninterested way. He had +no curiosity. In fact, sensation and emotion had left him. He was no +longer susceptible to pain. Stomach and nerves had gone to sleep. +Yet the life that was in him drove him on. He was very weary, but it +refused to die. It was because it refused to die that he still ate +muskeg berries and minnows, drank his hot water, and kept a wary eye on +the sick wolf. + +He followed the trail of the other man who dragged himself along, +and soon came to the end of it--a few fresh-picked bones where the +soggy moss was marked by the foot-pads of many wolves. He saw a squat +moose-hide sack, mate to his own, which had been torn by sharp teeth. +He picked it up, though its weight was almost too much for his feeble +fingers. Bill had carried it to the last. Ha! ha! He would have the +laugh on Bill. He would survive and carry it to the ship in the shining +sea. His mirth was hoarse and ghastly, like a raven's croak, and the +sick wolf joined him, howling lugubriously. The man ceased suddenly. +How could he have the laugh on Bill if that were Bill; if those bones, +so pinky-white and clean, were Bill? + +He turned away. Well, Bill had deserted him; but he would not take the +gold, nor would he suck Bill's bones. Bill would have, though, had it +been the other way around, he mused as he staggered on. + +He came to a pool of water. Stooping over in quest of minnows, he +jerked his head back as though he had been stung. He had caught sight +of his reflected face. So horrible was it that sensibility awoke long +enough to be shocked. There were three minnows in the pool, which was +too large to drain; and after several ineffectual attempts to catch +them in the tin bucket he forbore. He was afraid, because of his great +weakness, that he might fall in and drown. It was for this reason +that he did not trust himself to the river astride one of the many +drift-logs which lined its sand-spits. + +That day he decreased the distance between him and the ship by three +miles; the next day by two--for he was crawling now as Bill had +crawled; and the end of the fifth day found the ship still seven +miles away and him unable to make even a mile a day. Still the Indian +Summer held on, and he continued to crawl and faint, turn and turn +about; and ever the sick wolf coughed and wheezed at his heels. His +knees had become raw meat like his feet, and though he padded them +with the shirt from his back it was a red track he left behind him +on the moss and stones. Once, glancing back, he saw the wolf licking +hungrily his bleeding trail, and he saw sharply what his own end might +be--unless--unless he could get the wolf. Then began as grim a tragedy +of existence as was ever played--a sick man that crawled, a sick wolf +that limped, two creatures dragging their dying carcasses across the +desolation and hunting each other's lives. + +Had it been a well wolf, it would not have mattered so much to the man; +but the thought of going to feed the maw of that loathsome and all but +dead thing was repugnant to him. He was finicky. His mind had begun to +wander again, and to be perplexed by hallucinations, while his lucid +intervals grew rarer and shorter. + +He was awakened once from a faint by a wheeze close in his ear. +The wolf leaped lamely back, losing its footing and falling in its +weakness. It was ludicrous, but he was not amused. Nor was he even +afraid. He was too far gone for that. But his mind was for the moment +clear, and he lay and considered. The ship was no more than four miles +away. He could see it quite distinctly when he rubbed the mists out of +his eyes, and he could see the white sail of a small boat cutting the +water of the shining sea. But he could never crawl those four miles. He +knew that, and was very calm in the knowledge. He knew that he could +not crawl half a mile. And yet he wanted to live. It was unreasonable +that he should die after all he had undergone. Fate asked too much of +him. And, dying, he declined to die. It was stark madness, perhaps, but +in the very grip of Death he defied Death and refused to die. + +He closed his eyes and composed himself with infinite precaution. He +steeled himself to keep above the suffocating languor that lapped +like a rising tide through all the wells of his being. It was very +like a sea, this deadly languor, that rose and rose and drowned his +consciousness bit by bit. Sometimes he was all but submerged, swimming +through oblivion with a faltering stroke; and again, by some strange +alchemy of soul, he would find another shred of will and strike out +more strongly. + +Without movement he lay on his back, and he could hear, slowly drawing +near and nearer, the wheezing intake and output of the sick wolf's +breath. It drew closer, ever closer, through an infinitude of time, and +he did not move. It was at his ear. The harsh dry tongue grated like +sandpaper against his cheek. His hands shot out--or at least he willed +them to shoot out. The fingers were curved like talons, but they closed +on empty air. Swiftness and certitude require strength, and the man had +not this strength. + +The patience of the wolf was terrible. The man's patience was no +less terrible. For half a day he lay motionless, fighting off +unconsciousness and waiting for the thing that was to feed upon him +and upon which he wished to feed. Sometimes the languid sea rose over +him and he dreamed long dreams; but ever through it all, waking and +dreaming, he waited for the wheezing breath and the harsh caress of the +tongue. + +He did not hear the breath, and he slipped slowly from some dream to +the feel of the tongue along his hand. He waited. The fangs pressed +softly; the pressure increased; the wolf was exerting its last strength +in an effort to sink teeth in the food for which it had waited so +long. But the man had waited long, and the lacerated hand closed on +the jaw. Slowly, while the wolf struggled feebly and the hand clutched +feebly, the other hand crept across to a grip. Five minutes later the +whole weight of the man's body was on top of the wolf. The hands had +not sufficient strength to choke the wolf, but the face of the man was +pressed close to the throat of the wolf and the mouth of the man was +full of hair. At the end of half an hour the man was aware of a warm +trickle in his throat. It was not pleasant. It was like molten lead +being forced into his stomach, and it was forced by his will alone. +Later the man rolled over on his back and slept. + + * * * * * + +There were some members of a scientific expedition on the whale-ship +_Bedford_. From the deck they remarked a strange object on the shore. +It was moving down the beach toward the water. They were unable +to classify it, and, being scientific men, they climbed into the +whale-boat alongside and went ashore to see. And they saw something +that was alive but which could hardly be called a man. It was blind, +unconscious. It squirmed along the ground like some monstrous worm. +Most of its efforts were ineffectual, but it was persistent, and it +writhed and twisted and went ahead perhaps a score of feet an hour. + + * * * * * + +Three weeks afterward the man lay in a bunk on the whale-ship +_Bedford_, and with tears streaming down his wasted cheeks told who +he was and what he had undergone. He also babbled incoherently of his +mother, of sunny Southern California, and a home among the orange +groves and flowers. + +The days were not many after that when he sat at table with the +scientific men and ship's officers. He gloated over the spectacle of +so much food, watching it anxiously as it went into the mouths of +others. With the disappearance of each mouthful an expression of deep +regret came into his eyes. He was quite sane, yet he hated those men +at mealtime. He was haunted by a fear that the food would not last. He +inquired of the cook, the cabin-boy, the captain, concerning the food +stores. They reassured him countless times; but he could not believe +them, and pried cunningly about the lazarette to see with his own eyes. + +It was noticed that the man was getting fat. He grew stouter with each +day. The scientific men shook their heads and theorized. They limited +the man at his meals, but still his girth increased and he swelled +prodigiously under his shirt. + +The sailors grinned. They knew. And when the scientific men set a watch +on the man, they knew too. They saw him slouch for'ard after breakfast, +and, like a mendicant, with outstretched palm, accost a sailor. The +sailor grinned and passed him a fragment of sea biscuit. He clutched it +avariciously, looked at it as a miser looks at gold, and thrust it into +his shirt bosom. Similar were the donations from other grinning sailors. + +The scientific men were discreet. They let him alone. But they privily +examined his bunk. It was lined with hardtack; the mattress was +stuffed with hardtack; every nook and cranny was filled with hardtack. +Yet he was sane. He was taking precautions against another possible +famine--that was all. He would recover from it, the scientific men +said; and he did, ere the _Bedford's_ anchor rumbled down in San +Francisco Bay. + + + + +A DAY'S LODGING + + + It was the gosh-dangdest stampede I ever seen. A thousand dog-teams + hittin' the ice. You couldn't see 'm fer smoke. Two white men an' a + Swede froze to death that night, an' there was a dozen busted their + lungs. But didn't I see with my own eyes the bottom of the + water-hole? It was yellow with gold like a mustard-plaster. That's + why I staked the Yukon for a minin' claim. That's what made the + stampede. An' then there was nothin' to it. That's what I + said--NOTHIN' to it. An' I ain't got over guessin' yet.--NARRATIVE OF + SHORTY. + +John Messner clung with mittened hand to the bucking gee-pole and held +the sled in the trail. With the other mittened hand he rubbed his +cheeks and nose. He rubbed his cheeks and nose every little while. In +point of fact, he rarely ceased from rubbing them, and sometimes, as +their numbness increased, he rubbed fiercely. His forehead was covered +by the visor of his fur cap, the flaps of which went over his ears. The +rest of his face was protected by a thick beard, golden-brown under its +coating of frost. + +Behind him churned a heavily loaded Yukon sled, and before him toiled +a string of five dogs. The rope by which they dragged the sled rubbed +against the side of Messner's leg. When the dogs swung on a bend in +the trail, he stepped over the rope. There were many bends, and he was +compelled to step over it often. Sometimes he tripped on the rope, or +stumbled, and at all times he was awkward, betraying a weariness so +great that the sled now and again ran upon his heels. + +When he came to a straight piece of trail, where the sled could get +along for a moment without guidance, he let go the gee-pole and batted +his right hand sharply upon the hard wood. He found it difficult to +keep up the circulation in that hand. But while he pounded the one +hand, he never ceased from rubbing his nose and cheeks with the other. + +"It's too cold to travel, anyway," he said. He spoke aloud, after the +manner of men who are much by themselves. "Only a fool would travel +at such a temperature. If it isn't eighty below, it's because it's +seventy-nine." + +He pulled out his watch, and after some fumbling got it back into the +breast pocket of his thick woollen jacket. Then he surveyed the heavens +and ran his eye along the white sky-line to the south. + +"Twelve o'clock," he mumbled, "A clear sky, and no sun." + +He plodded on silently for ten minutes, and then, as though there had +been no lapse in his speech, he added: + +"And no ground covered, and it's too cold to travel." + +Suddenly he yelled "Whoa!" at the dogs, and stopped. He seemed in a +wild panic over his right hand, and proceeded to hammer it furiously +against the gee-pole. + +"You--poor--devils!" he addressed the dogs, which had dropped down +heavily on the ice to rest. His was a broken, jerky utterance, caused +by the violence with which he hammered his numb hand upon the wood. +"What have you done anyway that a two-legged other animal should come +along, break you to harness, curb all your natural proclivities, and +make slave-beasts out of you?" + +He rubbed his nose, not reflectively, but savagely, in order to drive +the blood into it, and urged the dogs to their work again. He travelled +on the frozen surface of a great river. Behind him it stretched away in +a mighty curve of many miles, losing itself in a fantastic jumble of +mountains, snow-covered and silent. Ahead of him the river split into +many channels to accommodate the freight of islands it carried on its +breast. These islands were silent and white. No animals nor humming +insects broke the silence. No birds flew in the chill air. There was no +sound of man, no mark of the handiwork of man. The world slept, and it +was like the sleep of death. + +John Messner seemed succumbing to the apathy of it all. The frost was +benumbing his spirit. He plodded on with bowed head, unobservant, +mechanically rubbing nose and cheeks, and batting his steering hand +against the gee-pole in the straight trail-stretches. + +But the dogs were observant, and suddenly they stopped, turning their +heads and looking back at their master out of eyes that were wistful +and questioning. Their eyelashes were frosted white, as were their +muzzles, and they had all the seeming of decrepit old age, what of the +frost-rime and exhaustion. + +The man was about to urge them on, when he checked himself, roused +up with an effort, and looked around. The dogs had stopped beside a +water-hole, not a fissure, but a hole man-made, chopped laboriously +with an axe through three and a half feet of ice. A thick skin of new +ice showed that it had not been used for some time. Messner glanced +about him. The dogs were already pointing the way, each wistful and +hoary muzzle turned toward the dim snow-path that left the main river +trail and climbed the bank of the island. + +"All right, you sore-footed brutes," he said. "I'll investigate. You're +not a bit more anxious to quit than I am." + +He climbed the bank and disappeared. The dogs did not lie down, but +on their feet eagerly waited his return. He came back to them, took +a hauling-rope from the front of the sled, and put it around his +shoulders. Then he _gee'd_ the dogs to the right and put them at the +bank on the run. It was a stiff pull, but their weariness fell from +them as they crouched low to the snow, whining with eagerness and +gladness as they struggled upward to the last ounce of effort in their +bodies. When a dog slipped or faltered, the one behind nipped his hind +quarters. The man shouted encouragement and threats, and threw all his +weight on the hauling-rope. + +They cleared the bank with a rush, swung to the left, and dashed up to +a small log cabin. It was a deserted cabin of a single room, eight feet +by ten on the inside. Messner unharnessed the animals, unloaded his +sled and took possession. The last chance wayfarer had left a supply of +firewood. Messner set up his light sheet-iron stove and started a fire. +He put five sun-cured salmon into the oven to thaw out for the dogs, +and from the water-hole filled his coffee-pot and cooking-pail. + +While waiting for the water to boil, he held his face over the stove. +The moisture from his breath had collected on his beard and frozen into +a great mass of ice, and this he proceeded to thaw out. As it melted +and dropped upon the stove it sizzled and rose about him in steam. He +helped the process with his fingers, working loose small ice-chunks +that fell rattling to the floor. + +A wild outcry from the dogs without did not take him from his task. He +heard the wolfish snarling and yelping of strange dogs and the sound of +voices. A knock came on the door. + +"Come in," Messner called, in a voice muffled because at the moment he +was sucking loose a fragment of ice from its anchorage on his upper lip. + +The door opened, and, gazing out of his cloud of steam, he saw a man +and a woman pausing on the threshold. + +"Come in," he said peremptorily, "and shut the door!" + +Peering through the steam, he could make out but little of their +personal appearance. The nose and cheek strap worn by the woman and the +trail-wrappings about her head allowed only a pair of black eyes to be +seen. The man was dark-eyed and smooth-shaven all except his mustache, +which was so iced up as to hide his mouth. + +"We just wanted to know if there is any other cabin around here," he +said, at the same time glancing over the unfurnished state of the room. +"We thought this cabin was empty." + +"It isn't my cabin," Messner answered. "I just found it a few minutes +ago. Come right in and camp. Plenty of room, and you won't need your +stove. There's room for all." + +At the sound of his voice the woman peered at him with quick +curiousness. + +"Get your things off," her companion said to her. "I'll unhitch and get +the water so we can start cooking." + +Messner took the thawed salmon outside and fed his dogs. He had to +guard them against the second team of dogs, and when he had reëntered +the cabin the other man had unpacked the sled and fetched water. +Messner's pot was boiling. He threw in the coffee, settled it with half +a cup of cold water, and took the pot from the stove. He thawed some +sour-dough biscuits in the oven, at the same time heating a pot of +beans he had boiled the night before and that had ridden frozen on the +sled all morning. + +Removing his utensils from the stove, so as to give the newcomers a +chance to cook, he proceeded to take his meal from the top of his +grub-box, himself sitting on his bed-roll. Between mouthfuls he talked +trail and dogs with the man, who, with head over the stove, was thawing +the ice from his mustache. There were two bunks in the cabin, and into +one of them, when he had cleared his lip, the stranger tossed his +bed-roll. + +"We'll sleep here," he said, "unless you prefer this bunk. You're the +first comer and you have first choice, you know." + +"That's all right," Messner answered. "One bunk's just as good as the +other." + +He spread his own bedding in the second bunk, and sat down on the edge. +The stranger thrust a physician's small travelling case under his +blankets at one end to serve for a pillow. + +"Doctor?" Messner asked. + +"Yes," came the answer, "but I assure you I didn't come into the +Klondike to practise." + +The woman busied herself with cooking, while the man sliced bacon and +fired the stove. The light in the cabin was dim, filtering through in +a small window made of onion-skin writing paper and oiled with bacon +grease, so that John Messner could not make out very well what the +woman looked like. Not that he tried. He seemed to have no interest in +her. But she glanced curiously from time to time into the dark corner +where he sat. + +"Oh, it's a great life," the doctor proclaimed enthusiastically, +pausing from sharpening his knife on the stovepipe. "What I like +about it is the struggle, the endeavor with one's own hands, the +primitiveness of it, the realness." + +"The temperature is real enough," Messner laughed. + +"Do you know how cold it actually is?" the doctor demanded. + +The other shook his head. + +"Well, I'll tell you. Seventy-four below zero by spirit thermometer on +the sled." + +"That's one hundred and six below freezing point--too cold for +travelling, eh?" + +"Practically suicide," was the doctor's verdict. "One exerts himself. +He breathes heavily, taking into his lungs the frost itself. It chills +his lungs, freezes the edges of the tissues. He gets a dry, hacking +cough as the dead tissue sloughs away, and dies the following summer of +pneumonia, wondering what it's all about. I'll stay in this cabin for a +week, unless the thermometer rises at least to fifty below." + +"I say, Tess," he said, the next moment, "don't you think that coffee's +boiled long enough!" + +At the sound of the woman's name, John Messner became suddenly +alert. He looked at her quickly, while across his face shot a +haunting expression, the ghost of some buried misery achieving swift +resurrection. But the next moment, and by an effort of will, the ghost +was laid again. His face was as placid as before, though he was still +alert, dissatisfied with what the feeble light had shown him of the +woman's face. + +Automatically, her first act had been to set the coffee-pot back. +It was not until she had done this that she glanced at Messner. But +already he had composed himself. She saw only a man sitting on the edge +of the bunk and incuriously studying the toes of his moccasins. But, as +she turned casually to go about her cooking, he shot another swift look +at her, and she, glancing as swiftly back, caught his look. He shifted +on past her to the doctor, though the slightest smile curled his lip in +appreciation of the way she had trapped him. + +She drew a candle from the grub-box and lighted it. One look at her +illuminated face was enough for Messner. In the small cabin the widest +limit was only a matter of several steps, and the next moment she was +alongside of him. She deliberately held the candle close to his face +and stared at him out of eyes wide with fear and recognition. He smiled +quietly back at her. + +"What are you looking for, Tess?" the doctor called. + +"Hairpins," she replied, passing on and rummaging in a clothes-bag on +the bunk. + +They served their meal on their grub-box, sitting on Messner's grub-box +and facing him. He had stretched out on his bunk to rest, lying on his +side, his head on his arm. In the close quarters it was as though the +three were together at table. + +"What part of the States do you come from?" Messner asked. + +"San Francisco," answered the doctor. "I've been in here two years, +though." + +"I hail from California myself," was Messner's announcement. + +The woman looked at him appealingly, but he smiled and went on: + +"Berkeley, you know." + +The other man was becoming interested. + +"U. C.?" he asked. + +"Yes, Class of '86." + +"I meant faculty," the doctor explained. "You remind me of the type." + +"Sorry to hear you say so," Messner smiled back. "I'd prefer being +taken for a prospector or a dog-musher." + +"I don't think he looks any more like a professor than you do a +doctor," the woman broke in. + +"Thank you," said Messner. Then, turning to her companion, "By the way, +Doctor, what is your name, if I may ask?" + +"Haythorne, if you'll take my word for it. I gave up cards with +civilization." + +"And Mrs. Haythorne," Messner smiled and bowed. + +She flashed a look at him that was more anger than appeal. + +Haythorne was about to ask the other's name. His mouth had opened to +form the question when Messner cut him off. + +"Come to think of it, Doctor, you may possibly be able to satisfy my +curiosity. There was a sort of scandal in faculty circles some two or +three years ago. The wife of one of the English professors--er, if you +will pardon me, Mrs. Haythorne--disappeared with some San Francisco +doctor, I understood, though his name does not just now come to my +lips. Do you remember the incident?" + +Haythorne nodded his head. "Made quite a stir at the time. His name +was Womble--Graham Womble. He had a magnificent practice. I knew him +somewhat." + +"Well, what I was trying to get at was what had become of them. I was +wondering if you had heard. They left no trace, hide nor hair." + +"He covered his tracks cunningly." Haythorne cleared his throat. "There +was rumor that they went to the South Seas--were lost on a trading +schooner in a typhoon, or something like that." + +"I never heard that," Messner said. "You remember the case, Mrs. +Haythorne?" + +"Perfectly," she answered, in a voice the control of which was in +amazing contrast to the anger that blazed in the face she turned aside +so that Haythorne might not see. + +The latter was again on the verge of asking his name, when Messner +remarked: + +"This Dr. Womble, I've heard he was very handsome, and--er--quite a +success, so to say, with the ladies." + +"Well, if he was, he finished himself off by that affair," Haythorne +grumbled. + +"And the woman was a termagant--at least so I've been told. It was +generally accepted in Berkeley that she made life--er--not exactly +paradise for her husband." + +"I never heard that," Haythorne rejoined. "In San Francisco the talk +was all the other way." + +"Woman sort of a martyr, eh?--crucified on the cross of matrimony?" + +The doctor nodded. Messner's gray eyes were mildly curious as he went +on: + +"That was to be expected--two sides to the shield. Living in Berkeley I +only got the one side. She was a great deal in San Francisco, it seems." + +"Some coffee, please," Haythorne said. + +The woman refilled his mug, at the same time breaking into light +laughter. + +"You're gossiping like a pair of beldames," she chided them. + +"It's so interesting," Messner smiled at her, then returned to +the doctor. "The husband seems then to have had a not very savory +reputation in San Francisco?" + +"On the contrary, he was a moral prig," Haythorne blurted out, with +apparently undue warmth. "He was a little scholastic shrimp without a +drop of red blood in his body." + +"Did you know him?" + +"Never laid eyes on him. I never knocked about in university circles." + +"One side of the shield again," Messner said, with an air of weighing +the matter judicially. "While he did not amount to much, it is +true--that is, physically--I'd hardly say he was as bad as all that. +He did take an active interest in student athletics. And he had some +talent. He once wrote a Nativity play that brought him quite a bit of +local appreciation. I have heard, also, that he was slated for the head +of the English department, only the affair happened and he resigned and +went away. It quite broke his career, or so it seemed. At any rate, on +our side the shield, it was considered a knock-out blow to him. It was +thought he cared a great deal for his wife." + +Haythorne, finishing his mug of coffee, grunted uninterestedly and +lighted his pipe. + +"It was fortunate they had no children," Messner continued. + +But Haythorne, with a glance at the stove, pulled on his cap and +mittens. + +"I'm going out to get some wood," he said. "Then I can take off my +moccasins and be comfortable." + +The door slammed behind him. For a long minute there was silence. The +man continued in the same position on the bed. The woman sat on the +grub-box, facing him. + +"What are you going to do?" she asked abruptly. + +Messner looked at her with lazy indecision. "What do you think I ought +to do? Nothing scenic, I hope. You see I am stiff and trail-sore, and +this bunk is so restful." + +She gnawed her lower lip and fumed dumbly. + +"But--" she began vehemently, then clenched her hands and stopped. + +"I hope you don't want me to kill Mr.--er--Haythorne," he said gently, +almost pleadingly. "It would be most distressing, and, I assure you, +really it is unnecessary." + +"But you must do something," she cried. + +"On the contrary, it is quite conceivable that I do not have to do +anything." + +"You would stay here?" + +He nodded. + +She glanced desperately around the cabin and at the bed unrolled on the +other bunk. "Night is coming on. You can't stop here. You can't! I tell +you, you simply can't!" + +"Of course I can. I might remind you that I found this cabin first and +that you are my guests." + +Again her eyes travelled around the room, and the terror in them leaped +up at sight of the other bunk. + +"Then we'll have to go," she announced decisively. + +"Impossible. You have a dry, hacking cough--the sort Mr.--er--Haythorne +so aptly described. You've already slightly chilled your lungs. +Besides, he is a physician and knows. He would never permit it." + +"Then what are you going to do?" she demanded again, with a tense, +quiet utterance that boded an outbreak. + +Messner regarded her in a way that was almost paternal, what of the +profundity of pity and patience with which he contrived to suffuse it. + +"My dear Theresa, as I told you before, I don't know. I really haven't +thought about it." + +"Oh! You drive me mad!" She sprang to her feet, wringing her hands in +impotent wrath. "You never used to be this way." + +"I used to be all softness and gentleness," he nodded concurrence. "Was +that why you left me?" + +"You are so different, so dreadfully calm. You frighten me. I feel you +have something terrible planned all the while. But whatever you do, +don't do anything rash. Don't get excited--" + +"I don't get excited any more," he interrupted. "Not since you went +away." + +"You have improved--remarkably," she retorted. + +He smiled acknowledgment. "While I am thinking about what I shall do, +I'll tell you what you will have to do--tell Mr.--er--Haythorne who I +am. It may make our stay in this cabin more--may I say, sociable?" + +"Why have you followed me into this frightful country?" she asked +irrelevantly. + +"Don't think I came here looking for you, Theresa. Your vanity shall +not be tickled by any such misapprehension. Our meeting is wholly +fortuitous. I broke with the life academic and I had to go somewhere. +To be honest, I came into the Klondike because I thought it the place +you were least liable to be in." + +There was a fumbling at the latch, then the door swung in and Haythorne +entered with an armful of firewood. At the first warning, Theresa began +casually to clear away the dishes. Haythorne went out again after more +wood. + +"Why didn't you introduce us?" Messner queried. + +"I'll tell him," she replied, with a toss of her head. "Don't think I'm +afraid." + +"I never knew you to be afraid, very much, of anything." + +"And I'm not afraid of confession, either," she said, with softening +face and voice. + +"In your case, I fear, confession is exploitation by indirection, +profit-making by ruse, self-aggrandizement at the expense of God." + +"Don't be literary," she pouted, with growing tenderness. "I never did +like epigrammatic discussion. Besides, I'm not afraid to ask you to +forgive me." + +"There is nothing to forgive, Theresa. I really should thank you. True, +at first I suffered; and then, with all the graciousness of spring, +it dawned upon me that I was happy, very happy. It was a most amazing +discovery." + +"But what if I should return to you?" she asked. + +"I should" (he looked at her whimsically), "be greatly perturbed." + +"I am your wife. You know you have never got a divorce." + +"I see," he meditated. "I have been careless. It will be one of the +first things I attend to." + +She came over to his side, resting her hand on his arm. "You don't +want me, John?" Her voice was soft and caressing, her hand rested like +a lure. "If I told you I had made a mistake? If I told you that I was +very unhappy?--and I am. And I did make a mistake." + +Fear began to grow on Messner. He felt himself wilting under the +lightly laid hand. The situation was slipping away from him, all his +beautiful calmness was going. She looked at him with melting eyes, and +he, too, seemed all dew and melting. He felt himself on the edge of an +abyss, powerless to withstand the force that was drawing him over. + +"I am coming back to you, John. I am coming back to-day ... now." + +As in a nightmare, he strove under the hand. While she talked, he +seemed to hear, rippling softly, the song of the Lorelei. It was as +though, somewhere, a piano were playing and the actual notes were +impinging on his ear-drums. + +Suddenly he sprang to his feet, thrust her from him as her arms +attempted to clasp him, and retreated backward to the door. He was in a +panic. + +"I'll do something desperate!" he cried. + +"I warned you not to get excited." She laughed mockingly, and went +about washing the dishes. "Nobody wants you. I was just playing with +you. I am happier where I am." + +But Messner did not believe. He remembered her facility in changing +front. She had changed front now. It was exploitation by indirection. +She was not happy with the other man. She had discovered her mistake. +The flame of his ego flared up at the thought. She wanted to come back +to him, which was the one thing he did not want. Unwittingly, his hand +rattled the door-latch. + +"Don't run away," she laughed. "I won't bite you." + +"I am not running away," he replied with child-like defiance, at the +same time pulling on his mittens. "I'm only going to get some water." + +He gathered the empty pails and cooking pots together and opened the +door. He looked back at her. + +"Don't forget you're to tell Mr.--er--Haythorne who I am." + +Messner broke the skin that had formed on the water-hole within the +hour, and filled his pails. But he did not return immediately to the +cabin. Leaving the pails standing in the trail, he walked up and down, +rapidly, to keep from freezing, for the frost bit into the flesh like +fire. His beard was white with his frozen breath when the perplexed and +frowning brows relaxed and decision came into his face. He had made +up his mind to his course of action, and his frigid lips and cheeks +crackled into a chuckle over it. The pails were already skinned over +with young ice when he picked them up and made for the cabin. + +When he entered he found the other man waiting, standing near the +stove, a certain stiff awkwardness and indecision in his manner. +Messner set down his water-pails. + +"Glad to meet you, Graham Womble," he said in conventional tones, as +though acknowledging an introduction. + +Messner did not offer his hand. Womble stirred uneasily, feeling for +the other the hatred one is prone to feel for one he has wronged. + +"And so you're the chap," Messner said in marvelling accents. "Well, +well. You see, I really am glad to meet you. I have been--er--curious +to know what Theresa found in you--where, I may say, the attraction +lay. Well, well." + +And he looked the other up and down as a man would look a horse up and +down. + +"I know how you must feel about me," Womble began. + +"Don't mention it," Messner broke in with exaggerated cordiality of +voice and manner. "Never mind that. What I want to know is how do you +find her? Up to expectations? Has she worn well? Life been all a happy +dream ever since?" + +"Don't be silly," Theresa interjected. + +"I can't help being natural," Messner complained. + +"You can be expedient at the same time, and practical," Womble said +sharply. "What we want to know is what are you going to do?" + +Messner made a well-feigned gesture of helplessness. "I really don't +know. It is one of those impossible situations against which there can +be no provision." + +"All three of us cannot remain the night in this cabin." + +Messner nodded affirmation. + +"Then somebody must get out." + +"That also is incontrovertible," Messner agreed. "When three bodies +cannot occupy the same space at the same time, one must get out." + +"And you're that one," Womble announced grimly. "It's a ten-mile pull +to the next camp, but you can make it all right." + +"And that's the first flaw in your reasoning," the other objected. +"Why, necessarily, should I be the one to get out? I found this cabin +first." + +"But Tess can't get out," Womble explained. "Her lungs are already +slightly chilled." + +"I agree with you. She can't venture ten miles of frost. By all means +she must remain." + +"Then it is as I said," Womble announced with finality. + +Messner cleared his throat. "Your lungs are all right, aren't they?" + +"Yes, but what of it?" + +Again the other cleared his throat and spoke with painstaking and +judicial slowness. "Why, I may say, nothing of it, except, ah, +according to your own reasoning, there is nothing to prevent your +getting out, hitting the frost, so to speak, for a matter of ten miles. +You can make it all right." + +Womble looked with quick suspicion at Theresa and caught in her eyes a +glint of pleased surprise. + +"Well?" he demanded of her. + +She hesitated, and a surge of anger darkened his face. He turned upon +Messner. + +"Enough of this. You can't stop here." + +"Yes, I can." + +"I won't let you." Womble squared his shoulders. "I'm running things." + +"I'll stay anyway," the other persisted. + +"I'll put you out." + +"I'll come back." + +Womble stopped a moment to steady his voice and control himself. Then +he spoke slowly, in a low, tense voice. + +"Look here, Messner, if you refuse to get out, I'll thrash you. This +isn't California. I'll beat you to a jelly with my two fists." + +Messner shrugged his shoulders. "If you do, I'll call a miners' meeting +and see you strung up to the nearest tree. As you said, this is not +California. They're a simple folk, these miners, and all I'll have to +do will be to show them the marks of the beating, tell them the truth +about you, and present my claim for my wife." + +The woman attempted to speak, but Womble turned upon her fiercely. + +"You keep out of this," he cried. + +In marked contrast was Messner's "Please don't intrude, Theresa." + +What of her anger and pent feelings, her lungs were irritated into the +dry, hacking cough, and with blood-suffused face and one hand clenched +against her chest, she waited for the paroxysm to pass. + +Womble looked gloomily at her, noting her cough. + +"Something must be done," he said. "Yet her lungs can't stand the +exposure. She can't travel till the temperature rises. And I'm not +going to give her up." + +Messner hemmed, cleared his throat, and hemmed again, +semi-apologetically, and said, "I need some money." + +Contempt showed instantly in Womble's face. At last, beneath him in +vileness, had the other sunk himself. + +"You've got a fat sack of dust," Messner went on. "I saw you unload it +from the sled." + +"How much do you want?" Womble demanded, with a contempt in his voice +equal to that in his face. + +"I made an estimate of the sack, and I--ah--should say it weighed about +twenty pounds. What do you say we call it four thousand?" + +"But it's all I've got, man!" Womble cried out. + +"You've got her," the other said soothingly. "She must be worth it. +Think what I'm giving up. Surely it is a reasonable price." + +"All right." Womble rushed across the floor to the gold-sack. "Can't +put this deal through too quick for me, you--you little worm!" + +"Now, there you err," was the smiling rejoinder. "As a matter of ethics +isn't the man who gives a bribe as bad as the man who takes a bribe? +The receiver is as bad as the thief, you know; and you needn't console +yourself with any fictitious moral superiority concerning this little +deal." + +"To hell with your ethics!" the other burst out. "Come here and watch +the weighing of this dust. I might cheat you." + +And the woman, leaning against the bunk, raging and impotent, watched +herself weighed out in yellow dust and nuggets in the scales erected on +the grub-box. The scales were small, making necessary many weighings, +and Messner with precise care verified each weighing. + +"There's too much silver in it," he remarked as he tied up the +gold-sack. "I don't think it will run quite sixteen to the ounce. You +got a trifle the better of me, Womble." + +He handled the sack lovingly, and with due appreciation of its +preciousness carried it out to his sled. + +Returning, he gathered his pots and pans together, packed his grub-box, +and rolled up his bed. When the sled was lashed and the complaining +dogs harnessed, he returned into the cabin for his mittens. + +"Good-by, Tess," he said, standing at the open door. + +She turned on him, struggling for speech but too frantic to word the +passion that burned in her. + +"Good-by, Tess," he repeated gently. + +"Beast!" she managed to articulate. + +She turned and tottered to the bunk, flinging herself face down upon +it, sobbing: "You beasts! You beasts!" + +John Messner closed the door softly behind him, and, as he started +the dogs, looked back at the cabin with a great relief in his face. +At the bottom of the bank, beside the water-hole, he halted the sled. +He worked the sack of gold out between the lashings and carried it to +the water-hole. Already a new skin of ice had formed. This he broke +with his fist. Untying the knotted mouth with his teeth, he emptied +the contents of the sack into the water. The river was shallow at +that point, and two feet beneath the surface he could see the bottom +dull-yellow in the fading light. At the sight of it, he spat into the +hole. + +He started the dogs along the Yukon trail. Whining spiritlessly, they +were reluctant to work. Clinging to the gee-pole with his right band +and with his left rubbing cheeks and nose, he stumbled over the rope as +the dogs swung on a bend. + +"Mush-on, you poor, sore-footed brutes!" he cried. "That's it, mush-on!" + + + + +THE WHITE MAN'S WAY + + +"To cook by your fire and to sleep under your roof for the night," I had +announced on entering old Ebbits's cabin; and he had looked at me blear- +eyed and vacuous, while Zilla had favored me with a sour face and a +contemptuous grunt. Zilla was his wife, and no more bitter-tongued, +implacable old squaw dwelt on the Yukon. Nor would I have stopped there +had my dogs been less tired or had the rest of the village been +inhabited. But this cabin alone had I found occupied, and in this cabin, +perforce, I took my shelter. + +Old Ebbits now and again pulled his tangled wits together, and hints and +sparkles of intelligence came and went in his eyes. Several times during +the preparation of my supper he even essayed hospitable inquiries about +my health, the condition and number of my dogs, and the distance I had +travelled that day. And each time Zilla had looked sourer than ever and +grunted more contemptuously. + +Yet I confess that there was no particular call for cheerfulness on +their part. There they crouched by the fire, the pair of them, at the +end of their days, old and withered and helpless, racked by rheumatism, +bitten by hunger, and tantalized by the frying-odors of my abundance +of meat. They rocked back and forth in a slow and hopeless way, and +regularly, once every five minutes, Ebbits emitted a low groan. It was +not so much a groan of pain, as of pain-weariness. He was oppressed by +the weight and the torment of this thing called life, and still more +was he oppressed by the fear of death. His was that eternal tragedy of +the aged, with whom the joy of life has departed and the instinct for +death has not come. + +When my moose-meat spluttered rowdily in the frying-pan, I noticed +old Ebbits's nostrils twitch and distend as he caught the food-scent. +He ceased rocking for a space and forgot to groan, while a look of +intelligence seemed to come into his face. + +Zilla, on the other hand, rocked more rapidly, and for the first time, +in sharp little yelps, voiced her pain. It came to me that their +behavior was like that of hungry dogs, and in the fitness of things I +should not have been astonished had Zilla suddenly developed a tail +and thumped it on the floor in right doggish fashion. Ebbits drooled +a little and stopped his rocking very frequently to lean forward and +thrust his tremulous nose nearer to the source of gustatory excitement. + +When I passed them each a plate of the fried meat, they ate greedily, +making loud mouth-noises--champings of worn teeth and sucking intakes +of the breath, accompanied by a continuous spluttering and mumbling. +After that, when I gave them each a mug of scalding tea, the noises +ceased. Easement and content came into their faces. Zilla relaxed +her sour mouth long enough to sigh her satisfaction. Neither rocked +any more, and they seemed to have fallen into placid meditation. +Then a dampness came into Ebbits's eyes, and I knew that the sorrow +of self-pity was his. The search required to find their pipes told +plainly that they had been without tobacco a long time, and the old +man's eagerness for the narcotic rendered him helpless, so that I was +compelled to light his pipe for him. + +"Why are you all alone in the village?" I asked. "Is everybody dead? +Has there been a great sickness? Are you alone left of the living?" + +Old Ebbits shook his head, saying: "Nay, there has been no great +sickness. The village has gone away to hunt meat. We be too old, our +legs are not strong, nor can our backs carry the burdens of camp and +trail. Wherefore we remain here and wonder when the young men will +return with meat." + +"What if the young men do return with meat?" Zilla demanded harshly. + +"They may return with much meat," he quavered hopefully. + +"Even so, with much meat," she continued, more harshly than before. +"But of what worth to you and me? A few bones to gnaw in our toothless +old age. But the back-fat, the kidneys, and the tongues--these shall go +into other mouths than thine and mine, old man." + +Ebbits nodded his head and wept silently. + +"There be no one to hunt meat for us," she cried, turning fiercely upon +me. + +There was accusation in her manner, and I shrugged my shoulders in +token that I was not guilty of the unknown crime imputed to me. + +"Know, O White Man, that it is because of thy kind, because of all +white men, that my man and I have no meat in our old age and sit +without tobacco in the cold." + +"Nay," Ebbits said gravely, with a stricter sense of justice. "Wrong +has been done us, it be true; but the white men did not mean the wrong." + +"Where be Moklan?" she demanded. "Where be thy strong son, Moklan, and +the fish he was ever willing to bring that you might eat?" + +The old man shook his head. + +"And where be Bidarshik, thy strong son? Ever was he a mighty hunter, +and ever did he bring thee the good back-fat and the sweet dried +tongues of the moose and the caribou. I see no back-fat and no sweet +dried tongues. Your stomach is full with emptiness through the days, +and it is for a man of a very miserable and lying people to give you to +eat." + +"Nay," old Ebbits interposed in kindliness, "the white man's is not +a lying people. The white man speaks true. Always does the white man +speak true." He paused, casting about him for words wherewith to temper +the severity of what he was about to say. "But the white man speaks +true in different ways. To-day he speaks true one way, to-morrow he +speaks true another way, and there is no understanding him nor his way." + +"To-day speak true one way, to-morrow speak true another way, which is +to lie," was Zilla's dictum. + +"There is no understanding the white man," Ebbits went on doggedly. + +The meat, and the tea, and the tobacco seemed to have brought him back +to life, and he gripped tighter hold of the idea behind his age-bleared +eyes. He straightened up somewhat. His voice lost its querulous and +whimpering note, and became strong and positive. He turned upon me with +dignity, and addressed me as equal addresses equal. + +"The white man's eyes are not shut," he began. "The white man sees all +things, and thinks greatly, and is very wise. But the white man of one +day is not the white man of next day, and there is no understanding +him. He does not do things always in the same way. And what way his +next way is to be, one cannot know. Always does the Indian do the one +thing in the one way. Always does the moose come down from the high +mountains when the winter is here. Always does the salmon come in the +spring when the ice has gone out of the river. Always does everything +do all things in the same way, and the Indian knows and understands. +But the white man does not do all things in the same way, and the +Indian does not know nor understand. + +"Tobacco be very good. It be food to the hungry man. It makes the +strong man stronger, and the angry man to forget that he is angry. Also +is tobacco of value. It is of very great value. The Indian gives one +large salmon for one leaf of tobacco, and he chews the tobacco for a +long time. It is the juice of the tobacco that is good. When it runs +down his throat it makes him feel good inside. But the white man! When +his mouth is full with the juice, what does he do? That juice, that +juice of great value, he spits it out in the snow and it is lost. Does +the white man like tobacco? I do not know. But if he likes tobacco, +why does he spit out its value and lose it in the snow? It is a great +foolishness and without understanding." + +He ceased, puffed at the pipe, found that it was out, and passed it +over to Zilla, who took the sneer at the white man off her lips in +order to pucker them about the pipe-stem. Ebbits seemed sinking back +into his senility with the tale untold, and I demanded: + +"What of thy sons, Moklan and Bidarshik? And why is it that you and +your old woman are without meat at the end of your years?" + +He roused himself as from sleep, and straightened up with an effort. + +"It is not good to steal," he said. "When the dog takes your meat you +beat the dog with a club. Such is the law. It is the law the man gave +to the dog, and the dog must live to the law, else will it suffer the +pain of the club. When man takes your meat, or your canoe, or your +wife, you kill that man. That is the law, and it is a good law. It is +not good to steal, wherefore it is the law that the man who steals must +die. Whoso breaks the law must suffer hurt. It is a great hurt to die." + +"But if you kill the man, why do you not kill the dog?" I asked. + +Old Ebbits looked at me in childlike wonder, while Zilla sneered openly +at the absurdity of my question. + +"It is the way of the white man," Ebbits mumbled with an air of +resignation. + +"It is the foolishness of the white man," snapped Zilla. + +"Then let old Ebbits teach the white man wisdom," I said softly. + +"The dog is not killed, because it must pull the sled of the man. No +man pulls another man's sled, wherefore the man is killed." + +"Oh," I murmured. + +"That is the law," old Ebbits went on. "Now listen, O White Man, and +I will tell you of a great foolishness. There is an Indian. His name +is Mobits. From white man he steals two pounds of flour. What does the +white man do? Does he beat Mobits? No. Does he kill Mobits? No. What +does he do to Mobits? I will tell you, O White Man. He has a house. He +puts Mobits in that house. The roof is good. The walls are thick. He +makes a fire that Mobits may be warm. He gives Mobits plenty grub to +eat. It is good grub. Never in his all days does Mobits eat so good +grub. There is bacon, and bread, and beans without end. Mobits have +very good time. + +"There is a big lock on door so that Mobits does not run away. This +also is a great foolishness. Mobits will not run away. All the time is +there plenty grub in that place, and warm blankets, and a big fire. +Very foolish to run away. Mobits is not foolish. Three months Mobits +stop in that place. He steal two pounds of flour. For that, white man +take plenty good care of him. Mobits eat many pounds of flour, many +pounds of sugar, of bacon, of beans without end. Also, Mobits drink +much tea. After three months white man open door and tell Mobits he +must go. Mobits does not want to go. He is like dog that is fed long +time in one place. He want to stay in that place, and the white man +must drive Mobits away. So Mobits come back to this village, and he is +very fat. That is the white man's way, and there is no understanding +it. It is a foolishness, a great foolishness." + +"But thy sons?" I insisted. "Thy very strong sons and thine old-age +hunger?" + +"There was Moklan," Ebbits began. + +"A strong man," interrupted the mother. "He could dip paddle all of a +day and night and never stop for the need of rest. He was wise in the +way of the salmon and in the way of the water. He was very wise." + +"There was Moklan," Ebbits repeated, ignoring the interruption. "In the +spring, he went down the Yukon with the young men to trade at Cambell +Fort. There is a post there, filled with the goods of the white man, +and a trader whose name is Jones. Likewise is there a white man's +medicine man, what you call missionary. Also is there bad water at +Cambell Fort, where the Yukon goes slim like a maiden, and the water is +fast, and the currents rush this way and that and come together, and +there are whirls and sucks, and always are the currents changing and +the face of the water changing, so at any two times it is never the +same. Moklan is my son, wherefore he is brave man--" + +"Was not my father brave man?" Zilla demanded. + +"Thy father was brave man," Ebbits acknowledged, with the air of one +who will keep peace in the house at any cost. "Moklan is thy son and +mine, wherefore he is brave. Mayhap, because of thy very brave father, +Moklan is too brave. It is like when too much water is put in the pot +it spills over. So too much bravery is put into Moklan, and the bravery +spills over. + +"The young men are much afraid of the bad water at Cambell Fort. But +Moklan is not afraid. He laughs strong, Ho! ho! and he goes forth into +the bad water. But where the currents come together the canoe is turned +over. A whirl takes Moklan by the legs, and he goes around and around, +and down and down, and is seen no more." + +"Ai! ai!" wailed Zilla. "Crafty and wise was he, and my first-born!" + +"I am the father of Moklan," Ebbits said, having patiently given the +woman space for her noise. "I get into canoe and journey down to +Cambell Fort to collect the debt!" + +"Debt!" interrupted. "What debt?" + +"The debt of Jones, who is chief trader," came the answer. "Such is the +law of travel in a strange country." + +I shook my head in token of my ignorance, and Ebbits looked compassion +at me, while Zilla snorted her customary contempt. + +"Look you, O White Man," he said. "In thy camp is a dog that bites. +When the dog bites a man, you give that man a present because you are +sorry and because it is thy dog. You make payment. Is it not so? Also, +if you have in thy country bad hunting, or bad water, you must make +payment. It is just. It is the law. Did not my father's brother go +over into the Tanana Country and get killed by a bear? And did not the +Tanana tribe pay my father many blankets and fine furs? It was just. It +was bad hunting, and the Tanana people made payment for the bad hunting. + +"So I, Ebbits, journeyed down to Cambell Fort to collect the debt. +Jones, who is chief trader, looked at me, and he laughed. He made great +laughter, and would not give payment. I went to the medicine-man, what +you call missionary, and had large talk about the bad water and the +payment that should be mine. And the missionary made talk about other +things. He talk about where Moklan has gone, now he is dead. There be +large fires in that place, and if missionary make true talk, I know +that Moklan will be cold no more. Also the missionary talk about where +I shall go when I am dead. And he say bad things. He say that I am +blind. Which is a lie. He say that I am in great darkness. Which is a +lie. And I say that the day come and the night come for everybody just +the same, and that in my village it is no more dark than at Cambell +Fort. Also, I say that darkness and light and where we go when we die +be different things from the matter of payment of just debt for bad +water. Then the missionary make large anger, and call me bad names of +darkness, and tell me to go away. And so I come back from Cambell Fort, +and no payment has been made, and Moklan is dead, and in my old age I +am without fish and meat." + +"Because of the white man," said Zilla. + +"Because of the white man," Ebbits concurred. "And other things because +of the white man. There was Bidarshik. One way did the white man deal +with him; and yet another way for the same thing did the white man deal +with Yamikan. And first must I tell you of Yamikan, who was a young man +of this village and who chanced to kill a white man. It is not good to +kill a man of another people. Always is there great trouble. It was not +the fault of Yamikan that he killed the white man. Yamikan spoke always +soft words and ran away from wrath as a dog from a stick. But this +white man drank much whiskey, and in the night-time came to Yamikan's +house and made much fight. Yamikan cannot run away, and the white man +tries to kill him. Yamikan does not like to die, so he kills the white +man. + +"Then is all the village in great trouble. We are much afraid that we +must make large payment to the white man's people, and we hide our +blankets, and our furs, and all our wealth, so that it will seem that +we are poor people and can make only small payment. After long time +white men come. They are soldier white men, and they take Yamikan away +with them. His mother make great noise and throw ashes in her hair, for +she knows Yamikan is dead. And all the village knows that Yamikan is +dead, and is glad that no payment is asked. + +"That is in the spring when the ice has gone out of the river. One year +go by, two years go by. It is spring-time again, and the ice has gone +out of the river. And then Yamikan, who is dead, comes back to us, and +he is not dead, but very fat, and we know that he has slept warm and +had plenty grub to eat. He has much fine clothes and is all the same +white man, and he has gathered large wisdom so that he is very quick +head man in the village. + +"And he has strange things to tell of the way of the white man, for he +has seen much of the white man and done a great travel into the white +man's country. First place, soldier white men take him down the river +long way. All the way do they take him down the river to the end, where +it runs into a lake which is larger than all the land and large as the +sky. I do not know the Yukon is so big river, but Yamikan has seen with +his own eyes. I do not think there is a lake larger than all the land +and large as the sky, but Yamikan has seen. Also, he has told me that +the waters of this lake be salt, which is a strange thing and beyond +understanding. + +"But the White Man knows all these marvels for himself, so I shall not +weary him with the telling of them. Only will I tell him what happened +to Yamikan. The white man give Yamikan much fine grub. All the time +does Yamikan eat, and all the time is there plenty more grub. The white +man lives under the sun, so said Yamikan, where there be much warmth, +and animals have only hair and no fur, and the green things grow large +and strong and become flour, and beans, and potatoes. And under the +sun there is never famine. Always is there plenty grub. I do not know. +Yamikan has said. + +"And here is a strange thing that befell Yamikan. Never did the white +man hurt him. Only did they give him warm bed at night and plenty fine +grub. They take him across the salt lake which is big as the sky. He is +on white man's fire-boat, what you call steamboat, only he is on boat +maybe twenty times bigger than steamboat on Yukon. Also, it is made of +iron, this boat, and yet does it not sink. This I do not understand, +but Yamikan has said, 'I have journeyed far on the iron boat; behold! I +am still alive.' It is a white man's soldier-boat with many soldier men +upon it. + +"After many sleeps of travel, a long, long time, Yamikan comes to a +land where there is no snow. I cannot believe this. It is not in the +nature of things that when winter comes there shall be no snow. But +Yamikan has seen. Also have I asked the white men, and they have said +yes, there is no snow in that country. But I cannot believe, and now +I ask you if snow never come in that country. Also, I would hear the +name of that country. I have heard the name before, but I would hear it +again, if it be the same--thus will I know if I have heard lies or true +talk." + +Old Ebbits regarded me with a wistful face. He would have the truth at +any cost, though it was his desire to retain his faith in the marvel he +had never seen. + +"Yes," I answered, "it is true talk that you have heard. There is no +snow in that country, and its name is California." + +"Cal-ee-forn-ee-yeh," he mumbled twice and thrice, listening intently +to the sound of the syllables as they fell from his lips. He nodded his +head in confirmation. "Yes, it is the same country of which Yamikan +made talk." + +I recognized the adventure of Yamikan as one likely to occur in +the early days when Alaska first passed into the possession of the +United States. Such a murder case, occurring before the instalment of +territorial law and officials, might well have been taken down to the +United States for trial before a Federal court. + +"When Yamikan is in this country where there is no snow," old Ebbits +continued, "he is taken to large house where many men make much talk. +Long time men talk. Also many questions do they ask Yamikan. By and by +they tell Yamikan he have no more trouble. Yamikan does not understand, +for never has he had any trouble. All the time have they given him warm +place to sleep and plenty grub. + +"But after that they give him much better grub, and they give him +money, and they take him many places in white man's country, and he see +many strange things which are beyond the understanding of Ebbits, who +is an old man and has not journeyed far. After two years, Yamikan comes +back to this village, and he is head man, and very wise until he dies. + +"But before he dies, many times does he sit by my fire and make talk of +the strange things he has seen. And Bidarshik, who is my son, sits by +the fire and listens; and his eyes are very wide and large because of +the things he hears. One night, after Yamikan has gone home, Bidarshik +stands up, so, very tall, and he strikes his chest with his fist, and +says, 'When I am a man, I shall journey in far places, even to the land +where there is no snow, and see things for myself.'" + +"Always did Bidarshik journey in far places," Zilla interrupted proudly. + +"It be true," Ebbits assented gravely. "And always did he return to sit +by the fire and hunger for yet other and unknown far places." + +"And always did he remember the salt lake as big as the sky and the +country under the sun where there is no snow," quoth Zilla. + +"And always did he say, 'When I have the full strength of a man, I +will go and see for myself if the talk of Yamikan be true talk,'" said +Ebbits. + +"But there was no way to go to the white man's country," said Zilla. + +"Did he not go down to the salt lake that is big as the sky?" Ebbits +demanded. + +"And there was no way for him across the salt lake," said Zilla. + +"Save in the white man's fire-boat which is of iron and is bigger than +twenty steamboats on the Yukon," said Ebbits. He scowled at Zilla, +whose withered lips were again writhing into speech, and compelled her +to silence. "But the white man would not let him cross the salt lake in +the fire-boat, and he returned to sit by the fire and hunger for the +country under the sun where there is no snow.'" + +"Yet on the salt lake had he seen the fire-boat of iron that did not +sink," cried out Zilla the irrepressible. + +"Ay," said Ebbits, "and he saw that Yamikan had made true talk of the +things he had seen. But there was no way for Bidarshik to journey to +the white man's land under the sun, and he grew sick and weary like an +old man and moved not away from the fire. No longer did he go forth to +kill meat--" + +"And no longer did he eat the meat placed before him," Zilla broke in. +"He would shake his head and say, 'Only do I care to eat the grub of +the white man and grow fat after the manner of Yamikan.'" + +"And he did not eat the meat," Ebbits went on. "And the sickness of +Bidarshik grew into a great sickness until I thought he would die. It +was not a sickness of the body, but of the head. It was a sickness of +desire. I, Ebbits, who am his father, make a great think. I have no +more sons and I do not want Bidarshik to die. It is a head-sickness, +and there is but one way to make it well. Bidarshik must journey across +the lake as large as the sky to the land where there is no snow, else +will he die. I make a very great think, and then I see the way for +Bidarshik to go. + +"So, one night when he sits by the fire, very sick, his head hanging +down, I say, 'My son, I have learned the way for you to go to the white +man's land.' He looks at me, and his face is glad. 'Go,' I say, 'even +as Yamikan went.' But Bidarshik is sick and does not understand. 'Go +forth,' I say, 'and find a white man, and, even as Yamikan, do you kill +that white man. Then will the soldier white men come and get you, and +even as they took Yamikan will they take you across the salt lake to +the white man's land. And then, even as Yamikan, will you return very +fat, your eyes full of the things you have seen, your head filled with +wisdom.' + +"And Bidarshik stands up very quick, and his hand is reaching out for +his gun. 'Where do you go?' I ask. 'To kill the white man,' he says. +And I see that my words have been good in the ears of Bidarshik and +that he will grow well again. Also do I know that my words have been +wise. + +"There is a white man come to this village. He does not seek after gold +in the ground, nor after furs in the forest. All the time does he seek +after bugs and flies. He does not eat the bugs and flies, then why does +he seek after them? I do not know. Only do I know that he is a funny +white man. Also does he seek after the eggs of birds. He does not eat +the eggs. All that is inside he takes out, and only does he keep the +shell. Eggshell is not good to eat. Nor does he eat the eggshells, but +puts them away in soft boxes where they will not break. He catch many +small birds. But he does not eat the birds. He takes only the skins and +puts them away in boxes. Also does he like bones. Bones are not good to +eat. And this strange white man likes best the bones of long time ago +which he digs out of the ground. + +"But he is not a fierce white man, and I know he will die very easy; so +I say to Bidarshik, 'My son, there is the white man for you to kill.' +And Bidarshik says that my words be wise. So he goes to a place he +knows where are many bones in the ground. He digs up very many of these +bones and brings them to the strange white man's camp. The white man is +made very glad. His face shines like the sun, and he smiles with much +gladness as he looks at the bones. He bends his head over, so, to look +well at the bones, and then Bidarshik strikes him hard on the head, +with axe, once, so, and the strange white man kicks and is dead. + +"'Now,' I say to Bidarshik, 'will the white soldier men come and take +you away to the land under the sun, where you will eat much and grow +fat.' Bidarshik is happy. Already has his sickness gone from him, and +he sits by the fire and waits for the coming of the white soldier men. + +"How was I to know the way of the white man is never twice the same?" +the old man demanded, whirling upon me fiercely. "How was I to know +that what the white man does yesterday he will not do to-day, and that +what he does to-day he will not do to-morrow?" Ebbits shook his head +sadly. "There is no understanding the white man. Yesterday he takes +Yamikan to the land under the sun and makes him fat with much grub. +To-day he takes Bidarshik and--what does he do with Bidarshik? Let me +tell you what he does with Bidarshik. + +"I, Ebbits, his father, will tell you. He takes Bidarshik to Cambell +Fort, and he ties a rope around his neck, so, and, when his feet are no +more on the ground, he dies." + +"Ai! ai!" wailed Zilla. "And never does he cross the lake large as the +sky, nor see the land under the sun where there is no snow." + +"Wherefore," old Ebbits said with grave dignity, "there be no one to +hunt meat for me in my old age, and I sit hungry by my fire and tell +my story to the White Man who has given me grub, and strong tea, and +tobacco for my pipe." + +"Because of the lying and very miserable white people," Zilla +proclaimed shrilly. + +"Nay," answered the old man with gentle positiveness. "Because of the +way of the white man, which is without understanding and never twice +the same." + + + + +THE STORY OF KEESH + + +Keesh lived long ago on the rim of the polar sea, was head man of his +village through many and prosperous years, and died full of honors with +his name on the lips of men. So long ago did he live that only the old +men remember his name, his name and the tale, which they got from the +old men before them, and which the old men to come will tell to their +children and their children's children down to the end of time. And +the winter darkness, when the north gales make their long sweep across +the ice-pack, and the air is filled with flying white, and no man may +venture forth, is the chosen time for the telling of how Keesh, from +the poorest _igloo_ in the village, rose to power and place over them +all. + +He was a bright boy, so the tale runs, healthy and strong, and he had +seen thirteen suns, in their way of reckoning time. For each winter the +sun leaves the land in darkness, and the next year a new sun returns +so that they may be warm again and look upon one another's faces. The +father of Keesh had been a very brave man, but he had met his death +in a time of famine, when he sought to save the lives of his people +by taking the life of a great polar bear. In his eagerness he came to +close grapples with the bear, and his bones were crushed; but the bear +had much meat on him and the people were saved. Keesh was his only +son, and after that Keesh lived alone with his mother. But the people +are prone to forget, and they forgot the deed of his father; and he +being but a boy, and his mother only a woman, they, too, were swiftly +forgotten, and ere long came to live in the meanest of all the _igloos_. + +It was at a council, one night, in the big _igloo_ of Klosh-Kwan, the +chief, that Keesh showed the blood that ran in his veins and the manhood +that stiffened his back. With the dignity of an elder, he rose to his +feet, and waited for silence amid the babble of voices. + +"It is true that meat be apportioned me and mine," he said. "But it is +ofttimes old and tough, this meat, and, moreover, it has an unusual +quantity of bones." + +The hunters, grizzled and gray, and lusty and young, were aghast. The +like had never been known before. A child, that talked like a grown man, +and said harsh things to their very faces! + +But steadily and with seriousness, Keesh went on. "For that I know my +father, Bok, was a great hunter, I speak these words. It is said that +Bok brought home more meat than any of the two best hunters, that with +his own hands he attended to the division of it, that with his own eyes +he saw to it that the least old woman and the last old man received fair +share." + +"Na! Na!" the men cried. "Put the child out!" "Send him off to bed!" +"He is no man that he should talk to men and graybeards!" + +He waited calmly till the uproar died down. + +"Thou hast a wife, Ugh-Gluk," he said, "and for her dost thou speak. And +thou, too, Massuk, a mother also, and for them dost thou speak. My +mother has no one, save me; wherefore I speak. As I say, though Bok be +dead because he hunted over-keenly, it is just that I, who am his son, +and that Ikeega, who is my mother and was his wife, should have meat in +plenty so long as there be meat in plenty in the tribe. I, Keesh, the +son of Bok, have spoken." + +He sat down, his ears keenly alert to the flood of protest and +indignation his words had created. + +"That a boy should speak in council!" old Ugh-Gluk was mumbling. + +"Shall the babes in arms tell us men the things we shall do?" Massuk +demanded in a loud voice. "Am I a man that I should be made a mock by +every child that cries for meat?" + +The anger boiled a white heat. They ordered him to bed, threatened that +he should have no meat at all, and promised him sore beatings for his +presumption. Keesh's eyes began to flash, and the blood to pound darkly +under his skin. In the midst of the abuse he sprang to his feet. + +"Hear me, ye men!" he cried. "Never shall I speak in the council again, +never again till the men come to me and say, 'It is well, Keesh, that +thou shouldst speak, it is well and it is our wish.' Take this now, ye +men, for my last word. Bok, my father, was a great hunter. I, too, his +son, shall go and hunt the meat that I eat. And be it known, now, that +the division of that which I kill shall be fair. And no widow nor weak +one shall cry in the night because there is no meat, when the strong men +are groaning in great pain for that they have eaten overmuch. And in the +days to come there shall be shame upon the strong men who have eaten +overmuch. I, Keesh, have said it!" + +Jeers and scornful laughter followed him out of the _igloo_, but his jaw +was set and he went his way, looking neither to right nor left. + +The next day he went forth along the shore-line where the ice and the +land met together. Those who saw him go noted that he carried his bow, +with a goodly supply of bone-barbed arrows, and that across his shoulder +was his father's big hunting-spear. And there was laughter, and much +talk, at the event. It was an unprecedented occurrence. Never did boys +of his tender age go forth to hunt, much less to hunt alone. Also were +there shaking of heads and prophetic mutterings, and the women looked +pityingly at Ikeega, and her face was grave and sad. + +"He will be back ere long," they said cheeringly. + +"Let him go; it will teach him a lesson," the hunters said. "And he will +come back shortly, and he will be meek and soft of speech in the days to +follow." + +But a day passed, and a second, and on the third a wild gale blew, and +there was no Keesh. Ikeega tore her hair and put soot of the seal-oil on +her face in token of her grief; and the women assailed the men with +bitter words in that they had mistreated the boy and sent him to his +death; and the men made no answer, preparing to go in search of the body +when the storm abated. + +Early next morning, however, Keesh strode into the village. But he came +not shamefacedly. Across his shoulders he bore a burden of fresh-killed +meat. And there was importance in his step and arrogance in his speech. + +"Go, ye men, with the dogs and sledges, and take my trail for the +better part of a day's travel," he said. "There is much meat on the +ice--a she-bear and two half-grown cubs." + +Ikeega was overcome with joy, but he received her demonstrations in +manlike fashion, saying: "Come, Ikeega, let us eat. And after that I +shall sleep, for I am weary." + +And he passed into their _igloo_ and ate profoundly, and after that +slept for twenty running hours. + +There was much doubt at first, much doubt and discussion. The killing +of a polar bear is very dangerous, but thrice dangerous is it, and +three times thrice, to kill a mother bear with her cubs. The men could +not bring themselves to believe that the boy Keesh, single-handed, had +accomplished so great a marvel. But the women spoke of the fresh-killed +meat he had brought on his back, and this was an overwhelming argument +against their unbelief. So they finally departed, grumbling greatly +that in all probability, if the thing were so, he had neglected to +cut up the carcasses. Now in the north it is very necessary that +this should be done as soon as a kill is made. If not, the meat +freezes so solidly as to turn the edge of the sharpest knife, and a +three-hundred-pound bear, frozen stiff, is no easy thing to put upon a +sled and haul over the rough ice. But arrived at the spot, they found +not only the kill, which they had doubted, but that Keesh had quartered +the beasts in true hunter fashion, and removed the entrails. + +Thus began the mystery of Keesh, a mystery that deepened and deepened +with the passing of the days. His very next trip he killed a young bear, +nearly full-grown, and on the trip following, a large male bear and his +mate. He was ordinarily gone from three to four days, though it was +nothing unusual for him to stay away a week at a time on the ice-field. +Always he declined company on these expeditions, and the people +marvelled. "How does he do it?" they demanded of one another. "Never +does he take a dog with him, and dogs are of such great help, too." + +"Why dost thou hunt only bear?" Klosh-Kwan once ventured to ask him. + +And Keesh made fitting answer. "It is well known that there is more meat +on the bear," he said. + +But there was also talk of witchcraft in the village. "He hunts with +evil spirits," some of the people contended, "wherefore his hunting is +rewarded. How else can it be, save that he hunts with evil spirits?" + +"Mayhap they be not evil, but good, these spirits," others said. "It is +known that his father was a mighty hunter. May not his father hunt with +him so that he may attain excellence and patience and understanding? Who +knows?" + +None the less, his success continued, and the less skilful hunters were +often kept busy hauling in his meat. And in the division of it he was +just. As his father had done before him, he saw to it that the least +old woman and the last old man received a fair portion, keeping no more +for himself than his needs required. And because of this, and of his +merit as a hunter, he was looked upon with respect, and even awe; and +there was talk of making him chief after old Klosh-Kwan. Because of the +things he had done, they looked for him to appear again in the council, +but he never came, and they were ashamed to ask. + +"I am minded to build me an _igloo_," he said one day to Klosh-Kwan and +a number of the hunters. "It shall be a large _igloo_, wherein Ikeega +and I can dwell in comfort." + +"Ay," they nodded gravely. + +"But I have no time. My business is hunting, and it takes all my time. +So it is but just that the men and women of the village who eat my meat +should build me my _igloo_." + +And the _igloo_ was built accordingly, on a generous scale which +exceeded even the dwelling of Klosh-Kwan. Keesh and his mother moved +into it, and it was the first prosperity she had enjoyed since the +death of Bok. Nor was material prosperity alone hers, for, because of +her wonderful son and the position he had given her, she came to be +looked upon as the first woman in all the village; and the women were +given to visiting her, to asking her advice, and to quoting her wisdom +when arguments arose among themselves or with the men. + +But it was the mystery of Keesh's marvellous hunting that took chief +place in all their minds. And one day Ugh-Gluk taxed him with witchcraft +to his face. + +"It is charged," Ugh-Gluk said ominously, "that thou dealest with evil +spirits, wherefore thy hunting is rewarded." + +"Is not the meat good?" Keesh made answer. "Has one in the village yet +to fall sick from the eating of it? How dost thou know that witchcraft +be concerned? Or dost thou guess, in the dark, merely because of the +envy that consumes thee?" + +And Ugh-Gluk withdrew discomfited, the women laughing at him as he +walked away. But in the council one night, after long deliberation, it +was determined to put spies on his track when he went forth to hunt, so +that his methods might be learned. So, on his next trip, Bim and Bawn, +two young men, and of hunters the craftiest, followed after him, taking +care not to be seen. After five days they returned, their eyes bulging +and their tongues a-tremble to tell what they had seen. The council was +hastily called in Klosh-Kwan's dwelling, and Bim took up the tale. + +"Brothers! As commanded, we journeyed on the trail of Keesh, and +cunningly we journeyed, so that he might not know. And midway of the +first day he picked up with a great he-bear. It was a very great bear." + +"None greater," Bawn corroborated, and went on himself. "Yet was the +bear not inclined to fight, for he turned away and made off slowly over +the ice. This we saw from the rocks of the shore, and the bear came +toward us, and after him came Keesh, very much unafraid. And he shouted +harsh words after the bear, and waved his arms about, and made much +noise. Then did the bear grow angry, and rise up on his hind legs, and +growl. But Keesh walked right up to the bear." + +"Ay," Bim continued the story. "Right up to the bear Keesh walked. And +the bear took after him, and Keesh ran away. But as he ran he dropped a +little round ball on the ice. And the bear stopped and smelled of it, +then swallowed it up. And Keesh continued to run away and drop little +round balls, and the bear continued to swallow them up." + +Exclamations and cries of doubt were being made, and Ugh-Gluk expressed +open unbelief. + +"With our own eyes we saw it," Bim affirmed. + +And Bawn--"Ay, with our own eyes. And this continued until the bear +stood suddenly upright and cried aloud in pain, and thrashed his fore +paws madly about. And Keesh continued to make off over the ice to a safe +distance. But the bear gave him no notice, being occupied with the +misfortune the little round balls had wrought within him." + +"Ay, within him," Bim interrupted. "For he did claw at himself, and +leap about over the ice like a playful puppy, save from the way he +growled and squealed it was plain it was not play but pain. Never did I +see such a sight!" + +"Nay, never was such a sight seen," Bawn took up the strain. "And +furthermore, it was such a large bear." + +"Witchcraft," Ugh-Gluk suggested. + +"I know not," Bawn replied. "I tell only of what my eyes beheld. And +after a while the bear grew weak and tired, for he was very heavy and +he had jumped about with exceeding violence, and he went off along the +shore-ice, shaking his head slowly from side to side and sitting down +ever and again to squeal and cry. And Keesh followed after the bear, +and we followed after Keesh, and for that day and three days more we +followed. The bear grew weak, and never ceased crying from his pain." + +"It was a charm!" Ugh-Gluk exclaimed. "Surely it was a charm!" + +"It may well be." + +And Bim relieved Bawn. "The bear wandered, now this way and now that, +doubling back and forth and crossing his trail in circles, so that at +the end he was near where Keesh had first come upon him. By this time +he was quite sick, the bear, and could crawl no farther, so Keesh came +up close and speared him to death." + +"And then?" Klosh-Kwan demanded. + +"Then we left Keesh skinning the bear, and came running that the news of +the killing might be told." + +And in the afternoon of that day the women hauled in the meat of the bear +while the men sat in council assembled. When Keesh arrived a messenger +was sent to him, bidding him come to the council. But he sent reply, +saying that he was hungry and tired; also that his _igloo_ was large and +comfortable and could hold many men. + +And curiosity was so strong on the men that the whole council, +Klosh-Kwan to the fore, rose up and went to the _igloo_ of Keesh. He +was eating, but he received them with respect and seated them according +to their rank. Ikeega was proud and embarrassed by turns, but Keesh was +quite composed. + +Klosh-Kwan recited the information brought by Bim and Bawn, and at its +close said in a stern voice: "So explanation is wanted, O Keesh, of thy +manner of hunting. Is there witchcraft in it?" + +Keesh looked up and smiled. "Nay, O Klosh-Kwan. It is not for a boy to +know aught of witches, and of witches I know nothing. I have but devised +a means whereby I may kill the ice-bear with ease, that is all. It be +headcraft, not witchcraft." + +"And may any man?" + +"Any man." + +There was a long silence. The men looked in one another's faces, and +Keesh went on eating. + +"And ... and ... and wilt thou tell us, O Keesh?" Klosh-Kwan finally +asked in a tremulous voice. + +"Yea, I will tell thee." Keesh finished sucking a marrow-bone and rose +to his feet. "It is quite simple. Behold!" + +He picked up a thin strip of whalebone and showed it to them. The ends +were sharp as needle-points. The strip he coiled carefully, till it +disappeared in his hand. Then, suddenly releasing it, it sprang straight +again. He picked up a piece of blubber. + +"So," he said, "one takes a small chunk of blubber, thus, and thus +makes it hollow. Then into the hollow goes the whalebone, so, tightly +coiled, and another piece of blubber is fitted over the whale-bone. +After that it is put outside where it freezes into a little round +ball. The bear swallows the little round ball, the blubber melts, the +whalebone with its sharp ends stands out straight, the bear gets sick, +and when the bear is very sick, why, you kill him with a spear. It is +quite simple." + +And Ugh-Gluk said "Oh!" and Klosh-Kwan said "Ah!" And each said +something after his own manner, and all understood. + +And this is the story of Keesh, who lived long ago on the rim of the +polar sea. Because he exercised headcraft and not witchcraft, he rose +from the meanest _igloo_ to be head man of his village, and through all +the years that he lived, it is related, his tribe was prosperous, and +neither widow nor weak one cried aloud in the night because there was no +meat. + + + + +THE UNEXPECTED + + +It is a simple matter to see the obvious, to do the expected. The +tendency of the individual life is to be static rather than dynamic, +and this tendency is made into a propulsion by civilization, where +the obvious only is seen, and the unexpected rarely happens. When +the unexpected does happen, however, and when it is of sufficiently +grave import, the unfit perish. They do not see what is not obvious, +are unable to do the unexpected, are incapable of adjusting their +well-grooved lives to other and strange grooves. In short, when they +come to the end of their own groove, they die. + +On the other hand, there are those that make toward survival, the fit +individuals who escape from the rule of the obvious and the expected +and adjust their lives to no matter what strange grooves they may stray +into, or into which they may be forced. Such an individual was Edith +Whittlesey. She was born in a rural district of England, where life +proceeds by rule of thumb and the unexpected is so very unexpected +that when it happens it is looked upon as an immorality. She went +into service early, and while yet a young woman, by rule-of-thumb +progression, she became a lady's maid. + +The effect of civilization is to impose human law upon environment +until it becomes machine-like in its regularity. The objectionable is +eliminated, the inevitable is foreseen. One is not even made wet by +the rain nor cold by the frost; while death, instead of stalking about +grewsome and accidental, becomes a prearranged pageant, moving along a +well-oiled groove to the family vault, where the hinges are kept from +rusting and the dust from the air is swept continually away. + +Such was the environment of Edith Whittlesey. Nothing happened. It +could scarcely be called a happening, when, at the age of twenty-five, +she accompanied her mistress on a bit of travel to the United States. +The groove merely changed its direction. It was still the same groove +and well oiled. It was a groove that bridged the Atlantic with +uneventfulness, so that the ship was not a ship in the midst of the +sea, but a capacious, many-corridored hotel that moved swiftly and +placidly, crushing the waves into submission with its colossal bulk +until the sea was a mill-pond, monotonous with quietude. And at the +other side the groove continued on over the land--a well-disposed, +respectable groove that supplied hotels at every stopping-place, and +hotels on wheels between the stopping-places. + +In Chicago, while her mistress saw one side of social life, Edith +Whittlesey saw another side; and when she left her lady's service and +became Edith Nelson, she betrayed, perhaps faintly, her ability to +grapple with the unexpected and to master it. Hans Nelson, immigrant, +Swede by birth and carpenter by occupation, had in him that Teutonic +unrest that drives the race ever westward on its great adventure. He +was a large-muscled, stolid sort of a man, in whom little imagination +was coupled with immense initiative, and who possessed, withal, loyalty +and affection as sturdy as his own strength. + +"When I have worked hard and saved me some money, I will go to +Colorado," he had told Edith on the day after their wedding. A year +later they were in Colorado, where Hans Nelson saw his first mining +and caught the mining-fever himself. His prospecting led him through +the Dakotas, Idaho, and eastern Oregon, and on into the mountains +of British Columbia. In camp and on trail, Edith Nelson was always +with him, sharing his luck, his hardship, and his toil. The short +step of the house-reared woman she exchanged for the long stride +of the mountaineer. She learned to look upon danger clear-eyed and +with understanding, losing forever that panic fear which is bred of +ignorance and which afflicts the city-reared, making them as silly +as silly horses, so that they await fate in frozen horror instead of +grappling with it, or stampede in blind self-destroying terror which +clutters the way with their crushed carcasses. + +Edith Nelson met the unexpected at every turn of the trail, and she +trained her vision so that she saw in the landscape, not the obvious, +but the concealed. She, who had never cooked in her life, learned to +make bread without the mediation of hops, yeast, or baking-powder, and +to bake bread, top and bottom, in a frying-pan before an open fire. And +when the last cup of flour was gone and the last rind of bacon, she was +able to rise to the occasion, and of moccasins and the softer-tanned +bits of leather in the outfit to make a grub-stake substitute that +somehow held a man's soul in his body and enabled him to stagger on. +She learned to pack a horse as well as a man,--a task to break the +heart and the pride of any city-dweller, and she knew how to throw the +hitch best suited for any particular kind of pack. Also, she could +build a fire of wet wood in a downpour of rain and not lose her temper. +In short, in all its guises she mastered the unexpected. But the Great +Unexpected was yet to come into her life and put its test upon her. + +The gold-seeking tide was flooding northward into Alaska, and it was +inevitable that Hans Nelson and his wife should he caught up by the +stream and swept toward the Klondike. The fall of 1897 found them at +Dyea, but without the money to carry an outfit across Chilcoot Pass and +float it down to Dawson. So Hans Nelson worked at his trade that winter +and helped rear the mushroom outfitting-town of Skaguay. + +He was on the edge of things, and throughout the winter he heard all +Alaska calling to him. Latuya Bay called loudest, so that the summer +of 1898 found him and his wife threading the mazes of the broken +coast-line in seventy-foot Siwash canoes. With them were Indians, also +three other men. The Indians landed them and their supplies in a lonely +bight of land a hundred miles or so beyond Latuya Bay, and returned to +Skaguay; but the three other men remained, for they were members of +the organized party. Each had put an equal share of capital into the +outfitting, and the profits were to be divided equally. In that Edith +Nelson undertook to cook for the outfit, a man's share was to be her +portion. + +First, spruce trees were cut down and a three-room cabin constructed. +To keep this cabin was Edith Nelson's task. The task of the men was +to search for gold, which they did; and to find gold, which they +likewise did. It was not a startling find, merely a low-pay placer +where long hours of severe toil earned each man between fifteen and +twenty dollars a day. The brief Alaskan summer protracted itself beyond +its usual length, and they took advantage of the opportunity, delaying +their return to Skaguay to the last moment. And then it was too late. +Arrangements had been made to accompany the several dozen local Indians +on their fall trading trip down the coast. The Siwashes had waited on +the white people until the eleventh hour, and then departed. There was +no course left the party but to wait for chance transportation. In the +meantime the claim was cleaned up and firewood stocked in. + +The Indian summer had dreamed on and on, and then, suddenly, with the +sharpness of bugles, winter came. It came in a single night, and the +miners awoke to howling wind, driving snow, and freezing water. Storm +followed storm, and between the storms there was the silence, broken +only by the boom of the surf on the desolate shore, where the salt +spray rimmed the beach with frozen white. + +All went well in the cabin. Their gold-dust had weighed up something +like eight thousand dollars, and they could not but be contented. +The men made snowshoes, hunted fresh meat for the larder, and in the +long evenings played endless games of whist and pedro. Now that the +mining had ceased, Edith Nelson turned over the fire-building and the +dish-washing to the men, while she darned their socks and mended their +clothes. + +There was no grumbling, no bickering, nor petty quarrelling in the +little cabin, and they often congratulated one another on the general +happiness of the party. Hans Nelson was stolid and easy-going, while +Edith had long before won his unbounded admiration by her capacity +for getting on with people. Harkey, a long, lank Texan, was unusually +friendly for one with a saturnine disposition, and, as long as his +theory that gold grew was not challenged, was quite companionable. The +fourth member of the party, Michael Dennin, contributed his Irish wit +to the gayety of the cabin. He was a large, powerful man, prone to +sudden rushes of anger over little things, and of unfailing good-humor +under the stress and strain of big things. The fifth and last member, +Dutchy, was the willing butt of the party. He even went out of his way +to raise a laugh at his own expense in order to keep things cheerful. +His deliberate aim in life seemed to be that of a maker of laughter. No +serious quarrel had ever vexed the serenity of the party; and, now that +each had sixteen hundred dollars to show for a short summer's work, +there reigned the well-fed, contented spirit of prosperity. + +And then the unexpected happened. They had just sat down to the +breakfast table. Though it was already eight o'clock (late breakfasts +had followed naturally upon cessation of the steady work at mining) a +candle in the neck of a bottle lighted the meal. Edith and Hans sat at +each end of the table. On one side, with their backs to the door, sat +Harkey and Dutchy. The place on the other side was vacant. Dennin had +not yet come in. + +Hans Nelson looked at the empty chair, shook his head slowly, and, with +a ponderous attempt at humor, said: "Always is he first at the grub. It +is very strange. Maybe he is sick." + +"Where is Michael?" Edith asked. + +"Got up a little ahead of us and went outside," Harkey answered. + +Dutchy's face beamed mischievously. He pretended knowledge of Dennin's +absence, and affected a mysterious air, while they clamored for +information. Edith, after a peep into the men's bunk-room, returned to +the table. Hans looked at her, and she shook her head. + +"He was never late at meal-time before," she remarked. + +"I cannot understand," said Hans. "Always has he the great appetite like +the horse." + +"It is too bad," Dutchy said, with a sad shake of his head. + +They were beginning to make merry over their comrade's absence. + +"It is a great pity!" Dutchy volunteered. + +"What?" they demanded in chorus. + +"Poor Michael," was the mournful reply. + +"Well, what's wrong with Michael?" Harkey asked. + +"He is not hungry no more," wailed Dutchy. "He has lost der appetite. He +do not like der grub." + +"Not from the way he pitches into it up to his ears," remarked Harkey. + +"He does dot shust to be politeful to Mrs. Nelson," was Dutchy's +quick retort. "I know, I know, and it is too pad. Why is he not here? +Pecause he haf gone out. Why haf he gone out? For der defelopment of +der appetite. How does he defelop der appetite? He walks barefoots in +der snow. Ach! don't I know? It is der way der rich peoples chases +after der appetite when it is no more and is running away. Michael +haf sixteen hundred dollars. He is rich peoples. He haf no appetite. +Derefore, pecause, he is chasing der appetite. Shust you open der door +und you will see his barefoots in der snow. No, you will not see der +appetite. Dot is shust his trouble. When he sees der appetite he will +catch it und come to preak-fast." + +They burst into loud laughter at Dutchy's nonsense. The sound had +scarcely died away when the door opened and Dennin came in. All turned +to look at him. He was carrying a shot-gun. Even as they looked, he +lifted it to his shoulder and fired twice. At the first shot Dutchy +sank upon the table, overturning his mug of coffee, his yellow mop of +hair dabbling in his plate of mush. His forehead, which pressed upon +the near edge of the plate, tilted the plate up against his hair at an +angle of forty-five degrees. Harkey was in the air, in his spring to +his feet, at the second shot, and he pitched face down upon the floor, +his "My God!" gurgling and dying in his throat. + +It was the unexpected. Hans and Edith were stunned. They sat at the +table with bodies tense, their eyes fixed in a fascinated gaze upon +the murderer. Dimly they saw him through the smoke of the powder, and +in the silence nothing was to be heard save the drip-drip of Dutchy's +spilled coffee on the floor. Dennin threw open the breech of the +shot-gun, ejecting the empty shells. Holding the gun with one hand, he +reached with the other into his pocket for fresh shells. + +He was thrusting the shells into the gun when Edith Nelson was +aroused to action. It was patent that he intended to kill Hans and +her. For a space of possibly three seconds of time she had been dazed +and paralysed by the horrible and inconceivable form in which the +unexpected had made its appearance. Then she rose to it and grappled +with it. She grappled with it concretely, making a cat-like leap for +the murderer and gripping his neck-cloth with both her hands. The +impact of her body sent him stumbling backward several steps. He +tried to shake her loose and still retain his hold on the gun. This +was awkward, for her firm-fleshed body had become a cat's. She threw +herself to one side, and with her grip at his throat nearly jerked +him to the floor. He straightened himself and whirled swiftly. Still +faithful to her hold, her body followed the circle of his whirl so that +her feet left the floor, and she swung through the air fastened to his +throat by her hands. The whirl culminated in a collision with a chair, +and the man and woman crashed to the floor in a wild struggling fall +that extended itself across half the length of the room. + +Hans Nelson was half a second behind his wife in rising to the +unexpected. His nerve processes and mental processes were slower than +hers. His was the grosser organism, and it had taken him half a second +longer to perceive, and determine, and proceed to do. She had already +flown at Dennin and gripped his throat, when Hans sprang to his feet. +But her coolness was not his. He was in a blind fury, a Berserker rage. +At the instant he sprang from his chair his mouth opened and there +issued forth a sound that was half roar, half bellow. The whirl of the +two bodies had already started, and still roaring, or bellowing, he +pursued this whirl down the room, overtaking it when it fell to the +floor. + +Hans hurled himself upon the prostrate man, striking madly with his +fists. They were sledge-like blows, and when Edith felt Dennin's body +relax she loosed her grip and rolled clear. She lay on the floor, +panting and watching. The fury of blows continued to rain down. Dennin +did not seem to mind the blows. He did not even move. Then it dawned +upon her that he was unconscious. She cried out to Hans to stop. She +cried out again. But he paid no heed to her voice. She caught him by +the arm, but her clinging to it merely impeded his effort. + +It was no reasoned impulse that stirred her to do what she then did. +Nor was it a sense of pity, nor obedience to the "Thou shalt not" of +religion. Rather was it some sense of law, an ethic of her race and +early environment, that compelled her to interpose her body between her +husband and the helpless murderer. It was not until Hans knew he was +striking his wife that he ceased. He allowed himself to be shoved away +by her in much the same way that a ferocious but obedient dog allows +itself to be shoved away by its master. The analogy went even farther. +Deep in his throat, in an animal-like way, Hans's rage still rumbled, +and several times he made as though to spring back upon his prey and +was only prevented by the woman's swiftly interposed body. + +Back and farther back Edith shoved her husband. She had never seen him +in such a condition, and she was more frightened of him than she had +been of Dennin in the thick of the struggle. She could not believe that +this raging beast was her Hans, and with a shock she became suddenly +aware of a shrinking, instinctive fear that he might snap her hand in +his teeth like any wild animal. For some seconds, unwilling to hurt +her, yet dogged in his desire to return to the attack, Hans dodged +back and forth. But she resolutely dodged with him, until the first +glimmerings of reason returned and he gave over. + +Both crawled to their feet. Hans staggered back against the wall, where +he leaned, his face working, in his throat the deep and continuous +rumble that died away with the seconds and at last ceased. The time for +the reaction had come. Edith stood in the middle of the floor, wringing +her hands, panting and gasping, her whole body trembling violently. + +Hans looked at nothing, but Edith's eyes wandered wildly from detail +to detail of what had taken place. Dennin lay without movement. The +overturned chair, hurled onward in the mad whirl, lay near him. Partly +under him lay the shot-gun, still broken open at the breech. Spilling +out of his right hand were the two cartridges which he had failed to +put into the gun and which he had clutched until consciousness left +him. Harkey lay on the floor, face downward, where he had fallen; while +Dutchy rested forward on the table, his yellow mop of hair buried +in his mush-plate, the plate itself still tilted at an angle of +forty-five degrees. This tilted plate fascinated her. Why did it not +fall down? It was ridiculous. It was not in the nature of things for a +mush-plate to up-end itself on the table, even if a man or so had been +killed. + +She glanced back at Dennin, but her eyes returned to the tilted plate. +It was so ridiculous! She felt a hysterical impulse to laugh. Then she +noticed the silence, and forgot the plate in a desire for something +to happen. The monotonous drip of the coffee from the table to the +floor merely emphasized the silence. Why did not Hans do something? +say something? She looked at him and was about to speak, when she +discovered that her tongue refused its wonted duty. There was a +peculiar ache in her throat, and her mouth was dry and furry. She could +only look at Hans, who, in turn, looked at her. + +Suddenly the silence was broken by a sharp, metallic clang. She +screamed, jerking her eyes back to the table. The plate had fallen +down. Hans sighed as though awakening from sleep. The clang of the +plate had aroused them to life in a new world. The cabin epitomized the +new world in which they must thenceforth live and move. The old cabin +was gone forever. The horizon of life was totally new and unfamiliar. +The unexpected had swept its wizardry over the face of things, changing +the perspective, juggling values, and shuffling the real and the unreal +into perplexing confusion. + +"My God, Hans!" was Edith's first speech. + +He did not answer, but stared at her with horror. Slowly his eyes +wandered over the room, for the first time taking in its details. Then +he put on his cap and started for the door. + +"Where are you going?" Edith demanded, in an agony of apprehension. + +His hand was on the door-knob, and he half turned as he answered, "To +dig some graves." + +"Don't leave me, Hans, with--" her eyes swept the room--"with this." + +"The graves must be dug sometime," he said. + +"But you do not know how many," she objected desperately. She noted his +indecision, and added, "Besides, I'll go with you and help." + +Hans stepped back to the table and mechanically snuffed the candle. +Then between them they made the examination. Both Harkey and Dutchy +were dead--frightfully dead, because of the close range of the +shot-gun. Hans refused to go near Dennin, and Edith was forced to +conduct this portion of the investigation by herself. + +"He isn't dead," she called to Hans. + +He walked over and looked down at the murderer. + +"What did you say?" Edith demanded, having caught the rumble of +inarticulate speech in her husband's throat. + +"I said it was a damn shame that he isn't dead," came the reply. + +Edith was bending over the body. + +"Leave him alone," Hans commanded harshly, in a strange voice. + +She looked at him in sudden alarm. He had picked up the shot-gun +dropped by Dennin and was thrusting in the shells. + +"What are you going to do?" she cried, rising swiftly from her bending +position. + +Hans did not answer, but she saw the shot-gun going to his shoulder. +She grasped the muzzle with her hand and threw it up. + +"Leave me alone!" he cried hoarsely. + +He tried to jerk the weapon away from her, but she came in closer and +clung to him. + +"Hans! Hans! Wake up!" she cried. "Don't be crazy!" + +"He killed Dutchy and Harkey!" was her husband's reply; "and I am going +to kill him." + +"But that is wrong," she objected. "There is the law." + +He sneered his incredulity of the law's potency in such a region, but he +merely iterated, dispassionately, doggedly, "He killed Dutchy and +Harkey." + +Long she argued it with him, but the argument was one-sided, for he +contented himself with repeating again and again, "He killed Dutchy +and Harkey." But she could not escape from her childhood training nor +from the blood that was in her. The heritage of law was hers, and right +conduct, to her, was the fulfilment of the law. She could see no other +righteous course to pursue. Hans's taking the law in his own hands +was no more justifiable than Dennin's deed. Two wrongs did not make a +right, she contended, and there was only one way to punish Dennin, and +that was the legal way arranged by society. At last Hans gave in to her. + +"All right," he said. "Have it your own way. And to-morrow or next day +look to see him kill you and me." + +She shook her head and held out her hand for the shot-gun. He started +to hand it to her, then hesitated. + +"Better let me shoot him," he pleaded. + +Again she shook her head, and again he started to pass her the gun, +when the door opened, and an Indian, without knocking, came in. A blast +of wind and flurry of snow came in with him. They turned and faced +him, Hans still holding the shot-gun. The intruder took in the scene +without a quiver. His eyes embraced the dead and wounded in a sweeping +glance. No surprise showed in his face, not even curiosity. Harkey lay +at his feet, but he took no notice of him. So far as he was concerned, +Harkey's body did not exist. + +"Much wind," the Indian remarked by way of salutation. "All well? Very +well?" + +Hans, still grasping the gun, felt sure that the Indian attributed to +him the mangled corpses. He glanced appealingly at his wife. + +"Good morning, Negook," she said, her voice betraying her effort. "No, +not very well. Much trouble." + +"Good-by, I go now, much hurry," the Indian said, and without semblance +of haste, with great deliberation stepping clear of a red pool on the +floor, he opened the door and went out. + +The man and woman looked at each other. + +"He thinks we did it," Hans gasped, "that I did it." + +Edith was silent for a space. Then she said, briefly, in a businesslike +way: + +"Never mind what he thinks. That will come after. At present we have +two graves to dig. But first of all, we've got to tie up Dennin so he +can't escape." + +Hans refused to touch Dennin, but Edith lashed him securely, hand and +foot. Then she and Hans went out into the snow. The ground was frozen. +It was impervious to a blow of the pick. They first gathered wood, then +scraped the snow away and on the frozen surface built a fire. When the +fire had burned for an hour, several inches of dirt had thawed. This +they shovelled out, and then built a fresh fire. Their descent into the +earth progressed at the rate of two or three inches an hour. + +It was hard and bitter work. The flurrying snow did not permit the +fire to burn any too well, while the wind cut through their clothes +and chilled their bodies. They held but little conversation. The wind +interfered with speech. Beyond wondering at what could have been +Dennin's motive, they remained silent, oppressed by the horror of the +tragedy. At one o'clock, looking toward the cabin, Hans announced that +he was hungry. + +"No, not now, Hans," Edith answered. "I couldn't go back alone into +that cabin the way it is, and cook a meal." + +At two o'clock Hans volunteered to go with her; but she held him +to his work, and four o'clock found the two graves completed. They +were shallow, not more than two feet deep, but they would serve the +purpose. Night had fallen. Hans got the sled, and the two dead men +were dragged through the darkness and storm to their frozen sepulchre. +The funeral procession was anything but a pageant. The sled sank deep +into the drifted snow and pulled hard. The man and the woman had +eaten nothing since the previous day, and were weak from hunger and +exhaustion. They had not the strength to resist the wind, and at times +its buffets hurled them off their feet. On several occasions the sled +was overturned, and they were compelled to reload it with its sombre +freight. The last hundred feet to the graves was up a steep slope, +and this they took on all fours, like sled-dogs, making legs of their +arms and thrusting their hands into the snow. Even so, they were twice +dragged backward by the weight of the sled, and slid and fell down the +hill, the living and the dead, the haul-ropes and the sled, in ghastly +entanglement. + +"To-morrow I will put up head-boards with their names," Hans said, when +the graves were filled in. + +Edith was sobbing. A few broken sentences had been all she was capable +of in the way of a funeral service, and now her husband was compelled +to half-carry her back to the cabin. + +Dennin was conscious. He had rolled over and over on the floor in vain +efforts to free himself. He watched Hans and Edith with glittering +eyes, but made no attempt to speak. Hans still refused to touch the +murderer, and sullenly watched Edith drag him across the floor to the +men's bunk-room. But try as she would, she could not lift him from the +floor into his bunk. + +"Better let me shoot him, and we'll have no more trouble," Hans said in +final appeal. + +Edith shook her head and bent again to her task. To her surprise the +body rose easily, and she knew Hans had relented and was helping her. +Then came the cleansing of the kitchen. But the floor still shrieked +the tragedy, until Hans planed the surface of the stained wood away and +with the shavings made a fire in the stove. + +The days came and went. There was much of darkness and silence, broken +only by the storms and the thunder on the beach of the freezing +surf. Hans was obedient to Edith's slightest order. All his splendid +initiative had vanished. She had elected to deal with Dennin in her +way, and so he left the whole matter in her hands. + +The murderer was a constant menace. At all times there was the chance +that he might free himself from his bonds, and they were compelled to +guard him day and night. The man or the woman sat always beside him, +holding the loaded shot-gun. At first, Edith tried eight-hour watches, +but the continuous strain was too great, and afterwards she and Hans +relieved each other every four hours. As they had to sleep, and as +the watches extended through the night, their whole waking time was +expended in guarding Dennin. They had barely time left over for the +preparation of meals and the getting of firewood. + +Since Negook's inopportune visit, the Indians had avoided the cabin. +Edith sent Hans to their cabins to get them to take Dennin down the +coast in a canoe to the nearest white settlement or trading post, but +the errand was fruitless. Then Edith went herself and interviewed +Negook. He was head man of the little village, keenly aware of his +responsibility, and he elucidated his policy thoroughly in few words. + +"It is white man's trouble," he said, "not Siwash trouble. My people +help you, then will it be Siwash trouble too. When white man's trouble +and Siwash trouble come together and make a trouble, it is a great +trouble, beyond understanding and without end. Trouble no good. My +people do no wrong. What for they help you and have trouble?" + +So Edith Nelson went back to the terrible cabin with its endless +alternating four-hour watches. Sometimes, when it was her turn and she +sat by the prisoner, the loaded shot-gun in her lap, her eyes would +close and she would doze. Always she aroused with a start, snatching up +the gun and swiftly looking at him. These were distinct nervous shocks, +and their effect was not good on her. Such was her fear of the man, +that even though she were wide awake, if he moved under the bedclothes +she could not repress the start and the quick reach for the gun. + +She was preparing herself for a nervous break-down, and she knew it. +First came a fluttering of the eyeballs, so that she was compelled to +close her eyes for relief. A little later the eyelids were afflicted by +a nervous twitching that she could not control. To add to the strain, +she could not forget the tragedy. She remained as close to the horror +as on the first morning when the unexpected stalked into the cabin and +took possession. In her daily ministrations upon the prisoner she was +forced to grit her teeth and steel herself, body and spirit. + +Hans was affected differently. He became obsessed by the idea that it +was his duty to kill Dennin; and whenever he waited upon the bound +man or watched by him, Edith was troubled by the fear that Hans would +add another red entry to the cabin's record. Always he cursed Dennin +savagely and handled him roughly. Hans tried to conceal his homicidal +mania, and he would say to his wife: "By and by you will want me to +kill him, and then I will not kill him. It would make me sick." But +more than once, stealing into the room, when it was her watch off, she +would catch the two men glaring ferociously at each other, wild animals +the pair of them, in Hans's face the lust to kill, in Dennin's the +fierceness and savagery of the cornered rat. "Hans!" she would cry, +"wake up!" and he would come to a recollection of himself, startled and +shamefaced and unrepentant. + +So Hans became another factor in the problem the unexpected had given +Edith Nelson to solve. At first it had been merely a question of right +conduct in dealing with Dennin, and right conduct, as she conceived it, +lay in keeping him a prisoner until he could be turned over for trial +before a proper tribunal. But now entered Hans, and she saw that his +sanity and his salvation were involved. Nor was she long in discovering +that her own strength and endurance had become part of the problem. +She was breaking down under the strain. Her left arm had developed +involuntary jerkings and twitchings. She spilled her food from her +spoon, and could place no reliance in her afflicted arm. She judged it +to be a form of St. Vitus's dance, and she feared the extent to which +its ravages might go. What if she broke down? And the vision she had of +the possible future, when the cabin might contain only Dennin and Hans, +was an added horror. + +After the third day, Dennin had begun to talk. His first question had +been, "What are you going to do with me?" And this question he repeated +daily and many times a day. And always Edith replied that he would +assuredly be dealt with according to law. In turn, she put a daily +question to him,--"Why did you do it?" To this he never replied. Also, +he received the question with out-bursts of anger, raging and straining +at the rawhide that bound him and threatening her with what he would +do when he got loose, which he said he was sure to do sooner or later. +At such times she cocked both triggers of the gun, prepared to meet +him with leaden death if he should burst loose, herself trembling and +palpitating and dizzy from the tension and shock. + +But in time Dennin grew more tractable. It seemed to her that he was +growing weary of his unchanging recumbent position. He began to beg +and plead to be released. He made wild promises. He would do them no +harm. He would himself go down the coast and give himself up to the +officers of the law. He would give them his share of the gold. He would +go away into the heart of the wilderness, and never again appear in +civilization. He would take his own life if she would only free him. +His pleadings usually culminated in involuntary raving, until it seemed +to her that he was passing into a fit; but always she shook her head +and denied him the freedom for which he worked himself into a passion. + +But the weeks went by, and he continued to grow more tractable. And +through it all the weariness was asserting itself more and more. "I +am so tired, so tired," he would murmur, rolling his head back and +forth on the pillow like a peevish child. At a little later period he +began to make impassioned pleas for death, to beg her to kill him, to +beg Hans to put him our of his misery so that he might at least rest +comfortably. + +The situation was fast becoming impossible. Edith's nervousness was +increasing, and she knew her break-down might come any time. She could +not even get her proper rest, for she was haunted by the fear that +Hans would yield to his mania and kill Dennin while she slept. Though +January had already come, months would have to elapse before any +trading schooner was even likely to put into the bay. Also, they had +not expected to winter in the cabin, and the food was running low; nor +could Hans add to the supply by hunting. They were chained to the cabin +by the necessity of guarding their prisoner. + +Something must be done, and she knew it. She forced herself to go back +into a reconsideration of the problem. She could not shake off the +legacy of her race, the law that was of her blood and that had been +trained into her. She knew that whatever she did she must do according +to the law, and in the long hours of watching, the shot-gun on her +knees, the murderer restless beside her and the storms thundering +without, she made original sociological researches and worked out for +herself the evolution of the law. It came to her that the law was +nothing more than the judgment and the will of any group of people. +It mattered not how large was the group of people. There were little +groups, she reasoned, like Switzerland, and there were big groups like +the United States. Also, she reasoned, it did not matter how small +was the group of people. There might be only ten thousand people in a +country, yet their collective judgment and will would be the law of +that country. Why, then, could not one thousand people constitute such +a group? she asked herself. And if one thousand, why not one hundred? +Why not fifty? Why not five? Why not--two? + +She was frightened at her own conclusion, and she talked it over with +Hans. At first he could not comprehend, and then, when he did, he added +convincing evidence. He spoke of miners' meetings, where all the men of +a locality came together and made the law and executed the law. There +might be only ten or fifteen men altogether, he said, but the will of +the majority became the law for the whole ten or fifteen, and whoever +violated that will was punished. + +Edith saw her way clear at last. Dennin must hang. Hans agreed with +her. Between them they constituted the majority of this particular +group. It was the group-will that Dennin should be hanged. In the +execution of this will Edith strove earnestly to observe the customary +forms, but the group was so small that Hans and she had to serve as +witnesses, as jury, and as judges--also as executioners. She formally +charged Michael Dennin with the murder of Dutchy and Harkey, and the +prisoner lay in his bunk and listened to the testimony, first of Hans, +and then of Edith. He refused to plead guilty or not guilty, and +remained silent when she asked him if he had anything to say in his +own defence. She and Hans, without leaving their seats, brought in the +jury's verdict of guilty. Then, as judge, she imposed the sentence. Her +voice shook, her eyelids twitched, her left arm jerked, but she carried +it out. + +"Michael Dennin, in three days' time you are to be hanged by the neck +until you are dead." + +Such was the sentence. The man breathed an unconscious sigh of relief, +then laughed defiantly, and said, "Thin I'm thinkin' the damn bunk +won't be achin' me back anny more, an' that's a consolation." + +With the passing of the sentence a feeling of relief seemed to +communicate itself to all of them. Especially was it noticeable in +Dennin. All sullenness and defiance disappeared, and he talked sociably +with his captors, and even with flashes of his old-time wit. Also, he +found great satisfaction in Edith's reading to him from the Bible. She +read from the New Testament, and he took keen interest in the prodigal +son and the thief on the cross. + +On the day preceding that set for the execution, when Edith asked +her usual question, "Why did you do it?" Dennin answered, "'Tis very +simple. I was thinkin'--" + +But she hushed him abruptly, asked him to wait, and hurried to Hans's +bedside. It was his watch off, and he came out of his sleep, rubbing +his eyes and grumbling. + +"Go," she told him, "and bring up Negook and one other Indian. +Michael's going to confess. Make them come. Take the rifle along and +bring them up at the point of it if you have to." + +Half an hour later Negook and his uncle, Hadikwan, were ushered into +the death chamber. They came unwillingly, Hans with his rifle herding +them along. + +"Negook," Edith said, "there is to be no trouble for you and your +people. Only is it for you to sit and do nothing but listen and +understand." + +Thus did Michael Dennin, under sentence of death, make public +confession of his crime. As he talked, Edith wrote his story down, +while the Indians listened, and Hans guarded the door for fear the +witnesses might bolt. + +He had not been home to the old country for fifteen years, Dennin +explained, and it had always been his intention to return with plenty +of money and make his old mother comfortable for the rest of her days. + +"An' how was I to be doin' it on sixteen hundred?" he demanded. "What +I was after wantin' was all the goold, the whole eight thousan'. Thin +I cud go back in style. What ud be aisier, thinks I to myself, than to +kill all iv yez, report it at Skaguay for an Indian-killin', an' thin +pull out for Ireland? An' so I started in to kill all iv yez, but, as +Harkey was fond of sayin', I cut out too large a chunk an' fell down on +the swallowin' iv it. An' that's me confession. I did me duty to the +devil, an' now, God willin', I'll do me duty to God." + +"Negook and Hadikwan, you have heard the white man's words," Edith said +to the Indians. "His words are here on this paper, and it is for you to +make a sign, thus, on the paper, so that white men to come after will +know that you have heard." + +The two Siwashes put crosses opposite their signatures, received a +summons to appear on the morrow with all their tribe for a further +witnessing of things, and were allowed to go. + +Dennin's hands were released long enough for him to sign the document. +Then a silence fell in the room. Hans was restless, and Edith felt +uncomfortable. Dennin lay on his back, staring straight up at the +moss-chinked roof. + +"An' now I'll do me duty to God," he murmured. He turned his head +toward Edith. "Read to me," he said, "from the book;" then added, with +a glint of playfulness, "Mayhap 'twill help me to forget the bunk." + +The day of the execution broke clear and cold. The thermometer was down +to twenty-five below zero, and a chill wind was blowing which drove +the frost through clothes and flesh to the bones. For the first time +in many weeks Dennin stood upon his feet. His muscles had remained +inactive so long, and he was so out of practice in maintaining an erect +position, that he could scarcely stand. + +He reeled back and forth, staggered, and clutched hold of Edith with his +bound hands for support. + +"Sure, an' it's dizzy I am," he laughed weakly. + +A moment later he said, "An' it's glad I am that it's over with. That +damn bunk would iv been the death iv me, I know." + +When Edith put his fur cap on his head and proceeded to pull the flaps +down over his ears, he laughed and said: + +"What are you doin' that for?" + +"It's freezing cold outside," she answered. + +"An' in tin minutes' time what'll matter a frozen ear or so to poor +Michael Dennin?" he asked. + +She had nerved herself for the last culminating ordeal, and his remark +was like a blow to her self-possession. So far, everything had seemed +phantom-like, as in a dream, but the brutal truth of what he had said +shocked her eyes wide open to the reality of what was taking place. Nor +was her distress unnoticed by the Irishman. + +"I'm sorry to be troublin' you with me foolish spache," he said +regretfully. "I mint nothin' by it. 'Tis a great day for Michael +Dennin, an' he's as gay as a lark." + +He broke out in a merry whistle, which quickly became lugubrious and +ceased. + +"I'm wishin' there was a priest," he said wistfully; then added swiftly, +"But Michael Dennin's too old a campaigner to miss the luxuries when he +hits the trail." + +He was so very weak and unused to walking that when the door opened +and he passed outside, the wind nearly carried him off his feet. Edith +and Hans walked on either side of him and supported him, the while he +cracked jokes and tried to keep them cheerful, breaking off, once, long +enough to arrange the forwarding of his share of the gold to his mother +in Ireland. + +They climbed a slight hill and came out into an open space among the +trees. Here, circled solemnly about a barrel that stood on end in the +snow, were Negook and Hadikwan, and all the Siwashes down to the babies +and the dogs, come to see the way of the white man's law. Near by was +an open grave which Hans had burned into the frozen earth. + +Dennin cast a practical eye over the preparations, noting the grave, the +barrel, the thickness of the rope, and the diameter of the limb over +which the rope was passed. + +"Sure, an' I couldn't iv done better meself, Hans, if it'd been for +you." + +He laughed loudly at his own sally, but Hans's face was frozen into +a sullen ghastliness that nothing less than the trump of doom could +have broken. Also, Hans was feeling very sick. He had not realized the +enormousness of the task of putting a fellow-man out of the world. +Edith, on the other hand, had realized; but the realization did not +make the task any easier. She was filled with doubt as to whether +she could hold herself together long enough to finish it. She felt +incessant impulses to scream, to shriek, to collapse into the snow, to +put her hands over her eyes and turn and run blindly away, into the +forest, anywhere, away. It was only by a supreme effort of soul that +she was able to keep upright and go on and do what she had to do. And +in the midst of it all she was grateful to Dennin for the way he helped +her. + +"Lind me a hand," he said to Hans, with whose assistance he managed to +mount the barrel. + +He bent over so that Edith could adjust the rope about his neck. Then +he stood upright while Hans drew the rope taut across the overhead +branch. + +"Michael Dennin, have you anything to say?" Edith asked in a clear +voice that shook in spite of her. + +Dennin shuffled his feet on the barrel, looked down bashfully like a +man making his maiden speech, and cleared his throat. + +"I'm glad it's over with," he said. "You've treated me like a +Christian, an' I'm thankin' you hearty for your kindness." + +"Then may God receive you, a repentant sinner," she said. + +"Ay," he answered, his deep voice as a response to her thin one, "may +God receive me, a repentant sinner." + +"Good-by, Michael," she cried, and her voice sounded desperate. + +She threw her weight against the barrel, but it did not overturn. + +"Hans! Quick! Help me!" she cried faintly. + +She could feel her last strength going, and the barrel resisted her. +Hans hurried to her, and the barrel went out from under Michael Dennin. + +She turned her back, thrusting her fingers into her ears. Then she +began to laugh, harshly, sharply, metallically; and Hans was shocked +as he had not been shocked through the whole tragedy. Edith Nelson's +break-down had come. Even in her hysteria she knew it, and she was glad +that she had been able to hold up under the strain until everything had +been accomplished. She reeled toward Hans. + +"Take me to the cabin, Hans," she managed to articulate. + +"And let me rest," she added. "Just let me rest, and rest, and rest." + +With Hans's arm around her, supporting her weight and directing her +helpless steps, she went off across the snow. But the Indians remained +solemnly to watch the working of the white man's law that compelled a +man to dance upon the air. + + + + +BROWN WOLF + + +She had delayed, because of the dew-wet grass, in order to put on +her overshoes, and when she emerged from the house found her waiting +husband absorbed in the wonder of a bursting almond-bud. She sent a +questing glance across the tall grass and in and out among the orchard +trees. + +"Where's Wolf?" she asked. + +"He was here a moment ago." Walt Irvine drew himself away with a jerk +from the metaphysics and poetry of the organic miracle of blossom, and +surveyed the landscape. "He was running a rabbit the last I saw of him." + +"Wolf! Wolf! Here Wolf!" she called, as they left the clearing and took +the trail that led down through the waxen-belled manzanita jungle to +the county road. + +Irvine thrust between his lips the little finger of each hand and lent +to her efforts a shrill whistling. + +She covered her ears hastily and made a wry grimace. + +"My! for a poet, delicately attuned and all the rest of it, you can +make unlovely noises. My ear-drums are pierced. You outwhistle--" + +"Orpheus." + +"I was about to say a street-arab," she concluded severely. + +"Poesy does not prevent one from being practical--at least it doesn't +prevent _me_. Mine is no futility of genius that can't sell gems to the +magazines." + +He assumed a mock extravagance, and went on: + +"I am no attic singer, no ballroom warbler. And why? Because I am +practical. Mine is no squalor of song that cannot transmute itself, +with proper exchange value, into a flower-crowned cottage, a sweet +mountain-meadow, a grove of redwoods, an orchard of thirty-seven +trees, one long row of blackberries and two short rows of strawberries, +to say nothing of a quarter of a mile of gurgling brook. I am a +beauty-merchant, a trader in song, and I pursue utility, dear Madge. +I sing a song, and thanks to the magazine editors I transmute my song +into a waft of the west wind sighing through our redwoods, into a +murmur of waters over mossy stones that sings back to me another song +than the one I sang and yet the same song wonderfully--er--transmuted." + +"O that all your song-transmutations were as successful!" she laughed. + +"Name one that wasn't." + +"Those two beautiful sonnets that you transmuted into the cow that was +accounted the worst milker in the township." + +"She was beautiful--" he began, + +"But she didn't give milk," Madge interrupted. + +"But she _was_ beautiful, now, wasn't she?" he insisted. + +"And here's where beauty and utility fall out," was her reply. "And +there's the Wolf!" + +From the thicket-covered hillside came a crashing of underbrush, and +then, forty feet above them, on the edge of the sheer wall of rock, +appeared a wolf's head and shoulders. His braced fore paws dislodged +a pebble, and with sharp-pricked ears and peering eyes he watched the +fall of the pebble till it struck at their feet. Then he transferred +his gaze and with open mouth laughed down at them. + +"You Wolf, you!" and "You blessed Wolf!" the man and woman called out +to him. + +The ears flattened back and down at the sound, and the head seemed to +snuggle under the caress of an invisible hand. + +They watched him scramble backward into the thicket, then proceeded +on their way. Several minutes later, rounding a turn in the trail +where the descent was less precipitous, he joined them in the midst +of a miniature avalanche of pebbles and loose soil. He was not +demonstrative. A pat and a rub around the ears from the man, and a more +prolonged caressing from the woman, and he was away down the trail +in front of them, gliding effortlessly over the ground in true wolf +fashion. + +In build and coat and brush he was a huge timber-wolf; but the lie +was given to his wolfhood by his color and marking. There the dog +unmistakably advertised itself. No wolf was ever colored like him. He +was brown, deep brown, red-brown, an orgy of browns. Back and shoulders +were a warm brown that paled on the sides and underneath to a yellow +that was dingy because of the brown that lingered in it. The white of +the throat and paws and the spots over the eyes was dirty because of +the persistent and ineradicable brown, while the eyes themselves were +twin topazes, golden and brown. + +The man and woman loved the dog very much; perhaps this was because +it had been such a task to win his love. It had been no easy matter +when he first drifted in mysteriously out of nowhere to their little +mountain cottage. Footsore and famished, he had killed a rabbit under +their very noses and under their very windows, and then crawled away +and slept by the spring at the foot of the blackberry bushes. When Walt +Irvine went down to inspect the intruder, he was snarled at for his +pains, and Madge likewise was snarled at when she went down to present, +as a peace-offering, a large pan of bread and milk. + +A most unsociable dog he proved to be, resenting all their advances, +refusing to let them lay hands on him, menacing them with bared fangs +and bristling hair. Nevertheless he remained, sleeping and resting by +the spring, and eating the food they gave him after they set it down +at a safe distance and retreated. His wretched physical condition +explained why he lingered; and when he had recuperated, after several +days' sojourn, he disappeared. + +And this would have been the end of him, so far as Irvine and his wife +were concerned, had not Irvine at that particular time been called away +into the northern part of the state. Riding along on the train, near +to the line between California and Oregon, he chanced to look out of +the window and saw his unsociable guest sliding along the wagon road, +brown and wolfish, tired yet tireless, dust-covered and soiled with two +hundred miles of travel. + +Now Irvine was a man of impulse, a poet. He got off the train at the +next station, bought a piece of meat at a butcher shop, and captured +the vagrant on the outskirts of the town. The return trip was made +in the baggage car, and so Wolf came a second time to the mountain +cottage. Here he was tied up for a week and made love to by the man +and woman. But it was very circumspect love-making. Remote and alien +as a traveller from another planet, he snarled down their soft-spoken +love-words. He never barked. In all the time they had him he was never +known to bark. + +To win him became a problem. Irvine liked problems. He had a metal +plate made, on which was stamped: RETURN TO WALT IRVINE, GLEN ELLEN, +SONOMA COUNTY, CALIFORNIA. This was riveted to a collar and strapped +about the dog's neck. Then he was turned loose, and promptly he +disappeared. A day later came a telegram from Mendocino County. In +twenty hours he had made over a hundred miles to the north, and was +still going when captured. + +He came back by Wells Fargo Express, was tied up three days, and was +loosed on the fourth and lost. This time he gained southern Oregon +before he was caught and returned. Always, as soon as he received his +liberty, he fled away, and always he fled north. He was possessed of +an obsession that drove him north. The homing instinct, Irvine called +it, after he had expended the selling price of a sonnet in getting the +animal back from northern Oregon. + +Another time the brown wanderer succeeded in traversing half the length +of California, all of Oregon, and most of Washington, before he was +picked up and returned "Collect." A remarkable thing was the speed +with which he travelled. Fed up and rested, as soon as he was loosed +he devoted all his energy to getting over the ground. On the first +day's run he was known to cover as high as a hundred and fifty miles, +and after that he would average a hundred miles a day until caught. He +always arrived back lean and hungry and savage, and always departed +fresh and vigorous, cleaving his way northward in response to some +prompting of his being that no one could understand. + +But at last, after a futile year of flight, he accepted the inevitable +and elected to remain at the cottage where first he had killed the +rabbit and slept by the spring. Even after that, a long time elapsed +before the man and woman succeeded in patting him. It was a great +victory, for they alone were allowed to put hands on him. He was +fastidiously exclusive, and no guest at the cottage ever succeeded in +making up to him. A low growl greeted such approach; if any one had the +hardihood to come nearer, the lips lifted, the naked fangs appeared, +and the growl became a snarl--a snarl so terrible and malignant that it +awed the stoutest of them, as it likewise awed the farmers' dogs that +knew ordinary dog-snarling, but had never seen wolf-snarling before. + +He was without antecedents. His history began with Walt and Madge. He +had come up from the south, but never a clew did they get of the owner +from whom he had evidently fled. Mrs. Johnson, their nearest neighbor +and the one who supplied them with milk, proclaimed him a Klondike dog. +Her brother was burrowing for frozen pay-streaks in that far country, +and so she constituted herself an authority on the subject. + +But they did not dispute her. There were the tips of Wolf's ears, +obviously so severely frozen at some time that they would never quite +heal again. Besides, he looked like the photographs of the Alaskan dogs +they saw published in magazines and newspapers. They often speculated +over his past, and tried to conjure up (from what they had read and +heard) what his northland life had been. That the northland still drew +him, they knew; for at night they sometimes heard him crying softly; +and when the north wind blew and the bite of frost was in the air, a +great restlessness would come upon him and he would lift a mournful +lament which they knew to be the long wolf-howl. Yet he never barked. +No provocation was great enough to draw from him that canine cry. + +Long discussion they had, during the time of winning him, as to whose +dog he was. Each claimed him, and each proclaimed loudly any expression +of affection made by him. But the man had the better of it at first, +chiefly because he was a man. It was patent that Wolf had had no +experience with women. He did not understand women. Madge's skirts were +something he never quite accepted. The swish of them was enough to set +him a-bristle with suspicion, and on a windy day she could not approach +him at all. + +On the other hand, it was Madge who fed him; also it was she who ruled +the kitchen, and it was by her favor, and her favor alone, that he was +permitted to come within that sacred precinct. It was because of these +things that she bade fair to overcome the handicap of her garments. +Then it was that Walt put forth special effort, making it a practice +to have Wolf lie at his feet while he wrote, and, between petting and +talking, losing much time from his work. Walt won in the end, and his +victory was most probably due to the fact that he was a man, though +Madge averred that they would have had another quarter of a mile of +gurgling brook, and at least two west winds sighing through their +redwoods, had Walt properly devoted his energies to song-transmutation +and left Wolf alone to exercise a natural taste and an unbiassed +judgment. + +"It's about time I heard from those triolets," Walt said, after a +silence of five minutes, during which they had swung steadily down +the trail. "There'll be a check at the post-office, I know, and we'll +transmute it into beautiful buckwheat flour, a gallon of maple syrup, +and a new pair of overshoes for you." + +"And into beautiful milk from Mrs. Johnson's beautiful cow," Madge +added. "To-morrow's the first of the month, you know." + +Walt scowled unconsciously; then his face brightened, and he clapped his +hand to his breast pocket. + +"Never mind. I have here a nice beautiful new cow, the best milker in +California." + +"When did you write it?" she demanded eagerly. Then, reproachfully, +"And you never showed it to me." + +"I saved it to read to you on the way to the post-office, in a spot +remarkably like this one," he answered, indicating, with a wave of his +hand, a dry log on which to sit. + +A tiny stream flowed out of a dense fern-brake, slipped down a +mossy-lipped stone, and ran across the path at their feet. From the +valley arose the mellow song of meadow-larks, while about them, in and +out, through sunshine and shadow, fluttered great yellow butterflies. + +Up from below came another sound that broke in upon Walt reading softly +from his manuscript. It was a crunching of heavy feet, punctuated now +and again by the clattering of a displaced stone. As Walt finished and +looked to his wife for approval, a man came into view around the turn +of the trail. He was bare-headed and sweaty. With a handkerchief in one +hand he mopped his face, while in the other hand he carried a new hat +and a wilted starched collar which he had removed from his neck. He was +a well-built man, and his muscles seemed on the point of bursting out +of the painfully new and ready-made black clothes he wore. + +"Warm day," Walt greeted him. Walt believed in country democracy, and +never missed an opportunity to practise it. + +The man paused and nodded. + +"I guess I ain't used much to the warm," he vouchsafed half +apologetically. "I'm more accustomed to zero weather." + +"You don't find any of that in this country," Walt laughed. + +"Should say not," the man answered. "An' I ain't here a-lookin' for it +neither. I'm tryin' to find my sister. Mebbe you know where she lives. +Her name's Johnson, Mrs. William Johnson." + +"You're not her Klondike brother!" Madge cried, her eyes bright with +interest, "about whom we've heard so much?" + +"Yes'm, that's me," he answered modestly. "My name's Miller, Skiff +Miller. I just thought I'd s'prise her." + +"You are on the right track then. Only you've come by the foot-path." +Madge stood up to direct him, pointing up the canyon a quarter of a +mile. "You see that blasted redwood? Take the little trail turning off +to the right. It's the short cut to her house. You can't miss it." + +"Yes'm, thank you, ma'am," he said. He made tentative efforts to go, +but seemed awkwardly rooted to the spot. He was gazing at her with +an open admiration of which he was quite unconscious, and which was +drowning, along with him, in the rising sea of embarrassment in which +he floundered. + +"We'd like to hear you tell about the Klondike," Madge said. "Mayn't +we come over some day while you are at your sister's? Or, better yet, +won't you come over and have dinner with us?" + +"Yes'm, thank you, ma'am," he mumbled mechanically. Then he caught +himself up and added: "I ain't stoppin' long. I got to be pullin' north +again. I go out on to-night's train. You see, I've got a mail contract +with the government." + +When Madge had said that it was too bad, he made another futile effort +to go. But he could not take his eyes from her face. He forgot his +embarrassment in his admiration, and it was her turn to flush and feel +uncomfortable. + +It was at this juncture, when Walt had just decided it was time for him +to be saying something to relieve the strain, that Wolf, who had been +away nosing through the brush, trotted wolf-like into view. + +Skiff Miller's abstraction disappeared. The pretty woman before him +passed out of his field of vision. He had eyes only for the dog, and a +great wonder came into his face. + +"Well, I'll be damned!" he enunciated slowly and solemnly. + +He sat down ponderingly on the log, leaving Madge standing. At the +sound of his voice, Wolf's ears had flattened down, then his mouth +had opened in a laugh. He trotted slowly up to the stranger and first +smelled his hands, then licked them with his tongue. + +Skiff Miller patted the dog's head, and slowly and solemnly repeated, +"Well, I'll be damned!" + +"Excuse me, ma'am," he said the next moment "I was just s'prised some, +that was all." + +"We're surprised, too," she answered lightly. "We never saw Wolf make +up to a stranger before." + +"Is that what you call him--Wolf?" the man asked. + +Madge nodded. "But I can't understand his friendliness toward +you--unless it's because you're from the Klondike. He's a Klondike dog, +you know." + +"Yes'm," Miller said absently. He lifted one of Wolf's fore legs and +examined the foot-pads, pressing them and denting them with his thumb. +"Kind of soft," he remarked. "He ain't been on trail for a long time." + +"I say," Walt broke in, "it is remarkable the way he lets you handle +him." + +Skiff Miller arose, no longer awkward with admiration of Madge, and in +a sharp, businesslike manner asked, "How long have you had him?" + +But just then the dog, squirming and rubbing against the newcomer's +legs, opened his mouth and barked. It was an explosive bark, brief and +joyous, but a bark. + +"That's a new one on me," Skiff Miller remarked. + +Walt and Madge stared at each other. The miracle had happened. Wolf had +barked. + +"It's the first time he ever barked," Madge said. + +"First time I ever heard him, too," Miller volunteered. + +Madge smiled at him. The man was evidently a humorist. + +"Of course," she said, "since you have only seen him for five minutes." + +Skiff Miller looked at her sharply, seeking in her face the guile her +words had led him to suspect. + +"I thought you understood," he said slowly. "I thought you'd tumbled +to it from his makin' up to me. He's my dog. His name ain't Wolf. It's +Brown." + +"Oh, Walt!" was Madge's instinctive cry to her husband. + +Walt was on the defensive at once. + +"How do you know he's your dog?" he demanded. + +"Because he is," was the reply. + +"Mere assertion," Walt said sharply. + +In his slow and pondering way, Skiff Miller looked at him, then asked, +with a nod of his head toward Madge: + +"How d'you know she's your wife? You just say, 'Because she is,' and +I'll say it's mere assertion. The dog's mine. I bred 'm an' raised 'm, +an' I guess I ought to know. Look here. I'll prove it to you." + +Skiff Miller turned to the dog. "Brown!" His voice rang out sharply, +and at the sound the dog's ears flattened down as to a caress. "Gee!" +The dog made a swinging turn to the right. "Now mush-on!" And the +dog ceased his swing abruptly and started straight ahead, halting +obediently at command. + +"I can do it with whistles," Skiff Miller said proudly. "He was my lead +dog." + +"But you are not going to take him away with you?" Madge asked +tremulously. + +The man nodded. + +"Back into that awful Klondike world of suffering?" + +He nodded and added: "Oh, it ain't so bad as all that. Look at me. +Pretty healthy specimen, ain't I?" + +"But the dogs! The terrible hardship, the heart-breaking toil, the +starvation, the frost! Oh, I've read about it and I know." + +"I nearly ate him once, over on Little Fish River," Miller volunteered +grimly. "If I hadn't got a moose that day was all that saved 'm." + +"I'd have died first!" Madge cried. + +"Things is different down here," Miller explained. "You don't have to +eat dogs. You think different just about the time you're all in. You've +never ben all in, so you don't know anything about it." + +"That's the very point," she argued warmly. "Dogs are not eaten in +California. Why not leave him here? He is happy. He'll never want for +food--you know that. He'll never suffer from cold and hardship. Here +all is softness and gentleness. Neither the human nor nature is savage. +He will never know a whip-lash again. And as for the weather--why, it +never snows here." + +"But it's all-fired hot in summer, beggin' your pardon," Skiff Miller +laughed. + +"But you do not answer," Madge continued passionately. "What have you +to offer him in that northland life?" + +"Grub, when I've got it, and that's most of the time," came the answer. + +"And the rest of the time?" + +"No grub." + +"And the work?" + +"Yes, plenty of work," Miller blurted out impatiently. "Work without +end, an' famine, an' frost, an all the rest of the miseries--that's +what he'll get when he comes with me. But he likes it. He is used to +it. He knows that life. He was born to it an' brought up to it. An' you +don't know anything about it. You don't know what you're talking about. +That's where the dog belongs, and that's where he'll be happiest." + +"The dog doesn't go," Walt announced in a determined voice. "So there +is no need of further discussion." + +"What's that?" Skiff Miller demanded, his brows lowering and an +obstinate flush of blood reddening his forehead. + +"I said the dog doesn't go, and that settles it. I don't believe he's +your dog. You may have seen him sometime. You may even sometime have +driven him for his owner. But his obeying the ordinary driving commands +of the Alaskan trail is no demonstration that he is yours. Any dog +in Alaska would obey you as he obeyed. Besides, he is undoubtedly a +valuable dog, as dogs go in Alaska, and that is sufficient explanation +of your desire to get possession of him. Anyway, you've got to prove +property." + +Skiff Miller, cool and collected, the obstinate flush a trifle deeper +on his forehead, his huge muscles bulging under the black cloth of his +coat, carefully looked the poet up and down as though measuring the +strength of his slenderness. + +The Klondiker's face took on a contemptuous expression as he said +finally, "I reckon there's nothin' in sight to prevent me takin' the +dog right here an' now." + +Walt's face reddened, and the striking-muscles of his arms and +shoulders seemed to stiffen and grow tense. His wife fluttered +apprehensively into the breach. + +"Maybe Mr. Miller is right," she said. "I am afraid that he is. Wolf +does seem to know him, and certainly he answers to the name of 'Brown.' +He made friends with him instantly, and you know that's something he +never did with anybody before. Besides, look at the way he barked. He +was just bursting with joy. Joy over what? Without doubt at finding Mr. +Miller." + +Walt's striking-muscles relaxed, and his shoulders seemed to droop with +hopelessness. + +"I guess you're right, Madge," he said. "Wolf isn't Wolf, but Brown, +and he must belong to Mr. Miller." + +"Perhaps Mr. Miller will sell him," she suggested. "We can buy him." + +Skiff Miller shook his head, no longer belligerent, but kindly, quick +to be generous in response to generousness. + +"I had five dogs," he said, casting about for the easiest way to temper +his refusal. "He was the leader. They was the crack team of Alaska. +Nothin' could touch 'em. In 1898 I refused five thousand dollars for +the bunch. Dogs was high, then, anyway; but that wasn't what made the +fancy price. It was the team itself. Brown was the best in the team. +That winter I refused twelve hundred for 'm. I didn't sell 'm then, an' +I ain't a-sellin' 'm now. Besides, I think a mighty lot of that dog. +I've ben lookin' for 'm for three years. It made me fair sick when I +found he'd ben stole--not the value of him, but the--well, I liked 'm +like hell, that's all, beggin' your pardon. I couldn't believe my eyes +when I seen 'm just now. I thought I was dreamin'. It was too good to +be true. Why, I was his wet-nurse. I put 'm to bed, snug every night. +His mother died, and I brought 'm up on condensed milk at two dollars +a can when I couldn't afford it in my own coffee. He never knew any +mother but me. He used to suck my finger regular, the darn little +cuss--that finger right there!" + +And Skiff Miller, too overwrought for speech, held up a fore finger for +them to see. + +"That very finger," he managed to articulate, as though it somehow +clinched the proof of ownership and the bond of affection. + +He was still gazing at his extended finger when Madge began to speak. + +"But the dog," she said. "You haven't considered the dog." + +Skiff Miller looked puzzled. + +"Have you thought about him?" she asked. + +"Don't know what you're drivin' at," was the response. + +"Maybe the dog has some choice in the matter," Madge went on. "Maybe he +has his likes and desires. You have not considered him. You give him no +choice. It has never entered your mind that possibly he might prefer +California to Alaska. You consider only what you like. You do with him +as you would with a sack of potatoes or a bale of hay." + +This was a new way of looking at it, and Miller was visibly impressed +as he debated it in his mind. Madge took advantage of his indecision. + +"If you really love him, what would be happiness to him would be your +happiness also," she urged. + +Skiff Miller continued to debate with himself, and Madge stole a glance +of exultation to her husband, who looked back warm approval. + +"What do you think?" the Klondiker suddenly demanded. + +It was her turn to be puzzled. "What do you mean?" she asked. + +"D'ye think he'd sooner stay in California?" + +She nodded her head with positiveness. "I am sure of it." + +Skiff Miller again debated with himself, though this time aloud, at the +same time running his gaze in a judicial way over the mooted animal. + +"He was a good worker. He's done a heap of work for me. He never loafed +on me, an' he was a joe-dandy at hammerin' a raw team into shape. He's +got a head on him. He can do everything but talk. He knows what you say +to him. Look at 'm now. He knows we're talkin' about him." + +The dog was lying at Skiff Miller's feet, head close down on paws, +ears erect and listening, and eyes that were quick and eager to follow +the sound of speech as it fell from the lips of first one and then the +other. + +"An' there's a lot of work in 'm yet. He's good for years to come. An' +I do like him. I like him like hell." + +Once or twice after that Skiff Miller opened his mouth and closed it +again without speaking. Finally he said: + +"I'll tell you what I'll do. Your remarks, ma'am, has some weight in +them. The dog's worked hard, and maybe he's earned a soft berth an' has +got a right to choose. Anyway, we'll leave it up to him. Whatever he +says, goes. You people stay right here settin' down. I'll say good-by +and walk off casual-like. If he wants to stay, he can stay. If he wants +to come with me, let 'm come. I won't call 'm to come an' don't you +call 'm to come back." + +He looked with sudden suspicion at Madge, and added, "Only you must +play fair. No persuadin' after my back is turned." + +"We'll play fair," Madge began, but Skiff Miller broke in on her +assurances. + +"I know the ways of women," he announced. "Their hearts is soft. When +their hearts is touched they're likely to stack the cards, look at the +bottom of the deck, an' lie like the devil--beggin' your pardon, ma'am. +I'm only discoursin' about women in general." + +"I don't know how to thank you," Madge quavered. + +"I don't see as you've got any call to thank me," he replied. "Brown +ain't decided yet. Now you won't mind if I go away slow? It's no more'n +fair, seein' I'll be out of sight inside a hundred yards."--Madge +agreed, and added, "And I promise you faithfully that we won't do +anything to influence him." + +"Well, then, I might as well be gettin' along," Skiff Miller said in +the ordinary tones of one departing. + +At this change in his voice, Wolf lifted his head quickly, and still +more quickly got to his feet when the man and woman shook hands. He +sprang up on his hind legs, resting his fore paws on her hip and at the +same time licking Skiff Miller's hand. When the latter shook hands with +Walt, Wolf repeated his act, resting his weight on Walt and licking +both men's hands. + +"It ain't no picnic, I can tell you that," were the Klondiker's last +words, as he turned and went slowly up the trail. + +For the distance of twenty feet Wolf watched him go, himself all +eagerness and expectancy, as though waiting for the man to turn and +retrace his steps. Then, with a quick low whine, Wolf sprang after +him, overtook him, caught his hand between his teeth with reluctant +tenderness, and strove gently to make him pause. + +Failing in this, Wolf raced back to where Walt Irvine sat, catching +his coat-sleeve in his teeth and trying vainly to drag him after the +retreating man. + +Wolf's perturbation began to wax. He desired ubiquity. He wanted to +be in two places at the same time, with the old master and the new, +and steadily the distance between them was increasing. He sprang about +excitedly, making short nervous leaps and twists, now toward one, now +toward the other, in painful indecision, not knowing his own mind, +desiring both and unable to choose, uttering quick sharp whines and +beginning to pant. + +He sat down abruptly on his haunches, thrusting his nose upward, the +mouth opening and closing with jerking movements, each time opening +wider. These jerking movements were in unison with the recurrent +spasms that attacked the throat, each spasm severer and more intense +than the preceding one. And in accord with jerks and spasms the larynx +began to vibrate, at first silently, accompanied by the rush of air +expelled from the lungs, then sounding a low, deep note, the lowest in +the register of the human ear. All this was the nervous and muscular +preliminary to howling. + +But just as the howl was on the verge of bursting from the full throat, +the wide-opened mouth was closed, the paroxysms ceased, and he looked +long and steadily at the retreating man. Suddenly Wolf turned his head, +and over his shoulder just as steadily regarded Walt. The appeal was +unanswered. Not a word nor a sign did the dog receive, no suggestion +and no clew as to what his conduct should be. + +A glance ahead to where the old master was nearing the curve of the +trail excited him again. He sprang to his feet with a whine, and then, +struck by a new idea, turned his attention to Madge. Hitherto he had +ignored her, but now, both masters failing him, she alone was left. +He went over to her and snuggled his head in her lap, nudging her arm +with his nose--an old trick of his when begging for favors. He backed +away from her and began writhing and twisting playfully, curvetting +and prancing, half rearing and striking his fore paws to the earth, +struggling with all his body, from the wheedling eyes and flattening +ears to the wagging tail, to express the thought that was in him and +that was denied him utterance. + +This, too, he soon abandoned. He was depressed by the coldness of these +humans who had never been cold before. No response could he draw from +them, no help could he get. They did not consider him. They were as +dead. + +He turned and silently gazed after the old master. Skiff Miller +was rounding the curve. In a moment he would be gone from view. +Yet he never turned his head, plodding straight onward, slowly and +methodically, as though possessed of no interest in what was occurring +behind his back. + +And in this fashion he went out of view. Wolf waited for him to +reappear. He waited a long minute, silently, quietly, without movement, +as though turned to stone--withal stone quick with eagerness and +desire. He barked once, and waited. Then he turned and trotted back to +Walt Irvine. He sniffed his hand and dropped down heavily at his feet, +watching the trail where it curved emptily from view. + +The tiny stream slipping down the mossy-lipped stone seemed suddenly to +increase the volume of its gurgling noise. Save for the meadow-larks, +there was no other sound. The great yellow butterflies drifted silently +through the sunshine and lost themselves in the drowsy shadows. Madge +gazed triumphantly at her husband. + +A few minutes later Wolf got upon his feet. Decision and deliberation +marked his movements. He did not glance at the man and woman. His eyes +were fixed up the trail. He had made up his mind. They knew it. And +they knew, so far as they were concerned, that the ordeal had just +begun. + +He broke into a trot, and Madge's lips pursed, forming an avenue for +the caressing sound that it was the will of her to send forth. But the +caressing sound was not made. She was impelled to look at her husband, +and she saw the sternness with which he watched her. The pursed lips +relaxed, and she sighed inaudibly. + +Wolf's trot broke into a run. Wider and wider were the leaps he made. +Not once did he turn his head, his wolf's brush standing out straight +behind him. He cut sharply across the curve of the trail and was gone. + + + + +THE SUN-DOG TRAIL + + +Sitka Charley smoked his pipe and gazed thoughtfully at the _Police +Gazette_ illustration on the wall. For half an hour he had been +steadily regarding it, and for half an hour I had been slyly watching +him. Something was going on in that mind of his, and, whatever it +was, I knew it was well worth knowing. He had lived life, and seen +things, and performed that prodigy of prodigies, namely, the turning +of his back upon his own people, and, in so far as it was possible for +an Indian, becoming a white man even in his mental processes. As he +phrased it himself, he had come into the warm, sat among us, by our +fires, and become one of us. He had never learned to read nor write, +but his vocabulary was remarkable, and more remarkable still was the +completeness with which he had assumed the white man's point of view, +the white man's attitude toward things. + +We had struck this deserted cabin after a hard day on trail. The dogs +had been fed, the supper dishes washed, the beds made, and we were +now enjoying that most delicious hour that comes each day, and but +once each day, on the Alaskan trail, the hour when nothing intervenes +between the tired body and bed save the smoking of the evening +pipe. Some former denizen of the cabin had decorated its walls with +illustrations torn from magazines and newspapers, and it was these +illustrations that had held Sitka Charley's attention from the moment +of our arrival two hours before. He had studied them intently, ranging +from one to another and back again, and I could see that there was +uncertainty in his mind, and bepuzzlement. + +"Well?" I finally broke the silence. + +He took the pipe from his mouth and said simply, "I do not understand." + +He smoked on again, and again removed the pipe, using it to point at +the _Police Gazette_ illustration. + +"That picture--what does it mean? I do not understand." + +I looked at the picture. A man, with a preposterously wicked face, his +right hand pressed dramatically to his heart, was falling backward +to the floor. Confronting him, with a face that was a composite of +destroying angel and Adonis, was a man holding a smoking revolver. + +"One man is killing the other man," I said, aware of a distinct +bepuzzlement of my own and of failure to explain. + +"Why?" asked Sitka Charley. + +"I do not know," I confessed. + +"That picture is all end," he said. "It has no beginning." + +"It is life," I said. + +"Life has beginning," he objected. + +I was silenced for the moment, while his eyes wandered on to an +adjoining decoration, a photographic reproduction of somebody's "Leda +and the Swan." + +"That picture," he said, "has no beginning. It has no end. I do not +understand pictures." + +"Look at that picture," I commanded, pointing to a third decoration. +"It means something. Tell me what it means to you." + +He studied it for several minutes. + +"The little girl is sick," he said finally. "That is the doctor looking +at her. They have been up all night--see, the oil is low in the lamp, +the first morning light is coming in at the window. It is a great +sickness; maybe she will die, that is why the doctor looks so hard. +That is the mother. It is a great sickness, because the mother's head +is on the table and she is crying." + +"How do you know she is crying?" I interrupted. "You cannot see her +face. Perhaps she is asleep." + +Sitka Charley looked at me in swift surprise, then back at the picture. +It was evident that he had not reasoned the impression. + +"Perhaps she is asleep," he repeated. He studied it closely. "No, she +is not asleep. The shoulders show that she is not asleep. I have seen +the shoulders of a woman who cried. The mother is crying. It is a very +great sickness." + +"And now you understand the picture," I cried. + +He shook his head, and asked, "The little girl--does it die?" + +It was my turn for silence. + +"Does it die?" he reiterated. "You are a painter-man. Maybe you know." + +"No, I do not know," I confessed. + +"It is not life," he delivered himself dogmatically. "In life little +girl die or get well. Something happen in life. In picture nothing +happen. No, I do not understand pictures." + +His disappointment was patent. It was his desire to understand all +things that white men understand, and here, in this matter, he failed. +I felt, also, that there was challenge in his attitude. He was bent +upon compelling me to show him the wisdom of pictures. Besides, he had +remarkable powers of visualization. I had long since learned this. He +visualized everything. He saw life in pictures, felt life in pictures, +generalized life in pictures; and yet he did not understand pictures +when seen through other men's eyes and expressed by those men with +color and line upon canvas. + +"Pictures are bits of life," I said. "We paint life as we see it. For +instance, Charley, you are coming along the trail. It is night. You +see a cabin. The window is lighted. You look through the window for +one second, or for two seconds, you see something, and you go on your +way. You saw maybe a man writing a letter. You saw something without +beginning or end. Nothing happened. Yet it was a bit of life you saw. +You remember it afterward. It is like a picture in your memory. The +window is the frame of the picture." + +I could see that he was interested, and I knew that as I spoke he had +looked through the window and seen the man writing the letter. + +"There is a picture you have painted that I understand," he said. "It +is a true picture. It has much meaning. It is in your cabin at Dawson. +It is a faro table. There are men playing. It is a large game. The +limit is off." + +"How do you know the limit is off?" I broke in excitedly, for here was +where my work could be tried out on an unbiassed judge who knew life +only, and not art, and who was a sheer master of reality. Also, I was +very proud of that particular piece of work. I had named it "The Last +Turn," and I believed it to be one of the best things I had ever done. + +"There are no chips on the table," Sitka Charley explained. "The +men are playing with markers. That means the roof is the limit. One +man play yellow markers--maybe one yellow marker worth one thousand +dollars, maybe two thousand dollars. One man play red markers. Maybe +they are worth five hundred dollars, maybe one thousand dollars. It +is a very big game. Everybody play very high, up to the roof. How do +I know? You make the dealer with blood little bit warm in face." (I +was delighted.) "The lookout, you make him lean forward in his chair. +Why he lean forward? Why his face very much quiet? Why his eyes very +much bright? Why dealer warm with blood a little bit in the face? Why +all men very quiet?--the man with yellow markers? the man with white +markers? the man with red markers? Why nobody talk? Because very much +money. Because last turn." + +"How do you know it is the last turn?" I asked. + +"The king is coppered, the seven is played open," he answered. "Nobody +bet on other cards. Other cards all gone. Everybody one mind. Everybody +play king to lose, seven to win. Maybe bank lose twenty thousand +dollars, maybe bank win. Yes, that picture I understand." + +"Yet you do not know the end!" I cried triumphantly. "It is the last +turn, but the cards are not yet turned. In the picture they will never +be turned. Nobody will ever know who wins nor who loses." + +"And the men will sit there and never talk," he said, wonder and awe +growing in his face. "And the lookout will lean forward, and the blood +will be warm in the face of the dealer. It is a strange thing. Always +will they sit there, always; and the cards will never be turned." + +"It is a picture," I said. "It is life. You have seen things like it +yourself." + +He looked at me and pondered, then said, very slowly: "No, as you say, +there is no end to it. Nobody will ever know the end. Yet is it a true +thing. I have seen it. It is life." + +For a long time he smoked on in silence, weighing the pictorial wisdom +of the white man and verifying it by the facts of life. He nodded his +head several times, and grunted once or twice. Then he knocked the +ashes from his pipe, carefully refilled it, and after a thoughtful +pause, lighted it again. + +"Then have I, too, seen many pictures of life," he began; "pictures not +painted, but seen with the eyes. I have looked at them like through the +window at the man writing the letter. I have seen many pieces of life, +without beginning, without end, without understanding." + +With a sudden change of position he turned his eyes full upon me and +regarded me thoughtfully. + +"Look you," he said; "you are a painter-man. How would you paint this +which I saw, a picture without beginning, the ending of which I do not +understand, a piece of life with the northern lights for a candle and +Alaska for a frame." + +"It is a large canvas," I murmured. + +But he ignored me, for the picture he had in mind was before his eyes +and he was seeing it. + +"There are many names for this picture," he said. "But in the picture +there are many sun-dogs, and it comes into my mind to call it 'The +Sun-Dog Trail.' It was a long time ago, seven years ago, the fall +of '97, when I saw the woman first time. At Lake Linderman I had one +canoe, very good Peterborough canoe. I came over Chilcoot Pass with +two thousand letters for Dawson. I was letter carrier. Everybody rush +to Klondike at that time. Many people on trail. Many people chop down +trees and make boats. Last water, snow in the air, snow on the ground, +ice on the lake, on the river ice in the eddies. Every day more snow, +more ice. Maybe one day, maybe three days, maybe six days, any day +maybe freeze-up come, then no more water, all ice, everybody walk, +Dawson six hundred miles, long time walk. Boat go very quick. Everybody +want to go boat. Everybody say, 'Charley, two hundred dollars you take +me in canoe,' 'Charley, three hundred dollars,' 'Charley, four hundred +dollars.' I say no, all the time I say no. I am letter carrier. + +"In morning I get to Lake Linderman. I walk all night and am much +tired. I cook breakfast, I eat, then I sleep on the beach three hours. +I wake up. It is ten o'clock. Snow is falling. There is wind, much wind +that blows fair. Also, there is a woman who sits in the snow alongside. +She is white woman, she is young, very pretty, maybe she is twenty +years old, maybe twenty-five years old. She look at me. I look at her. +She is very tired. She is no dance-woman. I see that right away. She is +good woman, and she is very tired. + +"'You are Sitka Charley,' she says. I get up quick and roll blankets +so snow does not get inside. 'I go to Dawson,' she says. 'I go in your +canoe--how much?' + +"I do not want anybody in my canoe. I do not like to say no. So I say, +'One thousand dollars.' Just for fun I say it, so woman cannot come +with me, much better than say no. She look at me very hard, then she +says, 'When you start?' I say right away. Then she says all right, she +will give me one thousand dollars. + +"What can I say? I do not want the woman, yet have I given my word that +for one thousand dollars she can come. I am surprised. Maybe she make +fun, too, so I say, 'Let me see thousand dollars.' And that woman, that +young woman, all alone on the trail, there in the snow, she take out +one thousand dollars, in greenbacks, and she put them in my hand. I +look at money, I look at her. What can I say? I say, 'No, my canoe very +small. There is no room for outfit.' She laugh. She says, 'I am great +traveller. This is my outfit.' She kick one small pack in the snow. It +is two fur robes, canvas outside, some woman's clothes inside. I pick +it up. Maybe thirty-five pounds. I am surprised. She take it away from +me. She says, 'Come, let us start.' She carries pack into canoe. What +can I say? I put my blankets into canoe. We start. + +"And that is the way I saw the woman first time. The wind was fair. I +put up small sail. The canoe went very fast, it flew like a bird over +the high waves. The woman was much afraid. 'What for you come Klondike +much afraid?' I ask. She laugh at me, a hard laugh, but she is still +much afraid. Also is she very tired. I run canoe through rapids to Lake +Bennett. Water very bad, and woman cry out because she is afraid. We go +down Lake Bennett, snow, ice, wind like a gale, but woman is very tired +and go to sleep. + +"That night we make camp at Windy Arm. Woman sit by fire and eat +supper. I look at her. She is pretty. She fix hair. There is much hair, +and it is brown, also sometimes it is like gold in the firelight, when +she turn her head, so, and flashes come from it like golden fire. +The eyes are large and brown, sometimes warm like a candle behind a +curtain, sometimes very hard and bright like broken ice when sun shines +upon it. When she smile--how can I say?--when she smile I know white +man like to kiss her, just like that, when she smile. She never do +hard work. Her hands are soft, like baby's hand. She is soft all over, +like baby. She is not thin, but round like baby; her arm, her leg, her +muscles, all soft and round like baby. Her waist is small, and when she +stand up, when she walk, or move her head or arm, it is--I do not know +the word--but it is nice to look at, like--maybe I say she is built on +lines like the lines of a good canoe, just like that, and when she move +she is like the movement of the good canoe sliding through still water +or leaping through water when it is white and fast and angry. It is +very good to see. + +"Why does she come into Klondike, all alone, with plenty of money? I do +not know. Next day I ask her. She laugh and says: 'Sitka Charley, that +is none of your business. I give you one thousand dollars take me to +Dawson. That only is your business.' Next day after that I ask her what +is her name. She laugh, then she says, 'Mary Jones, that is my name.' +I do not know her name, but I know all the time that Mary Jones is not +her name. + +"It is very cold in canoe, and because of cold sometimes she not feel +good. Sometimes she feel good and she sing. Her voice is like a silver +bell, and I feel good all over like when I go into church at Holy Cross +Mission, and when she sing I feel strong and paddle like hell. Then she +laugh and says, 'You think we get to Dawson before freeze-up, Charley?' +Sometimes she sit in canoe and is thinking far away, her eyes like +that, all empty. She does not see Sitka Charley, nor the ice, nor the +snow. She is far away. Very often she is like that, thinking far away. +Sometimes, when she is thinking far away, her face is not good to see. +It looks like a face that is angry, like the face of one man when he +want to kill another man. + +"Last day to Dawson very bad. Shore-ice in all the eddies, mush-ice +in the stream. I cannot paddle. The canoe freeze to ice. I cannot get +to shore. There is much danger. All the time we go down Yukon in the +ice. That night there is much noise of ice. Then ice stop, canoe stop, +everything stop. 'Let us go to shore,' the woman says. I say no, better +wait. By and by, everything start down-stream again. There is much +snow. I cannot see. At eleven o'clock at night, everything stop. At +one o'clock everything start again. At three o'clock everything stop. +Canoe is smashed like eggshell, but is on top of ice and cannot sink. +I hear dogs howling. We wait. We sleep. By and by morning come. There +is no more snow. It is the freeze-up, and there is Dawson. Canoe smash +and stop right at Dawson. Sitka Charley has come in with two thousand +letters on very last water. + +"The woman rent a cabin on the hill, and for one week I see her no +more. Then, one day, she come to me. 'Charley,' she says, 'how do you +like to work for me? You drive dogs, make camp, travel with me.' I say +that I make too much money carrying letters. She says, 'Charley, I will +pay you more money.' I tell her that pick-and-shovel man get fifteen +dollars a day in the mines. She says, 'That is four hundred and fifty +dollars a month.' And I say, 'Sitka Charley is no pick-and-shovel man.' +Then she says, 'I understand, Charley. I will give you seven hundred +and fifty dollars each month.' It is a good price, and I go to work for +her. I buy for her dogs and sled. We travel up Klondike, up Bonanza +and Eldorado, over to Indian River, to Sulphur Creek, to Dominion, +back across divide to Gold Bottom and to Too Much Gold, and back to +Dawson. All the time she look for something, I do not know what. I am +puzzled. 'What thing you look for?' I ask. She laugh. 'You look for +gold?' I ask. She laugh. Then she says, 'That is none of your business, +Charley.' And after that I never ask any more. + +"She has a small revolver which she carries in her belt. Sometimes, on +trail, she makes practice with revolver. I laugh. 'What for you laugh, +Charley?' she ask. 'What for you play with that?' I say. 'It is no +good. It is too small. It is for a child, a little plaything.' When we +get back to Dawson she ask me to buy good revolver for her. I buy a +Colt's 44. It is very heavy, but she carry it in her belt all the time. + +"At Dawson comes the man. Which way he come I do not know. Only do I +know he is _checha-quo_--what you call tenderfoot. His hands are soft, +just like hers. He never do hard work. He is soft all over. At first +I think maybe he is her husband. But he is too young. Also, they make +two beds at night. He is maybe twenty years old. His eyes blue, his +hair yellow, he has a little mustache which is yellow. His name is John +Jones. Maybe he is her brother. I do not know. I ask questions no more. +Only I think his name not John Jones. Other people call him Mr. Girvan. +I do not think that is his name. I do not think her name is Miss +Girvan, which other people call her. I think nobody know their names. + +"One night I am asleep at Dawson. He wake me up. He says, 'Get the dogs +ready; we start.' No more do I ask questions, so I get the dogs ready +and we start. We go down the Yukon. It is night-time, it is November, +and it is very cold--sixty-five below. She is soft. He is soft. The +cold bites. They get tired. They cry under their breaths to themselves. +By and by I say better we stop and make camp. But they say that they +will go on. Three times I say better to make camp and rest, but each +time they say they will go on. After that I say nothing. All the time, +day after day, is it that way. They are very soft. They get stiff and +sore. They do not understand moccasins, and their feet hurt very much. +They limp, they stagger like drunken people, they cry under their +breaths; and all the time they say, 'On! on! We will go on!' + +"They are like crazy people. All the time do they go on, and on. Why +do they go on? I do not know. Only do they go on. What are they after? +I do not know. They are not after gold. There is no stampede. Besides, +they spend plenty of money. But I ask questions no more. I, too, go on +and on, because I am strong on the trail and because I am greatly paid. + +"We make Circle City. That for which they look is not there. I think +now that we will rest, and rest the dogs. But we do not rest, not for +one day do we rest. 'Come,' says the woman to the man, 'let us go on.' +And we go on. We leave the Yukon. We cross the divide to the west and +swing down into the Tanana Country. There are new diggings there. But +that for which they look is not there, and we take the back trail to +Circle City. + +"It is a hard journey. December is most gone. The days are short. It +is very cold. One morning it is seventy below zero. 'Better that we +don't travel to-day,' I say, 'else will the frost be unwarmed in the +breathing and bite all the edges of our lungs. After that we will have +bad cough, and maybe next spring will come pneumonia.' But they are +_checha-quo_. They do not understand the trail. They are like dead +people they are so tired, but they say, 'Let us go on.' We go on. The +frost bites their lungs, and they get the dry cough. They cough till +the tears run down their cheeks. When bacon is frying they must run +away from the fire and cough half an hour in the snow. They freeze +their cheeks a little bit, so that the skin turns black and is very +sore. Also, the man freezes his thumb till the end is like to come +off, and he must wear a large thumb on his mitten to keep it warm. And +sometimes, when the frost bites hard and the thumb is very cold, he +must take off the mitten and put the hand between his legs next to the +skin, so that the thumb may get warm again. + +"We limp into Circle City, and even I, Sitka Charley, am tired. It +is Christmas Eve. I dance, drink, make a good time, for to-morrow is +Christmas Day and we will rest. But no. It is five o'clock in the +morning--Christmas morning. I am two hours asleep. The man stand by my +bed. 'Come, Charley,' he says, 'harness the dogs. We start.' + +"Have I not said that I ask questions no more? They pay me seven +hundred and fifty dollars each month. They are my masters. I am their +man. If they say, 'Charley, come, let us start for hell,' I will +harness the dogs, and snap the whip, and start for hell. So I harness +the dogs, and we start down the Yukon. Where do we go? They do not say. +Only do they say, 'On! on! We will go on!' + +"They are very weary. They have travelled many hundreds of miles, and +they do not understand the way of the trail. Besides, their cough is +very bad--the dry cough that makes strong men swear and weak men cry. +But they go on. Every day they go on. Never do they rest the dogs. +Always do they buy new dogs. At every camp, at every post, at every +Indian village, do they cut out the tired dogs and put in fresh dogs. +They have much money, money without end, and like water they spend it. +They are crazy? Sometimes I think so, for there is a devil in them that +drives them on and on, always on. What is it that they try to find? It +is not gold. Never do they dig in the ground. I think a long time. Then +I think it is a man they try to find. But what man? Never do we see the +man. Yet are they like wolves on the trail of the kill. But they are +funny wolves, soft wolves, baby wolves who do not understand the way +of the trail. They cry aloud in their sleep at night. In their sleep +they moan and groan with the pain of their weariness. And in the day, +as they stagger along the trail, they cry under their breaths. They are +funny wolves. + +"We pass Fort Yukon. We pass Fort Hamilton. We pass Minook. January has +come and nearly gone. The days are very short. At nine o'clock comes +daylight. At three o'clock comes night. And it is cold. And even I, +Sitka Charley, am tired. Will we go on forever this way without end? I +do not know. But always do I look along the trail for that which they +try to find. There are few people on the trail. Sometimes we travel one +hundred miles and never see a sign of life. It is very quiet. There +is no sound. Sometimes it snows, and we are like wandering ghosts. +Sometimes it is clear, and at midday the sun looks at us for a moment +over the hills to the south. The northern lights flame in the sky, and +the sun-dogs dance, and the air is filled with frost-dust. + +"I am Sitka Charley, a strong man. I was born on the trail, and all +my days have I lived on the trail. And yet have these two baby wolves +made me very tired. I am lean, like a starved cat, and I am glad of my +bed at night, and in the morning am I greatly weary. Yet ever are we +hitting the trail in the dark before daylight, and still on the trail +does the dark after nightfall find us. These two baby wolves! If I +am lean like a starved cat, they are lean like cats that have never +eaten and have died. Their eyes are sunk deep in their heads, bright +sometimes as with fever, dim and cloudy sometimes like the eyes of the +dead. Their cheeks are hollow like caves in a cliff. Also are their +cheeks black and raw from many freezings. Sometimes it is the woman in +the morning who says, 'I cannot get up. I cannot move. Let me die.' And +it is the man who stands beside her and says, 'Come, let us go on.' +And they go on. And sometimes it is the man who cannot get up, and the +woman says, 'Come, let us go on.' But the one thing they do, and always +do, is to go on. Always do they go on. + +"Sometimes, at the trading posts, the man and woman get letters. I do +not know what is in the letters. But it is the scent that they follow, +these letters themselves are the scent. One time an Indian gives them a +letter. I talk with him privately. He says it is a man with one eye who +gives him the letter, a man who travels fast down the Yukon. That is +all. But I know that the baby wolves are after the man with the one eye. + +"It is February, and we have travelled fifteen hundred miles. We are +getting near Bering Sea, and there are storms and blizzards. The going +is hard. We come to Anvig. I do not know, but I think sure they get a +letter at Anvig, for they are much excited, and they say, 'Come, hurry, +let us go on.' But I say we must buy grub, and they say we must travel +light and fast. Also, they say that we can get grub at Charley McKeon's +cabin. Then do I know that they take the big cut-off, for it is there +that Charley McKeon lives where the Black Rock stands by the trail. + +"Before we start, I talk maybe two minutes with the priest at Anvig. +Yes, there is a man with one eye who has gone by and who travels fast. +And I know that for which they look is the man with the one eye. We +leave Anvig with little grub, and travel light and fast. There are +three fresh dogs bought in Anvig, and we travel very fast. The man and +woman are like mad. We start earlier in the morning, we travel later +at night. I look sometimes to see them die, these two baby wolves, but +they will not die. They go on and on. When the dry cough take hold of +them hard, they hold their hands against their stomach and double up +in the snow, and cough, and cough, and cough. They cannot walk, they +cannot talk. Maybe for ten minutes they cough, maybe for half an hour, +and then they straighten up, the tears from the coughing frozen on +their faces, and the words they say are, 'Come, let us go on.' + +"Even I, Sitka Charley, am greatly weary, and I think seven hundred +and fifty dollars is a cheap price for the labor I do. We take the big +cut-off, and the trail is fresh. The baby wolves have their noses down +to the trail, and they say, 'Hurry!' All the time do they say, 'Hurry! +Faster! Faster!' It is hard on the dogs. We have not much food and we +cannot give them enough to eat, and they grow weak. Also, they must +work hard. The woman has true sorrow for them, and often, because of +them, the tears are in her eyes. But the devil in her that drives her +on will not let her stop and rest the dogs. + +"And then we come upon the man with the one eye. He is in the snow by +the trail, and his leg is broken. Because of the leg he has made a poor +camp, and has been lying on his blankets for three days and keeping a +fire going. When we find him he is swearing. He swears like hell. Never +have I heard a man swear like that man. I am glad. Now that they have +found that for which they look, we will have rest. But the woman says, +'Let us start. Hurry!' + +"I am surprised. But the man with the one eye says, 'Never mind me. +Give me your grub. You will get more grub at McKeon's cabin to-morrow. +Send McKeon back for me. But do you go on.' Here is another wolf, an +old wolf, and he, too, thinks but the one thought, to go on. So we give +him our grub, which is not much, and we chop wood for his fire, and we +take his strongest dogs and go on. We left the man with one eye there +in the snow, and he died there in the snow, for McKeon never went back +for him. And who that man was, and why he came to be there, I do not +know. But I think he was greatly paid by the man and the woman, like +me, to do their work for them. + +"That day and that night we had nothing to eat, and all next day we +travelled fast, and we were weak with hunger. Then we came to the Black +Rock, which rose five hundred feet above the trail. It was at the +end of the day. Darkness was coming, and we could not find the cabin +of McKeon. We slept hungry, and in the morning looked for the cabin. +It was not there, which was a strange thing, for everybody knew that +McKeon lived in a cabin at Black Rock. We were near to the coast, where +the wind blows hard and there is much snow. Everywhere there were small +hills of snow where the wind had piled it up. I have a thought, and I +dig in one and another of the hills of snow. Soon I find the walls of +the cabin, and I dig down to the door. I go inside. McKeon is dead. +Maybe two or three weeks he is dead. A sickness had come upon him so +that he could not leave the cabin. The wind and the snow had covered +the cabin. He had eaten his grub and died. I looked for his cache, but +there was no grub in it. + +"'Let us go on,' said the woman. Her eyes were hungry, and her hand was +upon her heart, as with the hurt of something inside. She bent back +and forth like a tree in the wind as she stood there. 'Yes, let us go +on,' said the man. His voice was hollow, like the _klonk_ of an old +raven, and he was hunger-mad. His eyes were like live coals of fire, +and as his body rocked to and fro, so rocked his soul inside. And I, +too, said, 'Let us go on.' For that one thought, laid upon me like a +lash for every mile of fifteen hundred miles, had burned itself into +my soul, and I think that I, too, was mad. Besides, we could only go +on, for there was no grub. And we went on, giving no thought to the man +with the one eye in the snow. + +"There is little travel on the big cut-off. Sometimes two or three +months and nobody goes by. The snow had covered the trail, and there +was no sign that men had ever come or gone that way. All day the wind +blew and the snow fell, and all day we travelled, while our stomachs +gnawed their desire and our bodies grew weaker with every step they +took. Then the woman began to fall. Then the man. I did not fall, but +my feet were heavy and I caught my toes and stumbled many times. + +"That night is the end of February. I kill three ptarmigan with the +woman's revolver, and we are made somewhat strong again. But the dogs +have nothing to eat. They try to eat their harness, which is of leather +and walrus-hide, and I must fight them off with a club and hang all the +harness in a tree. And all night they howl and fight around that tree. +But we do not mind. We sleep like dead people, and in the morning get +up like dead people out of their graves and go on along the trail. + +"That morning is the 1st of March, and on that morning I see the +first sign of that after which the baby wolves are in search. It is +clear weather, and cold. The sun stay longer in the sky, and there +are sun-dogs flashing on either side, and the air is bright with +frost-dust. The snow falls no more upon the trail, and I see the fresh +sign of dogs and sled. There is one man with that outfit, and I see +in the snow that he is not strong. He, too, has not enough to eat. +The young wolves see the fresh sign, too, and they are much excited. +'Hurry!' they say. All the time they say, 'Hurry! Faster, Charley, +faster!' + +"We make hurry very slow. All the time the man and the woman fall down. +When they try to ride on sled the dogs are too weak, and the dogs fall +down. Besides, it is so cold that if they ride on the sled they will +freeze. It is very easy for a hungry man to freeze. When the woman fall +down, the man help her up. Sometimes the woman help the man up. By and +by both fall down and cannot get up, and I must help them up all the +time, else they will not get up and will die there in the snow. This is +very hard work, for I am greatly weary, and as well I must drive the +dogs, and the man and woman are very heavy with no strength in their +bodies. So, by and by, I, too, fall down in the snow, and there is no +one to help me up. I must get up by myself. And always do I get up by +myself, and help them up, and make the dogs go on. + +"That night I get one ptarmigan, and we are very hungry. And that +night the man says to me, 'What time start to-morrow, Charley?' It is +like the voice of a ghost. I say, 'All the time you make start at five +o'clock.' 'To-morrow,' he says, 'we will start at three o'clock.' I +laugh in great bitterness, and I say, 'You are dead man.' And he says, +'To-morrow we will start at three o'clock.' + +"And we start at three o'clock, for I am their man, and that which they +say is to be done, I do. It is clear and cold, and there is no wind. +When daylight comes we can see a long way off. And it is very quiet. We +can hear no sound but the beat of our hearts, and in the silence that +is a very loud sound. We are like sleep-walkers, and we walk in dreams +until we fall down; and then we know we must get up, and we see the +trail once more and bear the beating of our hearts. Sometimes, when I +am walking in dreams this way, I have strange thoughts. Why does Sitka +Charley live? I ask myself. Why does Sitka Charley work hard, and go +hungry, and have all this pain? For seven hundred and fifty dollars a +month, I make the answer, and I know it is a foolish answer. Also is +it a true answer. And after that never again do I care for money. For +that day a large wisdom came to me. There was a great light, and I saw +clear, and I knew that it was not for money that a man must live, but +for a happiness that no man can give, or buy, or sell, and that is +beyond all value of all money in the world. + +"In the morning we come upon the last-night camp of the man who is +before us. It is a poor camp, the kind a man makes who is hungry +and without strength. On the snow there are pieces of blanket and +of canvas, and I know what has happened. His dogs have eaten their +harness, and he has made new harness out of his blankets. The man and +woman stare hard at what is to be seen, and as I look at them my back +feels the chill as of a cold wind against the skin. Their eyes are +toil-mad and hunger-mad, and burn like fire deep in their heads. Their +faces are like the faces of people who have died of hunger, and their +cheeks are black with the dead flesh of many freezings. 'Let us go on,' +says the man. But the woman coughs and falls in the snow. It is the dry +cough where the frost has bitten the lungs. For a long time she coughs, +then like a woman crawling out of her grave she crawls to her feet. The +tears are ice upon her cheeks, and her breath makes a noise as it comes +and goes, and she says, 'Let us go on.' + +"We go on. And we walk in dreams through the silence. And every time we +walk is a dream and we are without pain; and every time we fall down is +an awakening, and we see the snow and the mountains and the fresh trail +of the man who is before us, and we know all our pain again. We come to +where we can see a long way over the snow, and that for which they look +is before them. A mile away there are black spots upon the snow. The +black spots move. My eyes are dim, and I must stiffen my soul to see. +And I see one man with dogs and a sled. The baby wolves see, too. They +can no longer talk, but they whisper, 'On, on. Let us hurry!' + +"And they fall down, but they go on. The man who is before us, his +blanket harness breaks often, and he must stop and mend it. Our harness +is good, for I have hung it in trees each night. At eleven o'clock the +man is half a mile away. At one o'clock he is a quarter of a mile away. +He is very weak. We see him fall down many times in the snow. One of +his dogs can no longer travel, and he cuts it out of the harness. But +he does not kill it. I kill it with the axe as I go by, as I kill one +of my dogs which loses its legs and can travel no more. + +"Now we are three hundred yards away. We go very slow. Maybe in two, +three hours we go one mile. We do not walk. All the time we fall down. +We stand up and stagger two steps, maybe three steps, then we fall down +again. And all the time I must help up the man and woman. Sometimes +they rise to their knees and fall forward, maybe four or five times +before they can get to their feet again and stagger two or three steps +and fall. But always do they fall forward. Standing or kneeling, always +do they fall forward, gaining on the trail each time by the length of +their bodies. + +"Sometimes they crawl on hands and knees like animals that live in the +forest. We go like snails, like snails that are dying we go so slow. +And yet we go faster than the man who is before us. For he, too, falls +all the time, and there is no Sitka Charley to lift him up. Now he is +two hundred yards away. After a long time he is one hundred yards away. + +"It is a funny sight. I want to laugh out loud, Ha! ha! just like that, +it is so funny. It is a race of dead men and dead dogs. It is like in +a dream when you have a nightmare and run away very fast for your life +and go very slow. The man who is with me is mad. The woman is mad. I am +mad. All the world is mad, and I want to laugh, it is so funny. + +"The stranger-man who is before us leaves his dogs behind and goes on +alone across the snow. After a long time we come to the dogs. They lie +helpless in the snow, their harness of blanket and canvas on them, the +sled behind them, and as we pass them they whine to us and cry like +babies that are hungry. + +"Then we, too, leave our dogs and go on alone across the snow. The +man and the woman are nearly gone, and they moan and groan and sob, +but they go on. I, too, go on. I have but one thought. It is to come +up to the stranger-man. Then it is that I shall rest, and not until +then shall I rest, and it seems that I must lie down and sleep for a +thousand years, I am so tired. + +"The stranger-man is fifty yards away, all alone in the white snow. He +falls and crawls, staggers, and falls and crawls again. He is like an +animal that is sore wounded and trying to run from the hunter. By and +by he crawls on hands and knees. He no longer stands up. And the man +and woman no longer stand up. They, too, crawl after him on hands and +knees. But I stand up. Sometimes I fall, but always do I stand up again. + +"It is a strange thing to see. All about is the snow and the silence, +and through it crawl the man and the woman, and the stranger-man who +goes before. On either side the sun are sun-dogs, so that there are +three suns in the sky. The frost-dust is like the dust of diamonds, and +all the air is filled with it. Now the woman coughs, and lies still +in the snow until the fit has passed, when she crawls on again. Now +the man looks ahead, and he is blear-eyed as with old age and must rub +his eyes so that he can see the stranger-man. And now the stranger-man +looks back over his shoulder. And Sitka Charley, standing upright, +maybe falls down and stands upright again. + +"After a long time the stranger-man crawls no more. He stands slowly +upon his feet and rocks back and forth. Also does he take off one +mitten and wait with revolver in his hand, rocking back and forth as +he waits. His face is skin and bones and frozen black. It is a hungry +face. The eyes are deep-sunk in his head, and the lips are snarling. +The man and woman, too, get upon their feet and they go toward him very +slowly. And all about is the snow and the silence. And in the sky are +three suns, and all the air is flashing with the dust of diamonds. + +"And thus it was that I, Sitka Charley, saw the baby wolves make their +kill. No word is spoken. Only does the stranger-man snarl with his +hungry face. Also does he rock to and fro, his shoulders drooping, his +knees bent, and his legs wide apart so that he does not fall down. The +man and the woman stop maybe fifty feet away. Their legs, too, are wide +apart so that they do not fall down, and their bodies rock to and fro. +The stranger-man is very weak. His arm shakes, so that when he shoots +at the man his bullet strikes in the snow. The man cannot take off his +mitten. The stranger-man shoots at him again, and this time the bullet +goes by in the air. Then the man takes the mitten in his teeth and +pulls it off. But his hand is frozen and he cannot hold the revolver, +and it fails in the snow. I look at the woman. Her mitten is off, and +the big Colt's revolver is in her hand. Three times she shoot, quick, +just like that. The hungry face of the stranger-man is still snarling +as he falls forward into the snow. + +"They do not look at the dead man. 'Let us go on,' they say. And we go +on. But now that they have found that for which they look, they are +like dead. The last strength has gone out of them. They can stand no +more upon their feet. They will not crawl, but desire only to close +their eyes and sleep. I see not far away a place for camp. I kick them. +I have my dog-whip, and I give them the lash of it. They cry aloud, but +they must crawl. And they do crawl to the place for camp. I build fire +so that they will not freeze. Then I go back for sled. Also, I kill the +dogs of the stranger-man so that we may have food and not die. I put +the man and woman in blankets and they sleep. Sometimes I wake them and +give them little bit of food. They are not awake, but they take the +food. The woman sleep one day and a half. Then she wake up and go to +sleep again. The man sleep two days and wake up and go to sleep again. +After that we go down to the coast at St. Michaels. And when the ice +goes out of Bering Sea, the man and woman go away on a steamship. But +first they pay me my seven hundred and fifty dollars a month. Also, +they make me a present of one thousand dollars. And that was the year +that Sitka Charley gave much money to the Mission at Holy Cross." + +"But why did they kill the man?" I asked. + +Sitka Charley delayed reply until he had lighted his pipe. He glanced +at the _Police Gazette_ illustration and nodded his head at it +familiarly. Then he said, speaking slowly and ponderingly: + +"I have thought much. I do not know. It is something that happened. It +is a picture I remember. It is like looking in at the window and seeing +the man writing a letter. They came into my life and they went out of +my life, and the picture is as I have said, without beginning, the end +without understanding." + +"You have painted many pictures in the telling," I said. + +"Ay," he nodded his head. "But they were without beginning and without +end." + +"The last picture of all had an end," I said. + +"Ay," he answered. "But what end?" + +"It was a piece of life," I said. + +"Ay," he answered. "It was a piece of life." + + + + +NEGORE, THE COWARD + + +He had followed the trail of his fleeing people for eleven days, and +his pursuit had been in itself a flight; for behind him he knew full +well were the dreaded Russians, toiling through the swampy lowlands and +over the steep divides, bent on no less than the extermination of all +his people. He was travelling light. A rabbit-skin sleeping-robe, a +muzzle-loading rifle, and a few pounds of sun-dried salmon constituted +his outfit. He would have marvelled that a whole people--women and +children and aged--could travel so swiftly, had he not known the terror +that drove them on. + +It was in the old days of the Russian occupancy of Alaska, when the +nineteenth century had run but half its course, that Negore fled after +his fleeing tribe and came upon it this summer night by the head waters +of the Pee-lat. Though near the midnight hour, it was bright day as he +passed through the weary camp. Many saw him, all knew him, but few and +cold were the greetings he received. + +"Negore, the Coward," he heard Illiha, a young woman, laugh, and +Sun-ne, his sister's daughter, laughed with her. + +Black anger ate at his heart; but he gave no sign, threading his way +among the camp-fires until he came to one where sat an old man. A young +woman was kneading with skilful fingers the tired muscles of his legs. +He raised a sightless face and listened intently as Negore's foot +crackled a dead twig. + +"Who comes?" he queried in a thin, tremulous voice. + +"Negore," said the young woman, scarcely looking up from her task. + +Negore's face was expressionless. For many minutes he stood and waited. +The old man's head had sunk back upon his chest. The young woman +pressed and prodded the wasted muscles, resting her body on her knees, +her bowed head hidden as in a cloud by her black wealth of hair. Negore +watched the supple body, bending at the hips as a lynx's body might +bend, pliant as a young willow stalk, and, withal, strong as only +youth is strong. He looked, and was aware of a great yearning, akin in +sensation to physical hunger. At last he spoke, saying: + +"Is there no greeting for Negore, who has been long gone and has but +now come back?" + +She looked up at him with cold eyes. The old man chuckled to himself +after the manner of the old. + +"Thou art my woman, Oona," Negore said, his tones dominant and +conveying a hint of menace. + +She arose with catlike ease and suddenness to her full height, her eyes +flashing, her nostrils quivering like a deer's. + +"I was thy woman to be, Negore, but thou art a coward; the daughter of +Old Kinoos mates not with a coward!" + +She silenced him with an imperious gesture as he strove to speak. + +"Old Kinoos and I came among you from a strange land. Thy people +took us in by their fires and made us warm, nor asked whence or why +we wandered. It was their thought that Old Kinoos had lost the sight +of his eyes from age; nor did Old Kinoos say otherwise, nor did I, +his daughter. Old Kinoos is a brave man, but Old Kinoos was never a +boaster. And now, when I tell thee of how his blindness came to be, +thou wilt know, beyond question, that the daughter of Kinoos cannot +mother the children of a coward such as thou art, Negore." + +Again she silenced the speech that rushed up to his tongue. + +"Know, Negore, if journey be added unto journey of all thy journeyings +through this land, thou wouldst not come to the unknown Sitka on the +Great Salt Sea. In that place there be many Russian folk, and their +rule is harsh. And from Sitka, Old Kinoos, who was Young Kinoos in +those days, fled away with me, a babe in his arms, along the islands +in the midst of the sea. My mother dead tells the tale of his wrong; a +Russian, dead with a spear through breast and back, tells the tale of +the vengeance of Kinoos. + +"But wherever we fled, and however far we fled, always did we find the +hated Russian folk. Kinoos was unafraid, but the sight of them was a +hurt to his eyes; so we fled on and on, through the seas and years, +till we came to the Great Fog Sea, Negore, of which thou hast heard, +but which thou hast never seen. We lived among many peoples, and I grew +to be a woman; but Kinoos, growing old, took to him no other woman, nor +did I take a man. + +"At last we came to Pastolik, which is where the Yukon drowns itself in +the Great Fog Sea. Here we lived long, on the rim of the sea, among a +people by whom the Russians were well hated. But sometimes they came, +these Russians, in great ships, and made the people of Pastolik show +them the way through the islands uncountable of the many-mouthed Yukon. +And sometimes the men they took to show them the way never came back, +till the people became angry and planned a great plan. + +"So, when there came a ship, Old Kinoos stepped forward and said he +would show the way. He was an old man then, and his hair was white; +but he was unafraid. And he was cunning, for he took the ship to where +the sea sucks in to the land and the waves beat white on the mountain +called Romanoff. The sea sucked the ship in to where the waves beat +white, and it ground upon the rocks and broke open its sides. Then +came all the people of Pastolik, (for this was the plan), with their +war-spears, and arrows, and some few guns. But first the Russians put +out the eyes of Old Kinoos that he might never show the way again, +and then they fought, where the waves beat white, with the people of +Pastolik. + +"Now the head-man of these Russians was Ivan. He it was, with his two +thumbs, who drove out the eyes of Kinoos. He it was who fought his way +through the white water, with two men left of all his men, and went +away along the rim of the Great Fog Sea into the north. Kinoos was +wise. He could see no more and was helpless as a child. So he fled away +from the sea, up the great, strange Yukon, even to Nulato, and I fled +with him. + +"This was the deed my father did, Kinoos, an old man. But how did the +young man, Negore?" + +Once again she silenced him. + +"With my own eyes I saw, at Nulato, before the gates of the great +fort, and but few days gone. I saw the Russian, Ivan, who thrust out +my father's eyes, lay the lash of his dog-whip upon thee and beat +thee like a dog. This I saw, and knew thee for a coward. But I saw +thee not, that night, when all thy people--yea, even the boys not yet +hunters--fell upon the Russians and slew them all." + +"Not Ivan," said Negore, quietly. "Even now is he on our heels, and +with him many Russians fresh up from the sea." + +Oona made no effort to hide her surprise and chagrin that Ivan was not +dead, but went on: + +"In the day I saw thee a coward; in the night, when all men fought, +even the boys not yet hunters, I saw thee not and knew thee doubly a +coward." + +"Thou art done? All done?" Negore asked. + +She nodded her head and looked at him askance, as though astonished +that he should have aught to say. + +"Know then that Negore is no coward," he said; and his speech was very +low and quiet. "Know that when I was yet a boy I journeyed alone down +to the place where the Yukon drowns itself in the Great Fog Sea. Even +to Pastolik I journeyed, and even beyond, into the north, along the rim +of the sea. This I did when I was a boy, and I was no coward. Nor was +I coward when I journeyed, a young man and alone, up the Yukon farther +than man had ever been, so far that I came to another folk, with white +faces, who live in a great fort and talk speech other than that the +Russians talk. Also have I killed the great bear of the Tanana country, +where no one of my people hath ever been. And I have fought with the +Nuklukyets, and the Kaltags, and the Sticks in far regions, even I, and +alone. These deeds, whereof no man knows, I speak for myself. Let my +people speak for me of things I have done which they know. They will +not say Negore is a coward." + +He finished proudly, and proudly waited. + +"These be things which happened before I came into the land," she said, +"and I know not of them. Only do I know what I know, and I know I saw +thee lashed like a dog in the day; and in the night, when the great +fort flamed red and the men killed and were killed, I saw thee not. +Also, thy people do call thee Negore, the Coward. It is thy name now, +Negore, the Coward." + +"It is not a good name," Old Kinoos chuckled. + +"Thou dost not understand, Kinoos," Negore said gently. "But I shall +make thee understand. Know that I was away on the hunt of the bear, +with Kamo-tah, my mother's son. And Kamo-tah fought with a great bear. +We had no meat for three days, and Kamo-tah was not strong of arm nor +swift of foot. And the great bear crushed him, so, till his bones +cracked like dry sticks. Thus I found him, very sick and groaning upon +the ground. And there was no meat, nor could I kill aught that the sick +man might eat. + +"So I said, 'I will go to Nulato and bring thee food, also strong men +to carry thee to camp.' And Kamo-tah said, 'Go thou to Nulato and get +food, but say no word of what has befallen me. And when I have eaten, +and am grown well and strong, I will kill this bear. Then will I return +in honor to Nulato, and no man may laugh and say Kamo-tah was undone by +a bear.' + +"So I gave heed to my brother's words; and when I was come to Nulato, +and the Russian, Ivan, laid the lash of his dog-whip upon me, I knew +I must not fight. For no man knew of Kamo-tah, sick and groaning and +hungry; and did I fight with Ivan, and die, then would my brother die, +too. So it was, Oona, that thou sawest me beaten like a dog. + +"Then I heard the talk of the shamans and chiefs that the Russians +had brought strange sicknesses upon the people, and killed our men, +and stolen our women, and that the land must be made clean. As I say, +I heard the talk, and I knew it for good talk, and I knew that in +the night the Russians were to be killed. But there was my brother, +Kamo-tah, sick and groaning and with no meat; so I could not stay and +fight with the men and the boys not yet hunters. + +"And I took with me meat and fish, and the lash-marks of Ivan, and +I found Kamo-tah no longer groaning, but dead. Then I went back to +Nulato, and, behold, there was no Nulato--only ashes where the great +fort had stood, and the bodies of many men. And I saw the Russians come +up the Yukon in boats, fresh from the sea, many Russians; and I saw +Ivan creep forth from where he lay hid and make talk with them. And the +next day I saw Ivan lead them upon the trail of the tribe. Even now are +they upon the trail, and I am here, Negore, but no coward." + +"This is a tale I hear," said Oona, though her voice was gentler than +before. "Kamo-tah is dead and cannot speak for thee, and I know only +what I know, and I must know thee of my own eyes for no coward." + +Negore made an impatient gesture. + +"There be ways and ways," she added. "Art thou willing to do no less +than what Old Kinoos hath done?" + +He nodded his head, and waited. + +"As thou hast said, they seek for us even now, these Russians. Show +them the way, Negore, even as Old Kinoos showed them the way, so that +they come, unprepared, to where we wait for them, in a passage up the +rocks. Thou knowest the place, where the wall is broken and high. Then +will we destroy them, even Ivan. When they cling like flies to the +wall, and top is no less near than bottom, our men shall fall upon them +from above and either side, with spears, and arrows, and guns. And the +women and children, from above, shall loosen the great rocks and hurl +them down upon them. It will be a great day, for the Russians will be +killed, the land will be made clean, and Ivan, even Ivan who thrust +out my father's eyes and laid the lash of his dog-whip upon thee, will +be killed. Like a dog gone mad will he die, his breath crushed out of +him beneath the rocks. And when the fighting begins, it is for thee, +Negore, to crawl secretly away so that thou be not slain." + +"Even so," he answered. "Negore will show them the way. And then?" + +"And then I shall be thy woman, Negore's woman, the brave man's woman. +And thou shalt hunt meat for me and Old Kinoos, and I shall cook thy +food, and sew thee warm parkas and strong, and make thee moccasins +after the way of my people, which is a better way than thy people's +way. And as I say, I shall be thy woman, Negore, always thy woman. +And I shall make thy life glad for thee, so that all thy days will be +a song and laughter, and thou wilt know the woman Oona as unlike all +other women, for she has journeyed far, and lived in strange places, +and is wise in the ways of men and in the ways they may be made glad. +And in thine old age will she still make thee glad, and thy memory +of her in the days of thy strength will be sweet, for thou wilt know +always that she was ease to thee, and peace, and rest, and that beyond +all women to other men has she been woman to thee." + +"Even so," said Negore, and the hunger for her ate at his heart, and +his arms went out for her as a hungry man's arms might go out for food. + +"When thou hast shown the way, Negore," she chided him; but her eyes +were soft, and warm, and he knew she looked upon him as woman had never +looked before. + +"It is well," he said, turning resolutely on his heel. "I go now to +make talk with the chiefs, so that they may know I am gone to show the +Russians the way." + +"Oh, Negore, my man! my man!" she said to herself, as she watched him +go, but she said it so softly that even Old Kinoos did not hear, and +his ears were over keen, what of his blindness. + + * * * * * + +Three days later, having with craft ill-concealed his hiding-place, +Negore was dragged forth like a rat and brought before Ivan--"Ivan the +Terrible" he was known by the men who marched at his back. Negore was +armed with a miserable bone-barbed spear, and he kept his rabbit-skin +robe wrapped closely about him, and though the day was warm he shivered +as with an ague. He shook his head that he did not understand the +speech Ivan put at him, and made that he was very weary and sick, and +wished only to sit down and rest, pointing the while to his stomach in +sign of his sickness, and shivering fiercely. But Ivan had with him a +man from Pastolik who talked the speech of Negore, and many and vain +were the questions they asked him concerning his tribe, till the man +from Pastolik, who was called Karduk, said: + +"It is the word of Ivan that thou shalt be lashed till thou diest if +thou dost not speak. And know, strange brother, when I tell thee the +word of Ivan is the law, that I am thy friend and no friend of Ivan. +For I come not willingly from my country by the sea, and I desire +greatly to live; wherefore I obey the will of my master--as thou wilt +obey, strange brother, if thou art wise, and wouldst live." + +"Nay, strange brother," Negore answered, "I know not the way my people +are gone, for I was sick, and they fled so fast my legs gave out from +under me, and I fell behind." + +Negore waited while Karduk talked with Ivan. Then Negore saw the +Russian's face go dark, and he saw the men step to either side of him, +snapping the lashes of their whips. Whereupon he betrayed a great +fright, and cried aloud that he was a sick man and knew nothing, but +would tell what he knew. And to such purpose did he tell, that Ivan +gave the word to his men to march, and on either side of Negore marched +the men with the whips, that he might not run away. And when he made +that he was weak of his sickness, and stumbled and walked not so fast +as they walked, they laid their lashes upon him till he screamed with +pain and discovered new strength. And when Karduk told him all would he +well with him when they had overtaken his tribe, he asked, "And then +may I rest and move not?" + +Continually he asked, "And then may I rest and move not?" + +And while he appeared very sick and looked about him with dull eyes, he +noted the fighting strength of Ivan's men, and noted with satisfaction +that Ivan did not recognize him as the man he had beaten before the +gates of the fort. It was a strange following his dull eyes saw. There +were Slavonian hunters, fair-skinned and mighty-muscled; short, squat +Finns, with flat noses and round faces; Siberian half-breeds, whose +noses were more like eagle-beaks; and lean, slant-eyed men, who bore +in their veins the Mongol and Tartar blood as well as the blood of the +Slav. Wild adventurers they were, forayers and destroyers from the far +lands beyond the Sea of Bering, who blasted the new and unknown world +with fire and sword and clutched greedily for its wealth of fur and +hide. Negore looked upon them with satisfaction, and in his mind's eye +he saw them crushed and lifeless at the passage up the rocks. And ever +he saw, waiting for him at the passage up the rocks, the face and the +form of Oona, and ever he heard her voice in his ears and felt the +soft, warm glow of her eyes. But never did he forget to shiver, nor to +stumble where the footing was rough, nor to cry aloud at the bite of +the lash. Also, he was afraid of Karduk, for he knew him for no true +man. His was a false eye, and an easy tongue--a tongue too easy, he +judged, for the awkwardness of honest speech. + +All that day they marched. And on the next, when Karduk asked him at +command of Ivan, he said he doubted they would meet with his tribe till +the morrow. But Ivan, who had once been shown the way by Old Kinoos, +and had found that way to lead through the white water and a deadly +fight, believed no more in anything. So when they came to a passage up +the rocks, he halted his forty men, and through Karduk demanded if the +way were clear. + +Negore looked at it shortly and carelessly. It was a vast slide that +broke the straight wall of a cliff, and was overrun with brush and +creeping plants, where a score of tribes could have lain well hidden. + +He shook his head. "Nay, there be nothing there," he said. "The way is +clear." + +Again Ivan spoke to Karduk, and Karduk said: + +"Know, strange brother, if thy talk be not straight, and if thy people +block the way and fall upon Ivan and his men, that thou shalt die, and +at once." + +"My talk is straight," Negore said. "The way is clear." + +Still Ivan doubted, and ordered two of his Slavonian hunters to go up +alone. Two other men he ordered to the side of Negore. They placed +their guns against his breast and waited. All waited. And Negore knew, +should one arrow fly, or one spear be flung, that his death would come +upon him. The two Slavonian hunters toiled upward till they grew small +and smaller, and when they reached the top and waved their hats that +all was well, they were like black specks against the sky. + +The guns were lowered from Negore's breast and Ivan gave the order for +his men to go forward. Ivan was silent, lost in thought. For an hour he +marched, as though puzzled, and then, through Karduk's mouth, he said +to Negore: + +"How didst thou know the way was clear when thou didst look so briefly +upon it?" + +Negore thought of the little birds he had seen perched among the rocks +and upon the bushes, and smiled, it was so simple; but he shrugged his +shoulders and made no answer. For he was thinking, likewise, of another +passage up the rocks, to which they would soon come, and where the +little birds would all be gone. And he was glad that Karduk came from +the Great Fog Sea, where there were no trees or bushes, and where men +learned water-craft instead of land-craft and wood-craft. + +Three hours later, when the sun rode overhead, they came to another +passage up the rocks, and Karduk said: + +"Look with all thine eyes, strange brother, and see if the way be +clear, for Ivan is not minded this time to wait while men go up before." + +Negore looked, and he looked with two men by his side, their guns +resting against his breast. He saw that the little birds were all gone, +and once he saw the glint of sunlight on a rifle-barrel. And he thought +of Oona, and of her words: "And when the fighting begins, it is for +thee, Negore, to crawl secretly away so that thou be not slain." + +He felt the two guns pressing on his breast. This was not the way she +had planned. There would be no crawling secretly away. He would be the +first to die when the fighting began. But he said, and his voice was +steady, and he still feigned to see with dull eyes and to shiver from +his sickness: + +"The way is clear." + +And they started up, Ivan and his forty men from the far lands beyond +the Sea of Bering. And there was Karduk, the man from Pastolik, and +Negore, with the two guns always upon him. It was a long climb, and +they could not go fast; but very fast to Negore they seemed to approach +the midway point where top was no less near than bottom. + +A gun cracked among the rocks to the right, and Negore heard the +war-yell of all his tribe, and for an instant saw the rocks and bushes +bristle alive with his kinfolk. Then he felt torn asunder by a burst of +flame hot through his being, and as he fell he knew the sharp pangs of +life as it wrenches at the flesh to be free. + +But he gripped his life with a miser's clutch and would not let it +go. He still breathed the air, which bit his lungs with a painful +sweetness; and dimly he saw and heard, with passing spells of blindness +and deafness, the flashes of sight and sound again wherein he saw the +hunters of Ivan falling to their deaths, and his own brothers fringing +the carnage and filling the air with the tumult of their cries and +weapons, and, far above, the women and children loosing the great rocks +that leaped like things alive and thundered down. + +The sun danced above him in the sky, the huge walls reeled and swung, +and still he heard and saw dimly. And when the great Ivan fell across +his legs, hurled there lifeless and crushed by a down-rushing rock, he +remembered the blind eyes of Old Kinoos and was glad. + +Then the sounds died down, and the rocks no longer thundered past, +and he saw his tribespeople creeping close and closer, spearing the +wounded as they came. And near to him he heard the scuffle of a mighty +Slavonian hunter, loath to die, and, half uprisen, borne back and down +by the thirsty spears. + +Then he saw above him the face of Oona, and felt about him the arms of +Oona; and for a moment the sun steadied and stood still, and the great +walls were upright and moved not. + +"Thou art a brave man, Negore," he heard her say in his ear; "thou art +my man, Negore." + +And in that moment he lived all the life of gladness of which she had +told him, and the laughter and the song, and as the sun went out of the +sky above him, as in his old age, he knew the memory of her was sweet. +And as even the memories dimmed and died in the darkness that fell upon +him, he knew in her arms the fulfilment of all the ease and rest she +had promised him. And as black night wrapped around him, his head upon +her breast, he felt a great peace steal about him, and he was aware of +the hush of many twilights and the mystery of silence. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOVE OF LIFE*** + + +******* This file should be named 710.txt or 710.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/7/1/710 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> + +<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Love of Life and Other Stories</p> +<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Jack London</p> +<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: April 13, 2007 [eBook #710]</p> +<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> + <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: David +Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org, from the 1913 Macmillan and Co. edition</p> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOVE OF LIFE ***</div> + + +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p></p> +<h1>LOVE OF LIFE<br /> +<span class="smcap">and other stories</span></h1> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">by</span><br /> +JACK LONDON<br /> +<span class="smcap">author of</span> “<span +class="smcap">the call of the wild</span>,” “<span +class="smcap">people</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">of the abyss</span>,” <span +class="smcap">etc.</span>, <span class="smcap">etc.</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center">New York<br /> +<span class="smcap">published for</span><br /> +THE REVIEW OF REVIEWS COMPANY<br /> +<span class="smcap">by the macmillan company</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">London</span>: MACMILLAN AND CO., <span +class="smcap">Ltd.</span><br /> +1913<br /> +<i>All rights reserved</i></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Copyright</span>, 1906,<br /> +By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p0b.jpg"> +<img alt="He watched the play of life before him" +src="images/p0s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p style="text-align: center">Set up and electrotyped. +Published September, 1907. Reprinted December, 1907; +December, 1911. October, 1913.</p> +<div class="chapter"> +<h2>LOVE OF LIFE</h2> +</div> +<blockquote><p>“This out of all will remain—<br /> + They have lived and have tossed:<br /> +So much of the game will be gain,<br /> + Though the gold of the dice has been +lost.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>They limped painfully down the bank, and once the foremost of +the two men staggered among the rough-strewn rocks. They +were tired and weak, and their faces had the drawn expression of +patience which comes of hardship long endured. They were +heavily burdened with blanket packs which were strapped to their +shoulders. Head-straps, passing across the forehead, helped +support these packs. Each man carried a rifle. They +walked in a stooped posture, the shoulders well forward, the head +still farther forward, the eyes bent upon the ground.</p> +<p>“I wish we had just about two of them cartridges +that’s layin’ in that cache of ourn,” said the +second man.</p> +<p>His voice was utterly and drearily expressionless. He +spoke without enthusiasm; and the first man, limping into the +milky stream that foamed over the rocks, vouchsafed no reply.</p> +<p>The other man followed at his heels. They did not remove +their foot-gear, though the water was icy cold—so cold that +their ankles ached and their feet went numb. In places the +water dashed against their knees, and both men staggered for +footing.</p> +<p>The man who followed slipped on a smooth boulder, nearly fell, +but recovered himself with a violent effort, at the same time +uttering a sharp exclamation of pain. He seemed faint and +dizzy and put out his free hand while he reeled, as though +seeking support against the air. When he had steadied +himself he stepped forward, but reeled again and nearly +fell. Then he stood still and looked at the other man, who +had never turned his head.</p> +<p>The man stood still for fully a minute, as though debating +with himself. Then he called out:</p> +<p>“I say, Bill, I’ve sprained my ankle.”</p> +<p>Bill staggered on through the milky water. He did not +look around. The man watched him go, and though his face +was expressionless as ever, his eyes were like the eyes of a +wounded deer.</p> +<p>The other man limped up the farther bank and continued +straight on without looking back. The man in the stream +watched him. His lips trembled a little, so that the rough +thatch of brown hair which covered them was visibly +agitated. His tongue even strayed out to moisten them.</p> +<p>“Bill!” he cried out.</p> +<p>It was the pleading cry of a strong man in distress, but +Bill’s head did not turn. The man watched him go, +limping grotesquely and lurching forward with stammering gait up +the slow slope toward the soft sky-line of the low-lying +hill. He watched him go till he passed over the crest and +disappeared. Then he turned his gaze and slowly took in the +circle of the world that remained to him now that Bill was +gone.</p> +<p>Near the horizon the sun was smouldering dimly, almost +obscured by formless mists and vapors, which gave an impression +of mass and density without outline or tangibility. The man +pulled out his watch, the while resting his weight on one +leg. It was four o’clock, and as the season was near +the last of July or first of August,—he did not know the +precise date within a week or two,—he knew that the sun +roughly marked the northwest. He looked to the south and +knew that somewhere beyond those bleak hills lay the Great Bear +Lake; also, he knew that in that direction the Arctic Circle cut +its forbidding way across the Canadian Barrens. This stream +in which he stood was a feeder to the Coppermine River, which in +turn flowed north and emptied into Coronation Gulf and the Arctic +Ocean. He had never been there, but he had seen it, once, +on a Hudson Bay Company chart.</p> +<p>Again his gaze completed the circle of the world about +him. It was not a heartening spectacle. Everywhere +was soft sky-line. The hills were all low-lying. +There were no trees, no shrubs, no grasses—naught but a +tremendous and terrible desolation that sent fear swiftly dawning +into his eyes.</p> +<p>“Bill!” he whispered, once and twice; +“Bill!”</p> +<p>He cowered in the midst of the milky water, as though the +vastness were pressing in upon him with overwhelming force, +brutally crushing him with its complacent awfulness. He +began to shake as with an ague-fit, till the gun fell from his +hand with a splash. This served to rouse him. He +fought with his fear and pulled himself together, groping in the +water and recovering the weapon. He hitched his pack +farther over on his left shoulder, so as to take a portion of its +weight from off the injured ankle. Then he proceeded, +slowly and carefully, wincing with pain, to the bank.</p> +<p>He did not stop. With a desperation that was madness, +unmindful of the pain, he hurried up the slope to the crest of +the hill over which his comrade had disappeared—more +grotesque and comical by far than that limping, jerking +comrade. But at the crest he saw a shallow valley, empty of +life. He fought with his fear again, overcame it, hitched +the pack still farther over on his left shoulder, and lurched on +down the slope.</p> +<p>The bottom of the valley was soggy with water, which the thick +moss held, spongelike, close to the surface. This water +squirted out from under his feet at every step, and each time he +lifted a foot the action culminated in a sucking sound as the wet +moss reluctantly released its grip. He picked his way from +muskeg to muskeg, and followed the other man’s footsteps +along and across the rocky ledges which thrust like islets +through the sea of moss.</p> +<p>Though alone, he was not lost. Farther on he knew he +would come to where dead spruce and fir, very small and weazened, +bordered the shore of a little lake, the <i>titchin-nichilie</i>, +in the tongue of the country, the “land of little +sticks.” And into that lake flowed a small stream, +the water of which was not milky. There was rush-grass on +that stream—this he remembered well—but no timber, +and he would follow it till its first trickle ceased at a +divide. He would cross this divide to the first trickle of +another stream, flowing to the west, which he would follow until +it emptied into the river Dease, and here he would find a cache +under an upturned canoe and piled over with many rocks. And +in this cache would be ammunition for his empty gun, fish-hooks +and lines, a small net—all the utilities for the killing +and snaring of food. Also, he would find flour,—not +much,—a piece of bacon, and some beans.</p> +<p>Bill would be waiting for him there, and they would paddle +away south down the Dease to the Great Bear Lake. And south +across the lake they would go, ever south, till they gained the +Mackenzie. And south, still south, they would go, while the +winter raced vainly after them, and the ice formed in the eddies, +and the days grew chill and crisp, south to some warm Hudson Bay +Company post, where timber grew tall and generous and there was +grub without end.</p> +<p>These were the thoughts of the man as he strove onward. +But hard as he strove with his body, he strove equally hard with +his mind, trying to think that Bill had not deserted him, that +Bill would surely wait for him at the cache. He was +compelled to think this thought, or else there would not be any +use to strive, and he would have lain down and died. And as +the dim ball of the sun sank slowly into the northwest he covered +every inch—and many times—of his and Bill’s +flight south before the downcoming winter. And he conned +the grub of the cache and the grub of the Hudson Bay Company post +over and over again. He had not eaten for two days; for a +far longer time he had not had all he wanted to eat. Often +he stooped and picked pale muskeg berries, put them into his +mouth, and chewed and swallowed them. A muskeg berry is a +bit of seed enclosed in a bit of water. In the mouth the +water melts away and the seed chews sharp and bitter. The +man knew there was no nourishment in the berries, but he chewed +them patiently with a hope greater than knowledge and defying +experience.</p> +<p>At nine o’clock he stubbed his toe on a rocky ledge, and +from sheer weariness and weakness staggered and fell. He +lay for some time, without movement, on his side. Then he +slipped out of the pack-straps and clumsily dragged himself into +a sitting posture. It was not yet dark, and in the +lingering twilight he groped about among the rocks for shreds of +dry moss. When he had gathered a heap he built a +fire,—a smouldering, smudgy fire,—and put a tin pot +of water on to boil.</p> +<p>He unwrapped his pack and the first thing he did was to count +his matches. There were sixty-seven. He counted them +three times to make sure. He divided them into several +portions, wrapping them in oil paper, disposing of one bunch in +his empty tobacco pouch, of another bunch in the inside band of +his battered hat, of a third bunch under his shirt on the +chest. This accomplished, a panic came upon him, and he +unwrapped them all and counted them again. There were still +sixty-seven.</p> +<p>He dried his wet foot-gear by the fire. The moccasins +were in soggy shreds. The blanket socks were worn through +in places, and his feet were raw and bleeding. His ankle +was throbbing, and he gave it an examination. It had +swollen to the size of his knee. He tore a long strip from +one of his two blankets and bound the ankle tightly. He +tore other strips and bound them about his feet to serve for both +moccasins and socks. Then he drank the pot of water, +steaming hot, wound his watch, and crawled between his +blankets.</p> +<p>He slept like a dead man. The brief darkness around +midnight came and went. The sun arose in the +northeast—at least the day dawned in that quarter, for the +sun was hidden by gray clouds.</p> +<p>At six o’clock he awoke, quietly lying on his +back. He gazed straight up into the gray sky and knew that +he was hungry. As he rolled over on his elbow he was +startled by a loud snort, and saw a bull caribou regarding him +with alert curiosity. The animal was not mere than fifty +feet away, and instantly into the man’s mind leaped the +vision and the savor of a caribou steak sizzling and frying over +a fire. Mechanically he reached for the empty gun, drew a +bead, and pulled the trigger. The bull snorted and leaped +away, his hoofs rattling and clattering as he fled across the +ledges.</p> +<p>The man cursed and flung the empty gun from him. He +groaned aloud as he started to drag himself to his feet. It +was a slow and arduous task.</p> +<p>His joints were like rusty hinges. They worked harshly +in their sockets, with much friction, and each bending or +unbending was accomplished only through a sheer exertion of +will. When he finally gained his feet, another minute or so +was consumed in straightening up, so that he could stand erect as +a man should stand.</p> +<p>He crawled up a small knoll and surveyed the prospect. +There were no trees, no bushes, nothing but a gray sea of moss +scarcely diversified by gray rocks, gray lakelets, and gray +streamlets. The sky was gray. There was no sun nor +hint of sun. He had no idea of north, and he had forgotten +the way he had come to this spot the night before. But he +was not lost. He knew that. Soon he would come to the +land of the little sticks. He felt that it lay off to the +left somewhere, not far—possibly just over the next low +hill.</p> +<p>He went back to put his pack into shape for travelling. +He assured himself of the existence of his three separate parcels +of matches, though he did not stop to count them. But he +did linger, debating, over a squat moose-hide sack. It was +not large. He could hide it under his two hands. He +knew that it weighed fifteen pounds,—as much as all the +rest of the pack,—and it worried him. He finally set +it to one side and proceeded to roll the pack. He paused to +gaze at the squat moose-hide sack. He picked it up hastily +with a defiant glance about him, as though the desolation were +trying to rob him of it; and when he rose to his feet to stagger +on into the day, it was included in the pack on his back.</p> +<p>He bore away to the left, stopping now and again to eat muskeg +berries. His ankle had stiffened, his limp was more +pronounced, but the pain of it was as nothing compared with the +pain of his stomach. The hunger pangs were sharp. +They gnawed and gnawed until he could not keep his mind steady on +the course he must pursue to gain the land of little +sticks. The muskeg berries did not allay this gnawing, +while they made his tongue and the roof of his mouth sore with +their irritating bite.</p> +<p>He came upon a valley where rock ptarmigan rose on whirring +wings from the ledges and muskegs. Ker—ker—ker +was the cry they made. He threw stones at them, but could +not hit them. He placed his pack on the ground and stalked +them as a cat stalks a sparrow. The sharp rocks cut through +his pants’ legs till his knees left a trail of blood; but +the hurt was lost in the hurt of his hunger. He squirmed +over the wet moss, saturating his clothes and chilling his body; +but he was not aware of it, so great was his fever for +food. And always the ptarmigan rose, whirring, before him, +till their ker—ker—ker became a mock to him, and he +cursed them and cried aloud at them with their own cry.</p> +<p>Once he crawled upon one that must have been asleep. He +did not see it till it shot up in his face from its rocky +nook. He made a clutch as startled as was the rise of the +ptarmigan, and there remained in his hand three +tail-feathers. As he watched its flight he hated it, as +though it had done him some terrible wrong. Then he +returned and shouldered his pack.</p> +<p>As the day wore along he came into valleys or swales where +game was more plentiful. A band of caribou passed by, +twenty and odd animals, tantalizingly within rifle range. +He felt a wild desire to run after them, a certitude that he +could run them down. A black fox came toward him, carrying +a ptarmigan in his mouth. The man shouted. It was a +fearful cry, but the fox, leaping away in fright, did not drop +the ptarmigan.</p> +<p>Late in the afternoon he followed a stream, milky with lime, +which ran through sparse patches of rush-grass. Grasping +these rushes firmly near the root, he pulled up what resembled a +young onion-sprout no larger than a shingle-nail. It was +tender, and his teeth sank into it with a crunch that promised +deliciously of food. But its fibers were tough. It +was composed of stringy filaments saturated with water, like the +berries, and devoid of nourishment. He threw off his pack +and went into the rush-grass on hands and knees, crunching and +munching, like some bovine creature.</p> +<p>He was very weary and often wished to rest—to lie down +and sleep; but he was continually driven on—not so much by +his desire to gain the land of little sticks as by his +hunger. He searched little ponds for frogs and dug up the +earth with his nails for worms, though he knew in spite that +neither frogs nor worms existed so far north.</p> +<p>He looked into every pool of water vainly, until, as the long +twilight came on, he discovered a solitary fish, the size of a +minnow, in such a pool. He plunged his arm in up to the +shoulder, but it eluded him. He reached for it with both +hands and stirred up the milky mud at the bottom. In his +excitement he fell in, wetting himself to the waist. Then +the water was too muddy to admit of his seeing the fish, and he +was compelled to wait until the sediment had settled.</p> +<p>The pursuit was renewed, till the water was again +muddied. But he could not wait. He unstrapped the tin +bucket and began to bale the pool. He baled wildly at +first, splashing himself and flinging the water so short a +distance that it ran back into the pool. He worked more +carefully, striving to be cool, though his heart was pounding +against his chest and his hands were trembling. At the end +of half an hour the pool was nearly dry. Not a cupful of +water remained. And there was no fish. He found a +hidden crevice among the stones through which it had escaped to +the adjoining and larger pool—a pool which he could not +empty in a night and a day. Had he known of the crevice, he +could have closed it with a rock at the beginning and the fish +would have been his.</p> +<p>Thus he thought, and crumpled up and sank down upon the wet +earth. At first he cried softly to himself, then he cried +loudly to the pitiless desolation that ringed him around; and for +a long time after he was shaken by great dry sobs.</p> +<p>He built a fire and warmed himself by drinking quarts of hot +water, and made camp on a rocky ledge in the same fashion he had +the night before. The last thing he did was to see that his +matches were dry and to wind his watch. The blankets were +wet and clammy. His ankle pulsed with pain. But he +knew only that he was hungry, and through his restless sleep he +dreamed of feasts and banquets and of food served and spread in +all imaginable ways.</p> +<p>He awoke chilled and sick. There was no sun. The +gray of earth and sky had become deeper, more profound. A +raw wind was blowing, and the first flurries of snow were +whitening the hilltops. The air about him thickened and +grew white while he made a fire and boiled more water. It +was wet snow, half rain, and the flakes were large and +soggy. At first they melted as soon as they came in contact +with the earth, but ever more fell, covering the ground, putting +out the fire, spoiling his supply of moss-fuel.</p> +<p>This was a signal for him to strap on his pack and stumble +onward, he knew not where. He was not concerned with the +land of little sticks, nor with Bill and the cache under the +upturned canoe by the river Dease. He was mastered by the +verb “to eat.” He was hunger-mad. He took +no heed of the course he pursued, so long as that course led him +through the swale bottoms. He felt his way through the wet +snow to the watery muskeg berries, and went by feel as he pulled +up the rush-grass by the roots. But it was tasteless stuff +and did not satisfy. He found a weed that tasted sour and +he ate all he could find of it, which was not much, for it was a +creeping growth, easily hidden under the several inches of +snow.</p> +<p>He had no fire that night, nor hot water, and crawled under +his blanket to sleep the broken hunger-sleep. The snow +turned into a cold rain. He awakened many times to feel it +falling on his upturned face. Day came—a gray day and +no sun. It had ceased raining. The keenness of his +hunger had departed. Sensibility, as far as concerned the +yearning for food, had been exhausted. There was a dull, +heavy ache in his stomach, but it did not bother him so +much. He was more rational, and once more he was chiefly +interested in the land of little sticks and the cache by the +river Dease.</p> +<p>He ripped the remnant of one of his blankets into strips and +bound his bleeding feet. Also, he recinched the injured +ankle and prepared himself for a day of travel. When he +came to his pack, he paused long over the squat moose-hide sack, +but in the end it went with him.</p> +<p>The snow had melted under the rain, and only the hilltops +showed white. The sun came out, and he succeeded in +locating the points of the compass, though he knew now that he +was lost. Perhaps, in his previous days’ wanderings, +he had edged away too far to the left. He now bore off to +the right to counteract the possible deviation from his true +course.</p> +<p>Though the hunger pangs were no longer so exquisite, he +realized that he was weak. He was compelled to pause for +frequent rests, when he attacked the muskeg berries and +rush-grass patches. His tongue felt dry and large, as +though covered with a fine hairy growth, and it tasted bitter in +his mouth. His heart gave him a great deal of +trouble. When he had travelled a few minutes it would begin +a remorseless thump, thump, thump, and then leap up and away in a +painful flutter of beats that choked him and made him go faint +and dizzy.</p> +<p>In the middle of the day he found two minnows in a large +pool. It was impossible to bale it, but he was calmer now +and managed to catch them in his tin bucket. They were no +longer than his little finger, but he was not particularly +hungry. The dull ache in his stomach had been growing +duller and fainter. It seemed almost that his stomach was +dozing. He ate the fish raw, masticating with painstaking +care, for the eating was an act of pure reason. While he +had no desire to eat, he knew that he must eat to live.</p> +<p>In the evening he caught three more minnows, eating two and +saving the third for breakfast. The sun had dried stray +shreds of moss, and he was able to warm himself with hot +water. He had not covered more than ten miles that day; and +the next day, travelling whenever his heart permitted him, he +covered no more than five miles. But his stomach did not +give him the slightest uneasiness. It had gone to +sleep. He was in a strange country, too, and the caribou +were growing more plentiful, also the wolves. Often their +yelps drifted across the desolation, and once he saw three of +them slinking away before his path.</p> +<p>Another night; and in the morning, being more rational, he +untied the leather string that fastened the squat moose-hide +sack. From its open mouth poured a yellow stream of coarse +gold-dust and nuggets. He roughly divided the gold in +halves, caching one half on a prominent ledge, wrapped in a piece +of blanket, and returning the other half to the sack. He +also began to use strips of the one remaining blanket for his +feet. He still clung to his gun, for there were cartridges +in that cache by the river Dease.</p> +<p>This was a day of fog, and this day hunger awoke in him +again. He was very weak and was afflicted with a giddiness +which at times blinded him. It was no uncommon thing now +for him to stumble and fall; and stumbling once, he fell squarely +into a ptarmigan nest. There were four newly hatched +chicks, a day old—little specks of pulsating life no more +than a mouthful; and he ate them ravenously, thrusting them alive +into his mouth and crunching them like egg-shells between his +teeth. The mother ptarmigan beat about him with great +outcry. He used his gun as a club with which to knock her +over, but she dodged out of reach. He threw stones at her +and with one chance shot broke a wing. Then she fluttered +away, running, trailing the broken wing, with him in pursuit.</p> +<p>The little chicks had no more than whetted his appetite. +He hopped and bobbed clumsily along on his injured ankle, +throwing stones and screaming hoarsely at times; at other times +hopping and bobbing silently along, picking himself up grimly and +patiently when he fell, or rubbing his eyes with his hand when +the giddiness threatened to overpower him.</p> +<p>The chase led him across swampy ground in the bottom of the +valley, and he came upon footprints in the soggy moss. They +were not his own—he could see that. They must be +Bill’s. But he could not stop, for the mother +ptarmigan was running on. He would catch her first, then he +would return and investigate.</p> +<p>He exhausted the mother ptarmigan; but he exhausted +himself. She lay panting on her side. He lay panting +on his side, a dozen feet away, unable to crawl to her. And +as he recovered she recovered, fluttering out of reach as his +hungry hand went out to her. The chase was resumed. +Night settled down and she escaped. He stumbled from +weakness and pitched head foremost on his face, cutting his +cheek, his pack upon his back. He did not move for a long +while; then he rolled over on his side, wound his watch, and lay +there until morning.</p> +<p>Another day of fog. Half of his last blanket had gone +into foot-wrappings. He failed to pick up Bill’s +trail. It did not matter. His hunger was driving him +too compellingly—only—only he wondered if Bill, too, +were lost. By midday the irk of his pack became too +oppressive. Again he divided the gold, this time merely +spilling half of it on the ground. In the afternoon he +threw the rest of it away, there remaining to him only the +half-blanket, the tin bucket, and the rifle.</p> +<p>An hallucination began to trouble him. He felt confident +that one cartridge remained to him. It was in the chamber +of the rifle and he had overlooked it. On the other hand, +he knew all the time that the chamber was empty. But the +hallucination persisted. He fought it off for hours, then +threw his rifle open and was confronted with emptiness. The +disappointment was as bitter as though he had really expected to +find the cartridge.</p> +<p>He plodded on for half an hour, when the hallucination arose +again. Again he fought it, and still it persisted, till for +very relief he opened his rifle to unconvince himself. At +times his mind wandered farther afield, and he plodded on, a mere +automaton, strange conceits and whimsicalities gnawing at his +brain like worms. But these excursions out of the real were +of brief duration, for ever the pangs of the hunger-bite called +him back. He was jerked back abruptly once from such an +excursion by a sight that caused him nearly to faint. He +reeled and swayed, doddering like a drunken man to keep from +falling. Before him stood a horse. A horse! He +could not believe his eyes. A thick mist was in them, +intershot with sparkling points of light. He rubbed his +eyes savagely to clear his vision, and beheld, not a horse, but a +great brown bear. The animal was studying him with +bellicose curiosity.</p> +<p>The man had brought his gun halfway to his shoulder before he +realized. He lowered it and drew his hunting-knife from its +beaded sheath at his hip. Before him was meat and +life. He ran his thumb along the edge of his knife. +It was sharp. The point was sharp. He would fling +himself upon the bear and kill it. But his heart began its +warning thump, thump, thump. Then followed the wild upward +leap and tattoo of flutters, the pressing as of an iron band +about his forehead, the creeping of the dizziness into his +brain.</p> +<p>His desperate courage was evicted by a great surge of +fear. In his weakness, what if the animal attacked +him? He drew himself up to his most imposing stature, +gripping the knife and staring hard at the bear. The bear +advanced clumsily a couple of steps, reared up, and gave vent to +a tentative growl. If the man ran, he would run after him; +but the man did not run. He was animated now with the +courage of fear. He, too, growled, savagely, terribly, +voicing the fear that is to life germane and that lies twisted +about life’s deepest roots.</p> +<p>The bear edged away to one side, growling menacingly, himself +appalled by this mysterious creature that appeared upright and +unafraid. But the man did not move. He stood like a +statue till the danger was past, when he yielded to a fit of +trembling and sank down into the wet moss.</p> +<p>He pulled himself together and went on, afraid now in a new +way. It was not the fear that he should die passively from +lack of food, but that he should be destroyed violently before +starvation had exhausted the last particle of the endeavor in him +that made toward surviving. There were the wolves. +Back and forth across the desolation drifted their howls, weaving +the very air into a fabric of menace that was so tangible that he +found himself, arms in the air, pressing it back from him as it +might be the walls of a wind-blown tent.</p> +<p>Now and again the wolves, in packs of two and three, crossed +his path. But they sheered clear of him. They were +not in sufficient numbers, and besides they were hunting the +caribou, which did not battle, while this strange creature that +walked erect might scratch and bite.</p> +<p>In the late afternoon he came upon scattered bones where the +wolves had made a kill. The debris had been a caribou calf +an hour before, squawking and running and very much alive. +He contemplated the bones, clean-picked and polished, pink with +the cell-life in them which had not yet died. Could it +possibly be that he might be that ere the day was done! +Such was life, eh? A vain and fleeting thing. It was +only life that pained. There was no hurt in death. To +die was to sleep. It meant cessation, rest. Then why +was he not content to die?</p> +<p>But he did not moralize long. He was squatting in the +moss, a bone in his mouth, sucking at the shreds of life that +still dyed it faintly pink. The sweet meaty taste, thin and +elusive almost as a memory, maddened him. He closed his +jaws on the bones and crunched. Sometimes it was the bone +that broke, sometimes his teeth. Then he crushed the bones +between rocks, pounded them to a pulp, and swallowed them. +He pounded his fingers, too, in his haste, and yet found a moment +in which to feel surprise at the fact that his fingers did not +hurt much when caught under the descending rock.</p> +<p>Came frightful days of snow and rain. He did not know +when he made camp, when he broke camp. He travelled in the +night as much as in the day. He rested wherever he fell, +crawled on whenever the dying life in him flickered up and burned +less dimly. He, as a man, no longer strove. It was +the life in him, unwilling to die, that drove him on. He +did not suffer. His nerves had become blunted, numb, while +his mind was filled with weird visions and delicious dreams.</p> +<p>But ever he sucked and chewed on the crushed bones of the +caribou calf, the least remnants of which he had gathered up and +carried with him. He crossed no more hills or divides, but +automatically followed a large stream which flowed through a wide +and shallow valley. He did not see this stream nor this +valley. He saw nothing save visions. Soul and body +walked or crawled side by side, yet apart, so slender was the +thread that bound them.</p> +<p>He awoke in his right mind, lying on his back on a rocky +ledge. The sun was shining bright and warm. Afar off +he heard the squawking of caribou calves. He was aware of +vague memories of rain and wind and snow, but whether he had been +beaten by the storm for two days or two weeks he did not +know.</p> +<p>For some time he lay without movement, the genial sunshine +pouring upon him and saturating his miserable body with its +warmth. A fine day, he thought. Perhaps he could +manage to locate himself. By a painful effort he rolled +over on his side. Below him flowed a wide and sluggish +river. Its unfamiliarity puzzled him. Slowly he +followed it with his eyes, winding in wide sweeps among the +bleak, bare hills, bleaker and barer and lower-lying than any +hills he had yet encountered. Slowly, deliberately, without +excitement or more than the most casual interest, he followed the +course of the strange stream toward the sky-line and saw it +emptying into a bright and shining sea. He was still +unexcited. Most unusual, he thought, a vision or a +mirage—more likely a vision, a trick of his disordered +mind. He was confirmed in this by sight of a ship lying at +anchor in the midst of the shining sea. He closed his eyes +for a while, then opened them. Strange how the vision +persisted! Yet not strange. He knew there were no +seas or ships in the heart of the barren lands, just as he had +known there was no cartridge in the empty rifle.</p> +<p>He heard a snuffle behind him—a half-choking gasp or +cough. Very slowly, because of his exceeding weakness and +stiffness, he rolled over on his other side. He could see +nothing near at hand, but he waited patiently. Again came +the snuffle and cough, and outlined between two jagged rocks not +a score of feet away he made out the gray head of a wolf. +The sharp ears were not pricked so sharply as he had seen them on +other wolves; the eyes were bleared and bloodshot, the head +seemed to droop limply and forlornly. The animal blinked +continually in the sunshine. It seemed sick. As he +looked it snuffled and coughed again.</p> +<p>This, at least, was real, he thought, and turned on the other +side so that he might see the reality of the world which had been +veiled from him before by the vision. But the sea still +shone in the distance and the ship was plainly discernible. +Was it reality, after all? He closed his eyes for a long +while and thought, and then it came to him. He had been +making north by east, away from the Dease Divide and into the +Coppermine Valley. This wide and sluggish river was the +Coppermine. That shining sea was the Arctic Ocean. +That ship was a whaler, strayed east, far east, from the mouth of +the Mackenzie, and it was lying at anchor in Coronation +Gulf. He remembered the Hudson Bay Company chart he had +seen long ago, and it was all clear and reasonable to him.</p> +<p>He sat up and turned his attention to immediate affairs. +He had worn through the blanket-wrappings, and his feet were +shapeless lumps of raw meat. His last blanket was +gone. Rifle and knife were both missing. He had lost +his hat somewhere, with the bunch of matches in the band, but the +matches against his chest were safe and dry inside the tobacco +pouch and oil paper. He looked at his watch. It +marked eleven o’clock and was still running. +Evidently he had kept it wound.</p> +<p>He was calm and collected. Though extremely weak, he had +no sensation of pain. He was not hungry. The thought +of food was not even pleasant to him, and whatever he did was +done by his reason alone. He ripped off his pants’ +legs to the knees and bound them about his feet. Somehow he +had succeeded in retaining the tin bucket. He would have +some hot water before he began what he foresaw was to be a +terrible journey to the ship.</p> +<p>His movements were slow. He shook as with a palsy. +When he started to collect dry moss, he found he could not rise +to his feet. He tried again and again, then contented +himself with crawling about on hands and knees. Once he +crawled near to the sick wolf. The animal dragged itself +reluctantly out of his way, licking its chops with a tongue which +seemed hardly to have the strength to curl. The man noticed +that the tongue was not the customary healthy red. It was a +yellowish brown and seemed coated with a rough and half-dry +mucus.</p> +<p>After he had drunk a quart of hot water the man found he was +able to stand, and even to walk as well as a dying man might be +supposed to walk. Every minute or so he was compelled to +rest. His steps were feeble and uncertain, just as the +wolf’s that trailed him were feeble and uncertain; and that +night, when the shining sea was blotted out by blackness, he knew +he was nearer to it by no more than four miles.</p> +<p>Throughout the night he heard the cough of the sick wolf, and +now and then the squawking of the caribou calves. There was +life all around him, but it was strong life, very much alive and +well, and he knew the sick wolf clung to the sick man’s +trail in the hope that the man would die first. In the +morning, on opening his eyes, he beheld it regarding him with a +wistful and hungry stare. It stood crouched, with tail +between its legs, like a miserable and woe-begone dog. It +shivered in the chill morning wind, and grinned dispiritedly when +the man spoke to it in a voice that achieved no more than a +hoarse whisper.</p> +<p>The sun rose brightly, and all morning the man tottered and +fell toward the ship on the shining sea. The weather was +perfect. It was the brief Indian Summer of the high +latitudes. It might last a week. To-morrow or next +day it might he gone.</p> +<p>In the afternoon the man came upon a trail. It was of +another man, who did not walk, but who dragged himself on all +fours. The man thought it might be Bill, but he thought in +a dull, uninterested way. He had no curiosity. In +fact, sensation and emotion had left him. He was no longer +susceptible to pain. Stomach and nerves had gone to +sleep. Yet the life that was in him drove him on. He +was very weary, but it refused to die. It was because it +refused to die that he still ate muskeg berries and minnows, +drank his hot water, and kept a wary eye on the sick wolf.</p> +<p>He followed the trail of the other man who dragged himself +along, and soon came to the end of it—a few fresh-picked +bones where the soggy moss was marked by the foot-pads of many +wolves. He saw a squat moose-hide sack, mate to his own, +which had been torn by sharp teeth. He picked it up, though +its weight was almost too much for his feeble fingers. Bill +had carried it to the last. Ha! ha! He would have the +laugh on Bill. He would survive and carry it to the ship in +the shining sea. His mirth was hoarse and ghastly, like a +raven’s croak, and the sick wolf joined him, howling +lugubriously. The man ceased suddenly. How could he +have the laugh on Bill if that were Bill; if those bones, so +pinky-white and clean, were Bill?</p> +<p>He turned away. Well, Bill had deserted him; but he +would not take the gold, nor would he suck Bill’s +bones. Bill would have, though, had it been the other way +around, he mused as he staggered on.</p> +<p>He came to a pool of water. Stooping over in quest of +minnows, he jerked his head back as though he had been +stung. He had caught sight of his reflected face. So +horrible was it that sensibility awoke long enough to be +shocked. There were three minnows in the pool, which was +too large to drain; and after several ineffectual attempts to +catch them in the tin bucket he forbore. He was afraid, +because of his great weakness, that he might fall in and +drown. It was for this reason that he did not trust himself +to the river astride one of the many drift-logs which lined its +sand-spits.</p> +<p>That day he decreased the distance between him and the ship by +three miles; the next day by two—for he was crawling now as +Bill had crawled; and the end of the fifth day found the ship +still seven miles away and him unable to make even a mile a +day. Still the Indian Summer held on, and he continued to +crawl and faint, turn and turn about; and ever the sick wolf +coughed and wheezed at his heels. His knees had become raw +meat like his feet, and though he padded them with the shirt from +his back it was a red track he left behind him on the moss and +stones. Once, glancing back, he saw the wolf licking +hungrily his bleeding trail, and he saw sharply what his own end +might be—unless—unless he could get the wolf. +Then began as grim a tragedy of existence as was ever +played—a sick man that crawled, a sick wolf that limped, +two creatures dragging their dying carcasses across the +desolation and hunting each other’s lives.</p> +<p>Had it been a well wolf, it would not have mattered so much to +the man; but the thought of going to feed the maw of that +loathsome and all but dead thing was repugnant to him. He +was finicky. His mind had begun to wander again, and to be +perplexed by hallucinations, while his lucid intervals grew rarer +and shorter.</p> +<p>He was awakened once from a faint by a wheeze close in his +ear. The wolf leaped lamely back, losing its footing and +falling in its weakness. It was ludicrous, but he was not +amused. Nor was he even afraid. He was too far gone +for that. But his mind was for the moment clear, and he lay +and considered. The ship was no more than four miles +away. He could see it quite distinctly when he rubbed the +mists out of his eyes, and he could see the white sail of a small +boat cutting the water of the shining sea. But he could +never crawl those four miles. He knew that, and was very +calm in the knowledge. He knew that he could not crawl half +a mile. And yet he wanted to live. It was +unreasonable that he should die after all he had undergone. +Fate asked too much of him. And, dying, he declined to +die. It was stark madness, perhaps, but in the very grip of +Death he defied Death and refused to die.</p> +<p>He closed his eyes and composed himself with infinite +precaution. He steeled himself to keep above the +suffocating languor that lapped like a rising tide through all +the wells of his being. It was very like a sea, this deadly +languor, that rose and rose and drowned his consciousness bit by +bit. Sometimes he was all but submerged, swimming through +oblivion with a faltering stroke; and again, by some strange +alchemy of soul, he would find another shred of will and strike +out more strongly.</p> +<p>Without movement he lay on his back, and he could hear, slowly +drawing near and nearer, the wheezing intake and output of the +sick wolf’s breath. It drew closer, ever closer, +through an infinitude of time, and he did not move. It was +at his ear. The harsh dry tongue grated like sandpaper +against his cheek. His hands shot out—or at least he +willed them to shoot out. The fingers were curved like +talons, but they closed on empty air. Swiftness and +certitude require strength, and the man had not this +strength.</p> +<p>The patience of the wolf was terrible. The man’s +patience was no less terrible. For half a day he lay +motionless, fighting off unconsciousness and waiting for the +thing that was to feed upon him and upon which he wished to +feed. Sometimes the languid sea rose over him and he +dreamed long dreams; but ever through it all, waking and +dreaming, he waited for the wheezing breath and the harsh caress +of the tongue.</p> +<p>He did not hear the breath, and he slipped slowly from some +dream to the feel of the tongue along his hand. He +waited. The fangs pressed softly; the pressure increased; +the wolf was exerting its last strength in an effort to sink +teeth in the food for which it had waited so long. But the +man had waited long, and the lacerated hand closed on the +jaw. Slowly, while the wolf struggled feebly and the hand +clutched feebly, the other hand crept across to a grip. +Five minutes later the whole weight of the man’s body was +on top of the wolf. The hands had not sufficient strength +to choke the wolf, but the face of the man was pressed close to +the throat of the wolf and the mouth of the man was full of +hair. At the end of half an hour the man was aware of a +warm trickle in his throat. It was not pleasant. It +was like molten lead being forced into his stomach, and it was +forced by his will alone. Later the man rolled over on his +back and slept.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>There were some members of a scientific expedition on the +whale-ship <i>Bedford</i>. From the deck they remarked a +strange object on the shore. It was moving down the beach +toward the water. They were unable to classify it, and, +being scientific men, they climbed into the whale-boat alongside +and went ashore to see. And they saw something that was +alive but which could hardly be called a man. It was blind, +unconscious. It squirmed along the ground like some +monstrous worm. Most of its efforts were ineffectual, but +it was persistent, and it writhed and twisted and went ahead +perhaps a score of feet an hour.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>Three weeks afterward the man lay in a bunk on the whale-ship +<i>Bedford</i>, and with tears streaming down his wasted cheeks +told who he was and what he had undergone. He also babbled +incoherently of his mother, of sunny Southern California, and a +home among the orange groves and flowers.</p> +<p>The days were not many after that when he sat at table with +the scientific men and ship’s officers. He gloated +over the spectacle of so much food, watching it anxiously as it +went into the mouths of others. With the disappearance of +each mouthful an expression of deep regret came into his +eyes. He was quite sane, yet he hated those men at +mealtime. He was haunted by a fear that the food would not +last. He inquired of the cook, the cabin-boy, the captain, +concerning the food stores. They reassured him countless +times; but he could not believe them, and pried cunningly about +the lazarette to see with his own eyes.</p> +<p>It was noticed that the man was getting fat. He grew +stouter with each day. The scientific men shook their heads +and theorized. They limited the man at his meals, but still +his girth increased and he swelled prodigiously under his +shirt.</p> +<p>The sailors grinned. They knew. And when the +scientific men set a watch on the man, they knew too. They +saw him slouch for’ard after breakfast, and, like a +mendicant, with outstretched palm, accost a sailor. The +sailor grinned and passed him a fragment of sea biscuit. He +clutched it avariciously, looked at it as a miser looks at gold, +and thrust it into his shirt bosom. Similar were the +donations from other grinning sailors.</p> +<p>The scientific men were discreet. They let him +alone. But they privily examined his bunk. It was +lined with hardtack; the mattress was stuffed with hardtack; +every nook and cranny was filled with hardtack. Yet he was +sane. He was taking precautions against another possible +famine—that was all. He would recover from it, the +scientific men said; and he did, ere the <i>Bedford’s</i> +anchor rumbled down in San Francisco Bay.</p> +<div class="chapter"> +<h2>A DAY’S LODGING</h2> +</div> +<blockquote><p>It was the gosh-dangdest stampede I ever +seen. A thousand dog-teams hittin’ the ice. You +couldn’t see ’m fer smoke. Two white men +an’ a Swede froze to death that night, an’ there was +a dozen busted their lungs. But didn’t I see with my +own eyes the bottom of the water-hole? It was yellow with +gold like a mustard-plaster. That’s why I staked the +Yukon for a minin’ claim. That’s what made the +stampede. An’ then there was nothin’ to +it. That’s what I said—NOTHIN’ to +it. An’ I ain’t got over guessin’ +yet.—<span class="smcap">Narrative of Shorty</span>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>John Messner clung with mittened hand to the bucking gee-pole +and held the sled in the trail. With the other mittened +hand he rubbed his cheeks and nose. He rubbed his cheeks +and nose every little while. In point of fact, he rarely +ceased from rubbing them, and sometimes, as their numbness +increased, he rubbed fiercely. His forehead was covered by +the visor of his fur cap, the flaps of which went over his +ears. The rest of his face was protected by a thick beard, +golden-brown under its coating of frost.</p> +<p>Behind him churned a heavily loaded Yukon sled, and before him +toiled a string of five dogs. The rope by which they +dragged the sled rubbed against the side of Messner’s +leg. When the dogs swung on a bend in the trail, he stepped +over the rope. There were many bends, and he was compelled +to step over it often. Sometimes he tripped on the rope, or +stumbled, and at all times he was awkward, betraying a weariness +so great that the sled now and again ran upon his heels.</p> +<p>When he came to a straight piece of trail, where the sled +could get along for a moment without guidance, he let go the +gee-pole and batted his right hand sharply upon the hard +wood. He found it difficult to keep up the circulation in +that hand. But while he pounded the one hand, he never +ceased from rubbing his nose and cheeks with the other.</p> +<p>“It’s too cold to travel, anyway,” he +said. He spoke aloud, after the manner of men who are much +by themselves. “Only a fool would travel at such a +temperature. If it isn’t eighty below, it’s +because it’s seventy-nine.”</p> +<p>He pulled out his watch, and after some fumbling got it back +into the breast pocket of his thick woollen jacket. Then he +surveyed the heavens and ran his eye along the white sky-line to +the south.</p> +<p>“Twelve o’clock,” he mumbled, “A clear +sky, and no sun.”</p> +<p>He plodded on silently for ten minutes, and then, as though +there had been no lapse in his speech, he added:</p> +<p>“And no ground covered, and it’s too cold to +travel.”</p> +<p>Suddenly he yelled “Whoa!” at the dogs, and +stopped. He seemed in a wild panic over his right hand, and +proceeded to hammer it furiously against the gee-pole.</p> +<p>“You—poor—devils!” he addressed the +dogs, which had dropped down heavily on the ice to rest. +His was a broken, jerky utterance, caused by the violence with +which he hammered his numb hand upon the wood. “What +have you done anyway that a two-legged other animal should come +along, break you to harness, curb all your natural proclivities, +and make slave-beasts out of you?”</p> +<p>He rubbed his nose, not reflectively, but savagely, in order +to drive the blood into it, and urged the dogs to their work +again. He travelled on the frozen surface of a great +river. Behind him it stretched away in a mighty curve of +many miles, losing itself in a fantastic jumble of mountains, +snow-covered and silent. Ahead of him the river split into +many channels to accommodate the freight of islands it carried on +its breast. These islands were silent and white. No +animals nor humming insects broke the silence. No birds +flew in the chill air. There was no sound of man, no mark +of the handiwork of man. The world slept, and it was like +the sleep of death.</p> +<p>John Messner seemed succumbing to the apathy of it all. +The frost was benumbing his spirit. He plodded on with +bowed head, unobservant, mechanically rubbing nose and cheeks, +and batting his steering hand against the gee-pole in the +straight trail-stretches.</p> +<p>But the dogs were observant, and suddenly they stopped, +turning their heads and looking back at their master out of eyes +that were wistful and questioning. Their eyelashes were +frosted white, as were their muzzles, and they had all the +seeming of decrepit old age, what of the frost-rime and +exhaustion.</p> +<p>The man was about to urge them on, when he checked himself, +roused up with an effort, and looked around. The dogs had +stopped beside a water-hole, not a fissure, but a hole man-made, +chopped laboriously with an axe through three and a half feet of +ice. A thick skin of new ice showed that it had not been +used for some time. Messner glanced about him. The +dogs were already pointing the way, each wistful and hoary muzzle +turned toward the dim snow-path that left the main river trail +and climbed the bank of the island.</p> +<p>“All right, you sore-footed brutes,” he +said. “I’ll investigate. You’re not +a bit more anxious to quit than I am.”</p> +<p>He climbed the bank and disappeared. The dogs did not +lie down, but on their feet eagerly waited his return. He +came back to them, took a hauling-rope from the front of the +sled, and put it around his shoulders. Then he +<i>gee’d</i> the dogs to the right and put them at the bank +on the run. It was a stiff pull, but their weariness fell +from them as they crouched low to the snow, whining with +eagerness and gladness as they struggled upward to the last ounce +of effort in their bodies. When a dog slipped or faltered, +the one behind nipped his hind quarters. The man shouted +encouragement and threats, and threw all his weight on the +hauling-rope.</p> +<p>They cleared the bank with a rush, swung to the left, and +dashed up to a small log cabin. It was a deserted cabin of +a single room, eight feet by ten on the inside. Messner +unharnessed the animals, unloaded his sled and took +possession. The last chance wayfarer had left a supply of +firewood. Messner set up his light sheet-iron stove and +started a fire. He put five sun-cured salmon into the oven +to thaw out for the dogs, and from the water-hole filled his +coffee-pot and cooking-pail.</p> +<p>While waiting for the water to boil, he held his face over the +stove. The moisture from his breath had collected on his +beard and frozen into a great mass of ice, and this he proceeded +to thaw out. As it melted and dropped upon the stove it +sizzled and rose about him in steam. He helped the process +with his fingers, working loose small ice-chunks that fell +rattling to the floor.</p> +<p>A wild outcry from the dogs without did not take him from his +task. He heard the wolfish snarling and yelping of strange +dogs and the sound of voices. A knock came on the door.</p> +<p>“Come in,” Messner called, in a voice muffled +because at the moment he was sucking loose a fragment of ice from +its anchorage on his upper lip.</p> +<p>The door opened, and, gazing out of his cloud of steam, he saw +a man and a woman pausing on the threshold.</p> +<p>“Come in,” he said peremptorily, “and shut +the door!”</p> +<p>Peering through the steam, he could make out but little of +their personal appearance. The nose and cheek strap worn by +the woman and the trail-wrappings about her head allowed only a +pair of black eyes to be seen. The man was dark-eyed and +smooth-shaven all except his mustache, which was so iced up as to +hide his mouth.</p> +<p>“We just wanted to know if there is any other cabin +around here,” he said, at the same time glancing over the +unfurnished state of the room. “We thought this cabin +was empty.”</p> +<p>“It isn’t my cabin,” Messner answered. +“I just found it a few minutes ago. Come right in and +camp. Plenty of room, and you won’t need your +stove. There’s room for all.”</p> +<p>At the sound of his voice the woman peered at him with quick +curiousness.</p> +<p>“Get your things off,” her companion said to +her. “I’ll unhitch and get the water so we can +start cooking.”</p> +<p>Messner took the thawed salmon outside and fed his dogs. +He had to guard them against the second team of dogs, and when he +had reëntered the cabin the other man had unpacked the sled +and fetched water. Messner’s pot was boiling. +He threw in the coffee, settled it with half a cup of cold water, +and took the pot from the stove. He thawed some sour-dough +biscuits in the oven, at the same time heating a pot of beans he +had boiled the night before and that had ridden frozen on the +sled all morning.</p> +<p>Removing his utensils from the stove, so as to give the +newcomers a chance to cook, he proceeded to take his meal from +the top of his grub-box, himself sitting on his bed-roll. +Between mouthfuls he talked trail and dogs with the man, who, +with head over the stove, was thawing the ice from his +mustache. There were two bunks in the cabin, and into one +of them, when he had cleared his lip, the stranger tossed his +bed-roll.</p> +<p>“We’ll sleep here,” he said, “unless +you prefer this bunk. You’re the first comer and you +have first choice, you know.”</p> +<p>“That’s all right,” Messner answered. +“One bunk’s just as good as the other.”</p> +<p>He spread his own bedding in the second bunk, and sat down on +the edge. The stranger thrust a physician’s small +travelling case under his blankets at one end to serve for a +pillow.</p> +<p>“Doctor?” Messner asked.</p> +<p>“Yes,” came the answer, “but I assure you I +didn’t come into the Klondike to practise.”</p> +<p>The woman busied herself with cooking, while the man sliced +bacon and fired the stove. The light in the cabin was dim, +filtering through in a small window made of onion-skin writing +paper and oiled with bacon grease, so that John Messner could not +make out very well what the woman looked like. Not that he +tried. He seemed to have no interest in her. But she +glanced curiously from time to time into the dark corner where he +sat.</p> +<p>“Oh, it’s a great life,” the doctor +proclaimed enthusiastically, pausing from sharpening his knife on +the stovepipe. “What I like about it is the struggle, +the endeavor with one’s own hands, the primitiveness of it, +the realness.”</p> +<p>“The temperature is real enough,” Messner +laughed.</p> +<p>“Do you know how cold it actually is?” the doctor +demanded.</p> +<p>The other shook his head.</p> +<p>“Well, I’ll tell you. Seventy-four below +zero by spirit thermometer on the sled.”</p> +<p>“That’s one hundred and six below freezing +point—too cold for travelling, eh?”</p> +<p>“Practically suicide,” was the doctor’s +verdict. “One exerts himself. He breathes +heavily, taking into his lungs the frost itself. It chills +his lungs, freezes the edges of the tissues. He gets a dry, +hacking cough as the dead tissue sloughs away, and dies the +following summer of pneumonia, wondering what it’s all +about. I’ll stay in this cabin for a week, unless the +thermometer rises at least to fifty below.”</p> +<p>“I say, Tess,” he said, the next moment, +“don’t you think that coffee’s boiled long +enough!”</p> +<p>At the sound of the woman’s name, John Messner became +suddenly alert. He looked at her quickly, while across his +face shot a haunting expression, the ghost of some buried misery +achieving swift resurrection. But the next moment, and by +an effort of will, the ghost was laid again. His face was +as placid as before, though he was still alert, dissatisfied with +what the feeble light had shown him of the woman’s +face.</p> +<p>Automatically, her first act had been to set the coffee-pot +back. It was not until she had done this that she glanced +at Messner. But already he had composed himself. She +saw only a man sitting on the edge of the bunk and incuriously +studying the toes of his moccasins. But, as she turned +casually to go about her cooking, he shot another swift look at +her, and she, glancing as swiftly back, caught his look. He +shifted on past her to the doctor, though the slightest smile +curled his lip in appreciation of the way she had trapped +him.</p> +<p>She drew a candle from the grub-box and lighted it. One +look at her illuminated face was enough for Messner. In the +small cabin the widest limit was only a matter of several steps, +and the next moment she was alongside of him. She +deliberately held the candle close to his face and stared at him +out of eyes wide with fear and recognition. He smiled +quietly back at her.</p> +<p>“What are you looking for, Tess?” the doctor +called.</p> +<p>“Hairpins,” she replied, passing on and rummaging +in a clothes-bag on the bunk.</p> +<p>They served their meal on their grub-box, sitting on +Messner’s grub-box and facing him. He had stretched +out on his bunk to rest, lying on his side, his head on his +arm. In the close quarters it was as though the three were +together at table.</p> +<p>“What part of the States do you come from?” +Messner asked.</p> +<p>“San Francisco,” answered the doctor. +“I’ve been in here two years, though.”</p> +<p>“I hail from California myself,” was +Messner’s announcement.</p> +<p>The woman looked at him appealingly, but he smiled and went +on:</p> +<p>“Berkeley, you know.”</p> +<p>The other man was becoming interested.</p> +<p>“U. C.?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Yes, Class of ’86.”</p> +<p>“I meant faculty,” the doctor explained. +“You remind me of the type.”</p> +<p>“Sorry to hear you say so,” Messner smiled +back. “I’d prefer being taken for a prospector +or a dog-musher.”</p> +<p>“I don’t think he looks any more like a professor +than you do a doctor,” the woman broke in.</p> +<p>“Thank you,” said Messner. Then, turning to +her companion, “By the way, Doctor, what is your name, if I +may ask?”</p> +<p>“Haythorne, if you’ll take my word for it. I +gave up cards with civilization.”</p> +<p>“And Mrs. Haythorne,” Messner smiled and +bowed.</p> +<p>She flashed a look at him that was more anger than appeal.</p> +<p>Haythorne was about to ask the other’s name. His +mouth had opened to form the question when Messner cut him +off.</p> +<p>“Come to think of it, Doctor, you may possibly be able +to satisfy my curiosity. There was a sort of scandal in +faculty circles some two or three years ago. The wife of +one of the English professors—er, if you will pardon me, +Mrs. Haythorne—disappeared with some San Francisco doctor, +I understood, though his name does not just now come to my +lips. Do you remember the incident?”</p> +<p>Haythorne nodded his head. “Made quite a stir at +the time. His name was Womble—Graham Womble. He +had a magnificent practice. I knew him somewhat.”</p> +<p>“Well, what I was trying to get at was what had become +of them. I was wondering if you had heard. They left +no trace, hide nor hair.”</p> +<p>“He covered his tracks cunningly.” Haythorne +cleared his throat. “There was rumor that they went +to the South Seas—were lost on a trading schooner in a +typhoon, or something like that.”</p> +<p>“I never heard that,” Messner said. +“You remember the case, Mrs. Haythorne?”</p> +<p>“Perfectly,” she answered, in a voice the control +of which was in amazing contrast to the anger that blazed in the +face she turned aside so that Haythorne might not see.</p> +<p>The latter was again on the verge of asking his name, when +Messner remarked:</p> +<p>“This Dr. Womble, I’ve heard he was very handsome, +and—er—quite a success, so to say, with the +ladies.”</p> +<p>“Well, if he was, he finished himself off by that +affair,” Haythorne grumbled.</p> +<p>“And the woman was a termagant—at least so +I’ve been told. It was generally accepted in Berkeley +that she made life—er—not exactly paradise for her +husband.”</p> +<p>“I never heard that,” Haythorne rejoined. +“In San Francisco the talk was all the other +way.”</p> +<p>“Woman sort of a martyr, eh?—crucified on the +cross of matrimony?”</p> +<p>The doctor nodded. Messner’s gray eyes were mildly +curious as he went on:</p> +<p>“That was to be expected—two sides to the +shield. Living in Berkeley I only got the one side. +She was a great deal in San Francisco, it seems.”</p> +<p>“Some coffee, please,” Haythorne said.</p> +<p>The woman refilled his mug, at the same time breaking into +light laughter.</p> +<p>“You’re gossiping like a pair of beldames,” +she chided them.</p> +<p>“It’s so interesting,” Messner smiled at +her, then returned to the doctor. “The husband seems +then to have had a not very savory reputation in San +Francisco?”</p> +<p>“On the contrary, he was a moral prig,” Haythorne +blurted out, with apparently undue warmth. “He was a +little scholastic shrimp without a drop of red blood in his +body.”</p> +<p>“Did you know him?”</p> +<p>“Never laid eyes on him. I never knocked about in +university circles.”</p> +<p>“One side of the shield again,” Messner said, with +an air of weighing the matter judicially. “While he +did not amount to much, it is true—that is, +physically—I’d hardly say he was as bad as all +that. He did take an active interest in student +athletics. And he had some talent. He once wrote a +Nativity play that brought him quite a bit of local +appreciation. I have heard, also, that he was slated for +the head of the English department, only the affair happened and +he resigned and went away. It quite broke his career, or so +it seemed. At any rate, on our side the shield, it was +considered a knock-out blow to him. It was thought he cared +a great deal for his wife.”</p> +<p>Haythorne, finishing his mug of coffee, grunted uninterestedly +and lighted his pipe.</p> +<p>“It was fortunate they had no children,” Messner +continued.</p> +<p>But Haythorne, with a glance at the stove, pulled on his cap +and mittens.</p> +<p>“I’m going out to get some wood,” he +said. “Then I can take off my moccasins and be +comfortable.”</p> +<p>The door slammed behind him. For a long minute there was +silence. The man continued in the same position on the +bed. The woman sat on the grub-box, facing him.</p> +<p>“What are you going to do?” she asked +abruptly.</p> +<p>Messner looked at her with lazy indecision. “What +do you think I ought to do? Nothing scenic, I hope. +You see I am stiff and trail-sore, and this bunk is so +restful.”</p> +<p>She gnawed her lower lip and fumed dumbly.</p> +<p>“But—” she began vehemently, then clenched +her hands and stopped.</p> +<p>“I hope you don’t want me to kill +Mr.—er—Haythorne,” he said gently, almost +pleadingly. “It would be most distressing, and, I +assure you, really it is unnecessary.”</p> +<p>“But you must do something,” she cried.</p> +<p>“On the contrary, it is quite conceivable that I do not +have to do anything.”</p> +<p>“You would stay here?”</p> +<p>He nodded.</p> +<p>She glanced desperately around the cabin and at the bed +unrolled on the other bunk. “Night is coming +on. You can’t stop here. You can’t! +I tell you, you simply can’t!”</p> +<p>“Of course I can. I might remind you that I found +this cabin first and that you are my guests.”</p> +<p>Again her eyes travelled around the room, and the terror in +them leaped up at sight of the other bunk.</p> +<p>“Then we’ll have to go,” she announced +decisively.</p> +<p>“Impossible. You have a dry, hacking +cough—the sort Mr.—er—Haythorne so aptly +described. You’ve already slightly chilled your +lungs. Besides, he is a physician and knows. He would +never permit it.”</p> +<p>“Then what are you going to do?” she demanded +again, with a tense, quiet utterance that boded an outbreak.</p> +<p>Messner regarded her in a way that was almost paternal, what +of the profundity of pity and patience with which he contrived to +suffuse it.</p> +<p>“My dear Theresa, as I told you before, I don’t +know. I really haven’t thought about it.”</p> +<p>“Oh! You drive me mad!” She sprang to +her feet, wringing her hands in impotent wrath. “You +never used to be this way.”</p> +<p>“I used to be all softness and gentleness,” he +nodded concurrence. “Was that why you left +me?”</p> +<p>“You are so different, so dreadfully calm. You +frighten me. I feel you have something terrible planned all +the while. But whatever you do, don’t do anything +rash. Don’t get excited—”</p> +<p>“I don’t get excited any more,” he +interrupted. “Not since you went away.”</p> +<p>“You have improved—remarkably,” she +retorted.</p> +<p>He smiled acknowledgment. “While I am thinking +about what I shall do, I’ll tell you what you will have to +do—tell Mr.—er—Haythorne who I am. It may +make our stay in this cabin more—may I say, +sociable?”</p> +<p>“Why have you followed me into this frightful +country?” she asked irrelevantly.</p> +<p>“Don’t think I came here looking for you, +Theresa. Your vanity shall not be tickled by any such +misapprehension. Our meeting is wholly fortuitous. I +broke with the life academic and I had to go somewhere. To +be honest, I came into the Klondike because I thought it the +place you were least liable to be in.”</p> +<p>There was a fumbling at the latch, then the door swung in and +Haythorne entered with an armful of firewood. At the first +warning, Theresa began casually to clear away the dishes. +Haythorne went out again after more wood.</p> +<p>“Why didn’t you introduce us?” Messner +queried.</p> +<p>“I’ll tell him,” she replied, with a toss of +her head. “Don’t think I’m +afraid.”</p> +<p>“I never knew you to be afraid, very much, of +anything.”</p> +<p>“And I’m not afraid of confession, either,” +she said, with softening face and voice.</p> +<p>“In your case, I fear, confession is exploitation by +indirection, profit-making by ruse, self-aggrandizement at the +expense of God.”</p> +<p>“Don’t be literary,” she pouted, with +growing tenderness. “I never did like epigrammatic +discussion. Besides, I’m not afraid to ask you to +forgive me.”</p> +<p>“There is nothing to forgive, Theresa. I really +should thank you. True, at first I suffered; and then, with +all the graciousness of spring, it dawned upon me that I was +happy, very happy. It was a most amazing +discovery.”</p> +<p>“But what if I should return to you?” she +asked.</p> +<p>“I should” (he looked at her whimsically), +“be greatly perturbed.”</p> +<p>“I am your wife. You know you have never got a +divorce.”</p> +<p>“I see,” he meditated. “I have been +careless. It will be one of the first things I attend +to.”</p> +<p>She came over to his side, resting her hand on his arm. +“You don’t want me, John?” Her voice was +soft and caressing, her hand rested like a lure. “If +I told you I had made a mistake? If I told you that I was +very unhappy?—and I am. And I did make a +mistake.”</p> +<p>Fear began to grow on Messner. He felt himself wilting +under the lightly laid hand. The situation was slipping +away from him, all his beautiful calmness was going. She +looked at him with melting eyes, and he, too, seemed all dew and +melting. He felt himself on the edge of an abyss, powerless +to withstand the force that was drawing him over.</p> +<p>“I am coming back to you, John. I am coming back +to-day . . . now.”</p> +<p>As in a nightmare, he strove under the hand. While she +talked, he seemed to hear, rippling softly, the song of the +Lorelei. It was as though, somewhere, a piano were playing +and the actual notes were impinging on his ear-drums.</p> +<p>Suddenly he sprang to his feet, thrust her from him as her +arms attempted to clasp him, and retreated backward to the +door. He was in a panic.</p> +<p>“I’ll do something desperate!” he cried.</p> +<p>“I warned you not to get excited.” She +laughed mockingly, and went about washing the dishes. +“Nobody wants you. I was just playing with you. +I am happier where I am.”</p> +<p>But Messner did not believe. He remembered her facility +in changing front. She had changed front now. It was +exploitation by indirection. She was not happy with the +other man. She had discovered her mistake. The flame +of his ego flared up at the thought. She wanted to come +back to him, which was the one thing he did not want. +Unwittingly, his hand rattled the door-latch.</p> +<p>“Don’t run away,” she laughed. +“I won’t bite you.”</p> +<p>“I am not running away,” he replied with +child-like defiance, at the same time pulling on his +mittens. “I’m only going to get some +water.”</p> +<p>He gathered the empty pails and cooking pots together and +opened the door. He looked back at her.</p> +<p>“Don’t forget you’re to tell +Mr.—er—Haythorne who I am.”</p> +<p>Messner broke the skin that had formed on the water-hole +within the hour, and filled his pails. But he did not +return immediately to the cabin. Leaving the pails standing +in the trail, he walked up and down, rapidly, to keep from +freezing, for the frost bit into the flesh like fire. His +beard was white with his frozen breath when the perplexed and +frowning brows relaxed and decision came into his face. He +had made up his mind to his course of action, and his frigid lips +and cheeks crackled into a chuckle over it. The pails were +already skinned over with young ice when he picked them up and +made for the cabin.</p> +<p>When he entered he found the other man waiting, standing near +the stove, a certain stiff awkwardness and indecision in his +manner. Messner set down his water-pails.</p> +<p>“Glad to meet you, Graham Womble,” he said in +conventional tones, as though acknowledging an introduction.</p> +<p>Messner did not offer his hand. Womble stirred uneasily, +feeling for the other the hatred one is prone to feel for one he +has wronged.</p> +<p>“And so you’re the chap,” Messner said in +marvelling accents. “Well, well. You see, I +really am glad to meet you. I have +been—er—curious to know what Theresa found in +you—where, I may say, the attraction lay. Well, +well.”</p> +<p>And he looked the other up and down as a man would look a +horse up and down.</p> +<p>“I know how you must feel about me,” Womble +began.</p> +<p>“Don’t mention it,” Messner broke in with +exaggerated cordiality of voice and manner. “Never +mind that. What I want to know is how do you find +her? Up to expectations? Has she worn well? +Life been all a happy dream ever since?”</p> +<p>“Don’t be silly,” Theresa interjected.</p> +<p>“I can’t help being natural,” Messner +complained.</p> +<p>“You can be expedient at the same time, and +practical,” Womble said sharply. “What we want +to know is what are you going to do?”</p> +<p>Messner made a well-feigned gesture of helplessness. +“I really don’t know. It is one of those +impossible situations against which there can be no +provision.”</p> +<p>“All three of us cannot remain the night in this +cabin.”</p> +<p>Messner nodded affirmation.</p> +<p>“Then somebody must get out.”</p> +<p>“That also is incontrovertible,” Messner +agreed. “When three bodies cannot occupy the same +space at the same time, one must get out.”</p> +<p>“And you’re that one,” Womble announced +grimly. “It’s a ten-mile pull to the next camp, +but you can make it all right.”</p> +<p>“And that’s the first flaw in your +reasoning,” the other objected. “Why, +necessarily, should I be the one to get out? I found this +cabin first.”</p> +<p>“But Tess can’t get out,” Womble +explained. “Her lungs are already slightly +chilled.”</p> +<p>“I agree with you. She can’t venture ten +miles of frost. By all means she must remain.”</p> +<p>“Then it is as I said,” Womble announced with +finality.</p> +<p>Messner cleared his throat. “Your lungs are all +right, aren’t they?”</p> +<p>“Yes, but what of it?”</p> +<p>Again the other cleared his throat and spoke with painstaking +and judicial slowness. “Why, I may say, nothing of +it, except, ah, according to your own reasoning, there is nothing +to prevent your getting out, hitting the frost, so to speak, for +a matter of ten miles. You can make it all +right.”</p> +<p>Womble looked with quick suspicion at Theresa and caught in +her eyes a glint of pleased surprise.</p> +<p>“Well?” he demanded of her.</p> +<p>She hesitated, and a surge of anger darkened his face. +He turned upon Messner.</p> +<p>“Enough of this. You can’t stop +here.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I can.”</p> +<p>“I won’t let you.” Womble squared his +shoulders. “I’m running things.”</p> +<p>“I’ll stay anyway,” the other persisted.</p> +<p>“I’ll put you out.”</p> +<p>“I’ll come back.”</p> +<p>Womble stopped a moment to steady his voice and control +himself. Then he spoke slowly, in a low, tense voice.</p> +<p>“Look here, Messner, if you refuse to get out, +I’ll thrash you. This isn’t California. +I’ll beat you to a jelly with my two fists.”</p> +<p>Messner shrugged his shoulders. “If you do, +I’ll call a miners’ meeting and see you strung up to +the nearest tree. As you said, this is not +California. They’re a simple folk, these miners, and +all I’ll have to do will be to show them the marks of the +beating, tell them the truth about you, and present my claim for +my wife.”</p> +<p>The woman attempted to speak, but Womble turned upon her +fiercely.</p> +<p>“You keep out of this,” he cried.</p> +<p>In marked contrast was Messner’s “Please +don’t intrude, Theresa.”</p> +<p>What of her anger and pent feelings, her lungs were irritated +into the dry, hacking cough, and with blood-suffused face and one +hand clenched against her chest, she waited for the paroxysm to +pass.</p> +<p>Womble looked gloomily at her, noting her cough.</p> +<p>“Something must be done,” he said. +“Yet her lungs can’t stand the exposure. She +can’t travel till the temperature rises. And +I’m not going to give her up.”</p> +<p>Messner hemmed, cleared his throat, and hemmed again, +semi-apologetically, and said, “I need some +money.”</p> +<p>Contempt showed instantly in Womble’s face. At +last, beneath him in vileness, had the other sunk himself.</p> +<p>“You’ve got a fat sack of dust,” Messner +went on. “I saw you unload it from the +sled.”</p> +<p>“How much do you want?” Womble demanded, with a +contempt in his voice equal to that in his face.</p> +<p>“I made an estimate of the sack, and +I—ah—should say it weighed about twenty pounds. +What do you say we call it four thousand?”</p> +<p>“But it’s all I’ve got, man!” Womble +cried out.</p> +<p>“You’ve got her,” the other said +soothingly. “She must be worth it. Think what +I’m giving up. Surely it is a reasonable +price.”</p> +<p>“All right.” Womble rushed across the floor +to the gold-sack. “Can’t put this deal through +too quick for me, you—you little worm!”</p> +<p>“Now, there you err,” was the smiling +rejoinder. “As a matter of ethics isn’t the man +who gives a bribe as bad as the man who takes a bribe? The +receiver is as bad as the thief, you know; and you needn’t +console yourself with any fictitious moral superiority concerning +this little deal.”</p> +<p>“To hell with your ethics!” the other burst +out. “Come here and watch the weighing of this +dust. I might cheat you.”</p> +<p>And the woman, leaning against the bunk, raging and impotent, +watched herself weighed out in yellow dust and nuggets in the +scales erected on the grub-box. The scales were small, +making necessary many weighings, and Messner with precise care +verified each weighing.</p> +<p>“There’s too much silver in it,” he remarked +as he tied up the gold-sack. “I don’t think it +will run quite sixteen to the ounce. You got a trifle the +better of me, Womble.”</p> +<p>He handled the sack lovingly, and with due appreciation of its +preciousness carried it out to his sled.</p> +<p>Returning, he gathered his pots and pans together, packed his +grub-box, and rolled up his bed. When the sled was lashed +and the complaining dogs harnessed, he returned into the cabin +for his mittens.</p> +<p>“Good-by, Tess,” he said, standing at the open +door.</p> +<p>She turned on him, struggling for speech but too frantic to +word the passion that burned in her.</p> +<p>“Good-by, Tess,” he repeated gently.</p> +<p>“Beast!” she managed to articulate.</p> +<p>She turned and tottered to the bunk, flinging herself face +down upon it, sobbing: “You beasts! You +beasts!”</p> +<p>John Messner closed the door softly behind him, and, as he +started the dogs, looked back at the cabin with a great relief in +his face. At the bottom of the bank, beside the water-hole, +he halted the sled. He worked the sack of gold out between +the lashings and carried it to the water-hole. Already a +new skin of ice had formed. This he broke with his +fist. Untying the knotted mouth with his teeth, he emptied +the contents of the sack into the water. The river was +shallow at that point, and two feet beneath the surface he could +see the bottom dull-yellow in the fading light. At the +sight of it, he spat into the hole.</p> +<p>He started the dogs along the Yukon trail. Whining +spiritlessly, they were reluctant to work. Clinging to the +gee-pole with his right band and with his left rubbing cheeks and +nose, he stumbled over the rope as the dogs swung on a bend.</p> +<p>“Mush-on, you poor, sore-footed brutes!” he +cried. “That’s it, mush-on!”</p> +<div class="chapter"> +<h2>THE WHITE MAN’S WAY</h2> +</div> +<p>“To cook by your fire and to sleep under your roof for +the night,” I had announced on entering old Ebbits’s +cabin; and he had looked at me blear-eyed and vacuous, while +Zilla had favored me with a sour face and a contemptuous +grunt. Zilla was his wife, and no more bitter-tongued, +implacable old squaw dwelt on the Yukon. Nor would I have +stopped there had my dogs been less tired or had the rest of the +village been inhabited. But this cabin alone had I found +occupied, and in this cabin, perforce, I took my shelter.</p> +<p>Old Ebbits now and again pulled his tangled wits together, and +hints and sparkles of intelligence came and went in his +eyes. Several times during the preparation of my supper he +even essayed hospitable inquiries about my health, the condition +and number of my dogs, and the distance I had travelled that +day. And each time Zilla had looked sourer than ever and +grunted more contemptuously.</p> +<p>Yet I confess that there was no particular call for +cheerfulness on their part. There they crouched by the +fire, the pair of them, at the end of their days, old and +withered and helpless, racked by rheumatism, bitten by hunger, +and tantalized by the frying-odors of my abundance of meat. +They rocked back and forth in a slow and hopeless way, and +regularly, once every five minutes, Ebbits emitted a low +groan. It was not so much a groan of pain, as of +pain-weariness. He was oppressed by the weight and the +torment of this thing called life, and still more was he +oppressed by the fear of death. His was that eternal +tragedy of the aged, with whom the joy of life has departed and +the instinct for death has not come.</p> +<p>When my moose-meat spluttered rowdily in the frying-pan, I +noticed old Ebbits’s nostrils twitch and distend as he +caught the food-scent. He ceased rocking for a space and +forgot to groan, while a look of intelligence seemed to come into +his face.</p> +<p>Zilla, on the other hand, rocked more rapidly, and for the +first time, in sharp little yelps, voiced her pain. It came +to me that their behavior was like that of hungry dogs, and in +the fitness of things I should not have been astonished had Zilla +suddenly developed a tail and thumped it on the floor in right +doggish fashion. Ebbits drooled a little and stopped his +rocking very frequently to lean forward and thrust his tremulous +nose nearer to the source of gustatory excitement.</p> +<p>When I passed them each a plate of the fried meat, they ate +greedily, making loud mouth-noises—champings of worn teeth +and sucking intakes of the breath, accompanied by a continuous +spluttering and mumbling. After that, when I gave them each +a mug of scalding tea, the noises ceased. Easement and +content came into their faces. Zilla relaxed her sour mouth +long enough to sigh her satisfaction. Neither rocked any +more, and they seemed to have fallen into placid +meditation. Then a dampness came into Ebbits’s eyes, +and I knew that the sorrow of self-pity was his. The search +required to find their pipes told plainly that they had been +without tobacco a long time, and the old man’s eagerness +for the narcotic rendered him helpless, so that I was compelled +to light his pipe for him.</p> +<p>“Why are you all alone in the village?” I +asked. “Is everybody dead? Has there been a +great sickness? Are you alone left of the +living?”</p> +<p>Old Ebbits shook his head, saying: “Nay, there has +been no great sickness. The village has gone away to hunt +meat. We be too old, our legs are not strong, nor can our +backs carry the burdens of camp and trail. Wherefore we +remain here and wonder when the young men will return with +meat.”</p> +<p>“What if the young men do return with meat?” Zilla +demanded harshly.</p> +<p>“They may return with much meat,” he quavered +hopefully.</p> +<p>“Even so, with much meat,” she continued, more +harshly than before. “But of what worth to you and +me? A few bones to gnaw in our toothless old age. But +the back-fat, the kidneys, and the tongues—these shall go +into other mouths than thine and mine, old man.”</p> +<p>Ebbits nodded his head and wept silently.</p> +<p>“There be no one to hunt meat for us,” she cried, +turning fiercely upon me.</p> +<p>There was accusation in her manner, and I shrugged my +shoulders in token that I was not guilty of the unknown crime +imputed to me.</p> +<p>“Know, O White Man, that it is because of thy kind, +because of all white men, that my man and I have no meat in our +old age and sit without tobacco in the cold.”</p> +<p>“Nay,” Ebbits said gravely, with a stricter sense +of justice. “Wrong has been done us, it be true; but +the white men did not mean the wrong.”</p> +<p>“Where be Moklan?” she demanded. +“Where be thy strong son, Moklan, and the fish he was ever +willing to bring that you might eat?”</p> +<p>The old man shook his head.</p> +<p>“And where be Bidarshik, thy strong son? Ever was +he a mighty hunter, and ever did he bring thee the good back-fat +and the sweet dried tongues of the moose and the caribou. I +see no back-fat and no sweet dried tongues. Your stomach is +full with emptiness through the days, and it is for a man of a +very miserable and lying people to give you to eat.”</p> +<p>“Nay,” old Ebbits interposed in kindliness, +“the white man’s is not a lying people. The +white man speaks true. Always does the white man speak +true.” He paused, casting about him for words +wherewith to temper the severity of what he was about to +say. “But the white man speaks true in different +ways. To-day he speaks true one way, to-morrow he speaks +true another way, and there is no understanding him nor his +way.”</p> +<p>“To-day speak true one way, to-morrow speak true another +way, which is to lie,” was Zilla’s dictum.</p> +<p>“There is no understanding the white man,” Ebbits +went on doggedly.</p> +<p>The meat, and the tea, and the tobacco seemed to have brought +him back to life, and he gripped tighter hold of the idea behind +his age-bleared eyes. He straightened up somewhat. +His voice lost its querulous and whimpering note, and became +strong and positive. He turned upon me with dignity, and +addressed me as equal addresses equal.</p> +<p>“The white man’s eyes are not shut,” he +began. “The white man sees all things, and thinks +greatly, and is very wise. But the white man of one day is +not the white man of next day, and there is no understanding +him. He does not do things always in the same way. +And what way his next way is to be, one cannot know. Always +does the Indian do the one thing in the one way. Always +does the moose come down from the high mountains when the winter +is here. Always does the salmon come in the spring when the +ice has gone out of the river. Always does everything do +all things in the same way, and the Indian knows and +understands. But the white man does not do all things in +the same way, and the Indian does not know nor understand.</p> +<p>“Tobacco be very good. It be food to the hungry +man. It makes the strong man stronger, and the angry man to +forget that he is angry. Also is tobacco of value. It +is of very great value. The Indian gives one large salmon +for one leaf of tobacco, and he chews the tobacco for a long +time. It is the juice of the tobacco that is good. +When it runs down his throat it makes him feel good inside. +But the white man! When his mouth is full with the juice, +what does he do? That juice, that juice of great value, he +spits it out in the snow and it is lost. Does the white man +like tobacco? I do not know. But if he likes tobacco, +why does he spit out its value and lose it in the snow? It +is a great foolishness and without understanding.”</p> +<p>He ceased, puffed at the pipe, found that it was out, and +passed it over to Zilla, who took the sneer at the white man off +her lips in order to pucker them about the pipe-stem. +Ebbits seemed sinking back into his senility with the tale +untold, and I demanded:</p> +<p>“What of thy sons, Moklan and Bidarshik? And why +is it that you and your old woman are without meat at the end of +your years?”</p> +<p>He roused himself as from sleep, and straightened up with an +effort.</p> +<p>“It is not good to steal,” he said. +“When the dog takes your meat you beat the dog with a +club. Such is the law. It is the law the man gave to +the dog, and the dog must live to the law, else will it suffer +the pain of the club. When man takes your meat, or your +canoe, or your wife, you kill that man. That is the law, +and it is a good law. It is not good to steal, wherefore it +is the law that the man who steals must die. Whoso breaks +the law must suffer hurt. It is a great hurt to +die.”</p> +<p>“But if you kill the man, why do you not kill the +dog?” I asked.</p> +<p>Old Ebbits looked at me in childlike wonder, while Zilla +sneered openly at the absurdity of my question.</p> +<p>“It is the way of the white man,” Ebbits mumbled +with an air of resignation.</p> +<p>“It is the foolishness of the white man,” snapped +Zilla.</p> +<p>“Then let old Ebbits teach the white man wisdom,” +I said softly.</p> +<p>“The dog is not killed, because it must pull the sled of +the man. No man pulls another man’s sled, wherefore +the man is killed.”</p> +<p>“Oh,” I murmured.</p> +<p>“That is the law,” old Ebbits went on. +“Now listen, O White Man, and I will tell you of a great +foolishness. There is an Indian. His name is +Mobits. From white man he steals two pounds of flour. +What does the white man do? Does he beat Mobits? +No. Does he kill Mobits? No. What does he do to +Mobits? I will tell you, O White Man. He has a +house. He puts Mobits in that house. The roof is +good. The walls are thick. He makes a fire that +Mobits may be warm. He gives Mobits plenty grub to +eat. It is good grub. Never in his all days does +Mobits eat so good grub. There is bacon, and bread, and +beans without end. Mobits have very good time.</p> +<p>“There is a big lock on door so that Mobits does not run +away. This also is a great foolishness. Mobits will +not run away. All the time is there plenty grub in that +place, and warm blankets, and a big fire. Very foolish to +run away. Mobits is not foolish. Three months Mobits +stop in that place. He steal two pounds of flour. For +that, white man take plenty good care of him. Mobits eat +many pounds of flour, many pounds of sugar, of bacon, of beans +without end. Also, Mobits drink much tea. After three +months white man open door and tell Mobits he must go. +Mobits does not want to go. He is like dog that is fed long +time in one place. He want to stay in that place, and the +white man must drive Mobits away. So Mobits come back to +this village, and he is very fat. That is the white +man’s way, and there is no understanding it. It is a +foolishness, a great foolishness.”</p> +<p>“But thy sons?” I insisted. “Thy very +strong sons and thine old-age hunger?”</p> +<p>“There was Moklan,” Ebbits began.</p> +<p>“A strong man,” interrupted the mother. +“He could dip paddle all of a day and night and never stop +for the need of rest. He was wise in the way of the salmon +and in the way of the water. He was very wise.”</p> +<p>“There was Moklan,” Ebbits repeated, ignoring the +interruption. “In the spring, he went down the Yukon +with the young men to trade at Cambell Fort. There is a +post there, filled with the goods of the white man, and a trader +whose name is Jones. Likewise is there a white man’s +medicine man, what you call missionary. Also is there bad +water at Cambell Fort, where the Yukon goes slim like a maiden, +and the water is fast, and the currents rush this way and that +and come together, and there are whirls and sucks, and always are +the currents changing and the face of the water changing, so at +any two times it is never the same. Moklan is my son, +wherefore he is brave man—”</p> +<p>“Was not my father brave man?” Zilla demanded.</p> +<p>“Thy father was brave man,” Ebbits acknowledged, +with the air of one who will keep peace in the house at any +cost. “Moklan is thy son and mine, wherefore he is +brave. Mayhap, because of thy very brave father, Moklan is +too brave. It is like when too much water is put in the pot +it spills over. So too much bravery is put into Moklan, and +the bravery spills over.</p> +<p>“The young men are much afraid of the bad water at +Cambell Fort. But Moklan is not afraid. He laughs +strong, Ho! ho! and he goes forth into the bad water. But +where the currents come together the canoe is turned over. +A whirl takes Moklan by the legs, and he goes around and around, +and down and down, and is seen no more.”</p> +<p>“Ai! ai!” wailed Zilla. “Crafty and +wise was he, and my first-born!”</p> +<p>“I am the father of Moklan,” Ebbits said, having +patiently given the woman space for her noise. “I get +into canoe and journey down to Cambell Fort to collect the +debt!”</p> +<p>“Debt!” interrupted. “What +debt?”</p> +<p>“The debt of Jones, who is chief trader,” came the +answer. “Such is the law of travel in a strange +country.”</p> +<p>I shook my head in token of my ignorance, and Ebbits looked +compassion at me, while Zilla snorted her customary contempt.</p> +<p>“Look you, O White Man,” he said. “In +thy camp is a dog that bites. When the dog bites a man, you +give that man a present because you are sorry and because it is +thy dog. You make payment. Is it not so? Also, +if you have in thy country bad hunting, or bad water, you must +make payment. It is just. It is the law. Did +not my father’s brother go over into the Tanana Country and +get killed by a bear? And did not the Tanana tribe pay my +father many blankets and fine furs? It was just. It +was bad hunting, and the Tanana people made payment for the bad +hunting.</p> +<p>“So I, Ebbits, journeyed down to Cambell Fort to collect +the debt. Jones, who is chief trader, looked at me, and he +laughed. He made great laughter, and would not give +payment. I went to the medicine-man, what you call +missionary, and had large talk about the bad water and the +payment that should be mine. And the missionary made talk +about other things. He talk about where Moklan has gone, +now he is dead. There be large fires in that place, and if +missionary make true talk, I know that Moklan will be cold no +more. Also the missionary talk about where I shall go when +I am dead. And he say bad things. He say that I am +blind. Which is a lie. He say that I am in great +darkness. Which is a lie. And I say that the day come +and the night come for everybody just the same, and that in my +village it is no more dark than at Cambell Fort. Also, I +say that darkness and light and where we go when we die be +different things from the matter of payment of just debt for bad +water. Then the missionary make large anger, and call me +bad names of darkness, and tell me to go away. And so I +come back from Cambell Fort, and no payment has been made, and +Moklan is dead, and in my old age I am without fish and +meat.”</p> +<p>“Because of the white man,” said Zilla.</p> +<p>“Because of the white man,” Ebbits +concurred. “And other things because of the white +man. There was Bidarshik. One way did the white man +deal with him; and yet another way for the same thing did the +white man deal with Yamikan. And first must I tell you of +Yamikan, who was a young man of this village and who chanced to +kill a white man. It is not good to kill a man of another +people. Always is there great trouble. It was not the +fault of Yamikan that he killed the white man. Yamikan +spoke always soft words and ran away from wrath as a dog from a +stick. But this white man drank much whiskey, and in the +night-time came to Yamikan’s house and made much +fight. Yamikan cannot run away, and the white man tries to +kill him. Yamikan does not like to die, so he kills the +white man.</p> +<p>“Then is all the village in great trouble. We are +much afraid that we must make large payment to the white +man’s people, and we hide our blankets, and our furs, and +all our wealth, so that it will seem that we are poor people and +can make only small payment. After long time white men +come. They are soldier white men, and they take Yamikan +away with them. His mother make great noise and throw ashes +in her hair, for she knows Yamikan is dead. And all the +village knows that Yamikan is dead, and is glad that no payment +is asked.</p> +<p>“That is in the spring when the ice has gone out of the +river. One year go by, two years go by. It is +spring-time again, and the ice has gone out of the river. +And then Yamikan, who is dead, comes back to us, and he is not +dead, but very fat, and we know that he has slept warm and had +plenty grub to eat. He has much fine clothes and is all the +same white man, and he has gathered large wisdom so that he is +very quick head man in the village.</p> +<p>“And he has strange things to tell of the way of the +white man, for he has seen much of the white man and done a great +travel into the white man’s country. First place, +soldier white men take him down the river long way. All the +way do they take him down the river to the end, where it runs +into a lake which is larger than all the land and large as the +sky. I do not know the Yukon is so big river, but Yamikan +has seen with his own eyes. I do not think there is a lake +larger than all the land and large as the sky, but Yamikan has +seen. Also, he has told me that the waters of this lake be +salt, which is a strange thing and beyond understanding.</p> +<p>“But the White Man knows all these marvels for himself, +so I shall not weary him with the telling of them. Only +will I tell him what happened to Yamikan. The white man +give Yamikan much fine grub. All the time does Yamikan eat, +and all the time is there plenty more grub. The white man +lives under the sun, so said Yamikan, where there be much warmth, +and animals have only hair and no fur, and the green things grow +large and strong and become flour, and beans, and potatoes. +And under the sun there is never famine. Always is there +plenty grub. I do not know. Yamikan has said.</p> +<p>“And here is a strange thing that befell Yamikan. +Never did the white man hurt him. Only did they give him +warm bed at night and plenty fine grub. They take him +across the salt lake which is big as the sky. He is on +white man’s fire-boat, what you call steamboat, only he is +on boat maybe twenty times bigger than steamboat on Yukon. +Also, it is made of iron, this boat, and yet does it not +sink. This I do not understand, but Yamikan has said, +‘I have journeyed far on the iron boat; behold! I am still +alive.’ It is a white man’s soldier-boat with +many soldier men upon it.</p> +<p>“After many sleeps of travel, a long, long time, Yamikan +comes to a land where there is no snow. I cannot believe +this. It is not in the nature of things that when winter +comes there shall be no snow. But Yamikan has seen. +Also have I asked the white men, and they have said yes, there is +no snow in that country. But I cannot believe, and now I +ask you if snow never come in that country. Also, I would +hear the name of that country. I have heard the name +before, but I would hear it again, if it be the same—thus +will I know if I have heard lies or true talk.”</p> +<p>Old Ebbits regarded me with a wistful face. He would +have the truth at any cost, though it was his desire to retain +his faith in the marvel he had never seen.</p> +<p>“Yes,” I answered, “it is true talk that you +have heard. There is no snow in that country, and its name +is California.”</p> +<p>“Cal-ee-forn-ee-yeh,” he mumbled twice and thrice, +listening intently to the sound of the syllables as they fell +from his lips. He nodded his head in confirmation. +“Yes, it is the same country of which Yamikan made +talk.”</p> +<p>I recognized the adventure of Yamikan as one likely to occur +in the early days when Alaska first passed into the possession of +the United States. Such a murder case, occurring before the +instalment of territorial law and officials, might well have been +taken down to the United States for trial before a Federal +court.</p> +<p>“When Yamikan is in this country where there is no +snow,” old Ebbits continued, “he is taken to large +house where many men make much talk. Long time men +talk. Also many questions do they ask Yamikan. By and +by they tell Yamikan he have no more trouble. Yamikan does +not understand, for never has he had any trouble. All the +time have they given him warm place to sleep and plenty grub.</p> +<p>“But after that they give him much better grub, and they +give him money, and they take him many places in white +man’s country, and he see many strange things which are +beyond the understanding of Ebbits, who is an old man and has not +journeyed far. After two years, Yamikan comes back to this +village, and he is head man, and very wise until he dies.</p> +<p>“But before he dies, many times does he sit by my fire +and make talk of the strange things he has seen. And +Bidarshik, who is my son, sits by the fire and listens; and his +eyes are very wide and large because of the things he +hears. One night, after Yamikan has gone home, Bidarshik +stands up, so, very tall, and he strikes his chest with his fist, +and says, ‘When I am a man, I shall journey in far places, +even to the land where there is no snow, and see things for +myself.’”</p> +<p>“Always did Bidarshik journey in far places,” +Zilla interrupted proudly.</p> +<p>“It be true,” Ebbits assented gravely. +“And always did he return to sit by the fire and hunger for +yet other and unknown far places.”</p> +<p>“And always did he remember the salt lake as big as the +sky and the country under the sun where there is no snow,” +quoth Zilla.</p> +<p>“And always did he say, ‘When I have the full +strength of a man, I will go and see for myself if the talk of +Yamikan be true talk,’” said Ebbits.</p> +<p>“But there was no way to go to the white man’s +country,” said Zilla.</p> +<p>“Did he not go down to the salt lake that is big as the +sky?” Ebbits demanded.</p> +<p>“And there was no way for him across the salt +lake,” said Zilla.</p> +<p>“Save in the white man’s fire-boat which is of +iron and is bigger than twenty steamboats on the Yukon,” +said Ebbits. He scowled at Zilla, whose withered lips were +again writhing into speech, and compelled her to silence. +“But the white man would not let him cross the salt lake in +the fire-boat, and he returned to sit by the fire and hunger for +the country under the sun where there is no +snow.’”</p> +<p>“Yet on the salt lake had he seen the fire-boat of iron +that did not sink,” cried out Zilla the irrepressible.</p> +<p>“Ay,” said Ebbits, “and he saw that Yamikan +had made true talk of the things he had seen. But there was +no way for Bidarshik to journey to the white man’s land +under the sun, and he grew sick and weary like an old man and +moved not away from the fire. No longer did he go forth to +kill meat—”</p> +<p>“And no longer did he eat the meat placed before +him,” Zilla broke in. “He would shake his head +and say, ‘Only do I care to eat the grub of the white man +and grow fat after the manner of Yamikan.’”</p> +<p>“And he did not eat the meat,” Ebbits went +on. “And the sickness of Bidarshik grew into a great +sickness until I thought he would die. It was not a +sickness of the body, but of the head. It was a sickness of +desire. I, Ebbits, who am his father, make a great +think. I have no more sons and I do not want Bidarshik to +die. It is a head-sickness, and there is but one way to +make it well. Bidarshik must journey across the lake as +large as the sky to the land where there is no snow, else will he +die. I make a very great think, and then I see the way for +Bidarshik to go.</p> +<p>“So, one night when he sits by the fire, very sick, his +head hanging down, I say, ‘My son, I have learned the way +for you to go to the white man’s land.’ He +looks at me, and his face is glad. ‘Go,’ I say, +‘even as Yamikan went.’ But Bidarshik is sick +and does not understand. ‘Go forth,’ I say, +‘and find a white man, and, even as Yamikan, do you kill +that white man. Then will the soldier white men come and +get you, and even as they took Yamikan will they take you across +the salt lake to the white man’s land. And then, even +as Yamikan, will you return very fat, your eyes full of the +things you have seen, your head filled with wisdom.’</p> +<p>“And Bidarshik stands up very quick, and his hand is +reaching out for his gun. ‘Where do you go?’ I +ask. ‘To kill the white man,’ he says. +And I see that my words have been good in the ears of Bidarshik +and that he will grow well again. Also do I know that my +words have been wise.</p> +<p>“There is a white man come to this village. He +does not seek after gold in the ground, nor after furs in the +forest. All the time does he seek after bugs and +flies. He does not eat the bugs and flies, then why does he +seek after them? I do not know. Only do I know that +he is a funny white man. Also does he seek after the eggs +of birds. He does not eat the eggs. All that is +inside he takes out, and only does he keep the shell. +Eggshell is not good to eat. Nor does he eat the eggshells, +but puts them away in soft boxes where they will not break. +He catch many small birds. But he does not eat the +birds. He takes only the skins and puts them away in +boxes. Also does he like bones. Bones are not good to +eat. And this strange white man likes best the bones of +long time ago which he digs out of the ground.</p> +<p>“But he is not a fierce white man, and I know he will +die very easy; so I say to Bidarshik, ‘My son, there is the +white man for you to kill.’ And Bidarshik says that +my words be wise. So he goes to a place he knows where are +many bones in the ground. He digs up very many of these +bones and brings them to the strange white man’s +camp. The white man is made very glad. His face +shines like the sun, and he smiles with much gladness as he looks +at the bones. He bends his head over, so, to look well at +the bones, and then Bidarshik strikes him hard on the head, with +axe, once, so, and the strange white man kicks and is dead.</p> +<p>“‘Now,’ I say to Bidarshik, ‘will the +white soldier men come and take you away to the land under the +sun, where you will eat much and grow fat.’ Bidarshik +is happy. Already has his sickness gone from him, and he +sits by the fire and waits for the coming of the white soldier +men.</p> +<p>“How was I to know the way of the white man is never +twice the same?” the old man demanded, whirling upon me +fiercely. “How was I to know that what the white man +does yesterday he will not do to-day, and that what he does +to-day he will not do to-morrow?” Ebbits shook his +head sadly. “There is no understanding the white +man. Yesterday he takes Yamikan to the land under the sun +and makes him fat with much grub. To-day he takes Bidarshik +and—what does he do with Bidarshik? Let me tell you +what he does with Bidarshik.</p> +<p>“I, Ebbits, his father, will tell you. He takes +Bidarshik to Cambell Fort, and he ties a rope around his neck, +so, and, when his feet are no more on the ground, he +dies.”</p> +<p>“Ai! ai!” wailed Zilla. “And never +does he cross the lake large as the sky, nor see the land under +the sun where there is no snow.”</p> +<p>“Wherefore,” old Ebbits said with grave dignity, +“there be no one to hunt meat for me in my old age, and I +sit hungry by my fire and tell my story to the White Man who has +given me grub, and strong tea, and tobacco for my +pipe.”</p> +<p>“Because of the lying and very miserable white +people,” Zilla proclaimed shrilly.</p> +<p>“Nay,” answered the old man with gentle +positiveness. “Because of the way of the white man, +which is without understanding and never twice the +same.”</p> +<div class="chapter"> +<h2>THE STORY OF KEESH</h2> +</div> +<p>Keesh lived long ago on the rim of the polar sea, was head man +of his village through many and prosperous years, and died full +of honors with his name on the lips of men. So long ago did +he live that only the old men remember his name, his name and the +tale, which they got from the old men before them, and which the +old men to come will tell to their children and their +children’s children down to the end of time. And the +winter darkness, when the north gales make their long sweep +across the ice-pack, and the air is filled with flying white, and +no man may venture forth, is the chosen time for the telling of +how Keesh, from the poorest <i>igloo</i> in the village, rose to +power and place over them all.</p> +<p>He was a bright boy, so the tale runs, healthy and strong, and +he had seen thirteen suns, in their way of reckoning time. +For each winter the sun leaves the land in darkness, and the next +year a new sun returns so that they may be warm again and look +upon one another’s faces. The father of Keesh had +been a very brave man, but he had met his death in a time of +famine, when he sought to save the lives of his people by taking +the life of a great polar bear. In his eagerness he came to +close grapples with the bear, and his bones were crushed; but the +bear had much meat on him and the people were saved. Keesh +was his only son, and after that Keesh lived alone with his +mother. But the people are prone to forget, and they forgot +the deed of his father; and he being but a boy, and his mother +only a woman, they, too, were swiftly forgotten, and ere long +came to live in the meanest of all the <i>igloos</i>.</p> +<p>It was at a council, one night, in the big <i>igloo</i> of +Klosh-Kwan, the chief, that Keesh showed the blood that ran in +his veins and the manhood that stiffened his back. With the +dignity of an elder, he rose to his feet, and waited for silence +amid the babble of voices.</p> +<p>“It is true that meat be apportioned me and mine,” +he said. “But it is ofttimes old and tough, this +meat, and, moreover, it has an unusual quantity of +bones.”</p> +<p>The hunters, grizzled and gray, and lusty and young, were +aghast. The like had never been known before. A +child, that talked like a grown man, and said harsh things to +their very faces!</p> +<p>But steadily and with seriousness, Keesh went on. +“For that I know my father, Bok, was a great hunter, I +speak these words. It is said that Bok brought home more +meat than any of the two best hunters, that with his own hands he +attended to the division of it, that with his own eyes he saw to +it that the least old woman and the last old man received fair +share.”</p> +<p>“Na! Na!” the men cried. “Put the +child out!” “Send him off to bed!” +“He is no man that he should talk to men and +graybeards!”</p> +<p>He waited calmly till the uproar died down.</p> +<p>“Thou hast a wife, Ugh-Gluk,” he said, “and +for her dost thou speak. And thou, too, Massuk, a mother +also, and for them dost thou speak. My mother has no one, +save me; wherefore I speak. As I say, though Bok be dead +because he hunted over-keenly, it is just that I, who am his son, +and that Ikeega, who is my mother and was his wife, should have +meat in plenty so long as there be meat in plenty in the +tribe. I, Keesh, the son of Bok, have spoken.”</p> +<p>He sat down, his ears keenly alert to the flood of protest and +indignation his words had created.</p> +<p>“That a boy should speak in council!” old Ugh-Gluk +was mumbling.</p> +<p>“Shall the babes in arms tell us men the things we shall +do?” Massuk demanded in a loud voice. “Am I a +man that I should be made a mock by every child that cries for +meat?”</p> +<p>The anger boiled a white heat. They ordered him to bed, +threatened that he should have no meat at all, and promised him +sore beatings for his presumption. Keesh’s eyes began +to flash, and the blood to pound darkly under his skin. In +the midst of the abuse he sprang to his feet.</p> +<p>“Hear me, ye men!” he cried. “Never +shall I speak in the council again, never again till the men come +to me and say, ‘It is well, Keesh, that thou shouldst +speak, it is well and it is our wish.’ Take this now, +ye men, for my last word. Bok, my father, was a great +hunter. I, too, his son, shall go and hunt the meat that I +eat. And be it known, now, that the division of that which +I kill shall be fair. And no widow nor weak one shall cry +in the night because there is no meat, when the strong men are +groaning in great pain for that they have eaten overmuch. +And in the days to come there shall be shame upon the strong men +who have eaten overmuch. I, Keesh, have said it!”</p> +<p>Jeers and scornful laughter followed him out of the +<i>igloo</i>, but his jaw was set and he went his way, looking +neither to right nor left.</p> +<p>The next day he went forth along the shore-line where the ice +and the land met together. Those who saw him go noted that +he carried his bow, with a goodly supply of bone-barbed arrows, +and that across his shoulder was his father’s big +hunting-spear. And there was laughter, and much talk, at +the event. It was an unprecedented occurrence. Never +did boys of his tender age go forth to hunt, much less to hunt +alone. Also were there shaking of heads and prophetic +mutterings, and the women looked pityingly at Ikeega, and her +face was grave and sad.</p> +<p>“He will be back ere long,” they said +cheeringly.</p> +<p>“Let him go; it will teach him a lesson,” the +hunters said. “And he will come back shortly, and he +will be meek and soft of speech in the days to follow.”</p> +<p>But a day passed, and a second, and on the third a wild gale +blew, and there was no Keesh. Ikeega tore her hair and put +soot of the seal-oil on her face in token of her grief; and the +women assailed the men with bitter words in that they had +mistreated the boy and sent him to his death; and the men made no +answer, preparing to go in search of the body when the storm +abated.</p> +<p>Early next morning, however, Keesh strode into the +village. But he came not shamefacedly. Across his +shoulders he bore a burden of fresh-killed meat. And there +was importance in his step and arrogance in his speech.</p> +<p>“Go, ye men, with the dogs and sledges, and take my +trail for the better part of a day’s travel,” he +said. “There is much meat on the ice—a she-bear +and two half-grown cubs.”</p> +<p>Ikeega was overcome with joy, but he received her +demonstrations in manlike fashion, saying: “Come, +Ikeega, let us eat. And after that I shall sleep, for I am +weary.”</p> +<p>And he passed into their <i>igloo</i> and ate profoundly, and +after that slept for twenty running hours.</p> +<p>There was much doubt at first, much doubt and +discussion. The killing of a polar bear is very dangerous, +but thrice dangerous is it, and three times thrice, to kill a +mother bear with her cubs. The men could not bring +themselves to believe that the boy Keesh, single-handed, had +accomplished so great a marvel. But the women spoke of the +fresh-killed meat he had brought on his back, and this was an +overwhelming argument against their unbelief. So they +finally departed, grumbling greatly that in all probability, if +the thing were so, he had neglected to cut up the +carcasses. Now in the north it is very necessary that this +should be done as soon as a kill is made. If not, the meat +freezes so solidly as to turn the edge of the sharpest knife, and +a three-hundred-pound bear, frozen stiff, is no easy thing to put +upon a sled and haul over the rough ice. But arrived at the +spot, they found not only the kill, which they had doubted, but +that Keesh had quartered the beasts in true hunter fashion, and +removed the entrails.</p> +<p>Thus began the mystery of Keesh, a mystery that deepened and +deepened with the passing of the days. His very next trip +he killed a young bear, nearly full-grown, and on the trip +following, a large male bear and his mate. He was +ordinarily gone from three to four days, though it was nothing +unusual for him to stay away a week at a time on the +ice-field. Always he declined company on these expeditions, +and the people marvelled. “How does he do it?” +they demanded of one another. “Never does he take a +dog with him, and dogs are of such great help, too.”</p> +<p>“Why dost thou hunt only bear?” Klosh-Kwan once +ventured to ask him.</p> +<p>And Keesh made fitting answer. “It is well known +that there is more meat on the bear,” he said.</p> +<p>But there was also talk of witchcraft in the village. +“He hunts with evil spirits,” some of the people +contended, “wherefore his hunting is rewarded. How +else can it be, save that he hunts with evil spirits?”</p> +<p>“Mayhap they be not evil, but good, these +spirits,” others said. “It is known that his +father was a mighty hunter. May not his father hunt with +him so that he may attain excellence and patience and +understanding? Who knows?”</p> +<p>None the less, his success continued, and the less skilful +hunters were often kept busy hauling in his meat. And in +the division of it he was just. As his father had done +before him, he saw to it that the least old woman and the last +old man received a fair portion, keeping no more for himself than +his needs required. And because of this, and of his merit +as a hunter, he was looked upon with respect, and even awe; and +there was talk of making him chief after old Klosh-Kwan. +Because of the things he had done, they looked for him to appear +again in the council, but he never came, and they were ashamed to +ask.</p> +<p>“I am minded to build me an <i>igloo</i>,” he said +one day to Klosh-Kwan and a number of the hunters. +“It shall be a large <i>igloo</i>, wherein Ikeega and I can +dwell in comfort.”</p> +<p>“Ay,” they nodded gravely.</p> +<p>“But I have no time. My business is hunting, and +it takes all my time. So it is but just that the men and +women of the village who eat my meat should build me my +<i>igloo</i>.”</p> +<p>And the <i>igloo</i> was built accordingly, on a generous +scale which exceeded even the dwelling of Klosh-Kwan. Keesh +and his mother moved into it, and it was the first prosperity she +had enjoyed since the death of Bok. Nor was material +prosperity alone hers, for, because of her wonderful son and the +position he had given her, she came to be looked upon as the +first woman in all the village; and the women were given to +visiting her, to asking her advice, and to quoting her wisdom +when arguments arose among themselves or with the men.</p> +<p>But it was the mystery of Keesh’s marvellous hunting +that took chief place in all their minds. And one day +Ugh-Gluk taxed him with witchcraft to his face.</p> +<p>“It is charged,” Ugh-Gluk said ominously, +“that thou dealest with evil spirits, wherefore thy hunting +is rewarded.”</p> +<p>“Is not the meat good?” Keesh made answer. +“Has one in the village yet to fall sick from the eating of +it? How dost thou know that witchcraft be concerned? +Or dost thou guess, in the dark, merely because of the envy that +consumes thee?”</p> +<p>And Ugh-Gluk withdrew discomfited, the women laughing at him +as he walked away. But in the council one night, after long +deliberation, it was determined to put spies on his track when he +went forth to hunt, so that his methods might be learned. +So, on his next trip, Bim and Bawn, two young men, and of hunters +the craftiest, followed after him, taking care not to be +seen. After five days they returned, their eyes bulging and +their tongues a-tremble to tell what they had seen. The +council was hastily called in Klosh-Kwan’s dwelling, and +Bim took up the tale.</p> +<p>“Brothers! As commanded, we journeyed on the trail +of Keesh, and cunningly we journeyed, so that he might not +know. And midway of the first day he picked up with a great +he-bear. It was a very great bear.”</p> +<p>“None greater,” Bawn corroborated, and went on +himself. “Yet was the bear not inclined to fight, for +he turned away and made off slowly over the ice. This we +saw from the rocks of the shore, and the bear came toward us, and +after him came Keesh, very much unafraid. And he shouted +harsh words after the bear, and waved his arms about, and made +much noise. Then did the bear grow angry, and rise up on +his hind legs, and growl. But Keesh walked right up to the +bear.”</p> +<p>“Ay,” Bim continued the story. “Right +up to the bear Keesh walked. And the bear took after him, +and Keesh ran away. But as he ran he dropped a little round +ball on the ice. And the bear stopped and smelled of it, +then swallowed it up. And Keesh continued to run away and +drop little round balls, and the bear continued to swallow them +up.”</p> +<p>Exclamations and cries of doubt were being made, and Ugh-Gluk +expressed open unbelief.</p> +<p>“With our own eyes we saw it,” Bim affirmed.</p> +<p>And Bawn—“Ay, with our own eyes. And this +continued until the bear stood suddenly upright and cried aloud +in pain, and thrashed his fore paws madly about. And Keesh +continued to make off over the ice to a safe distance. But +the bear gave him no notice, being occupied with the misfortune +the little round balls had wrought within him.”</p> +<p>“Ay, within him,” Bim interrupted. +“For he did claw at himself, and leap about over the ice +like a playful puppy, save from the way he growled and squealed +it was plain it was not play but pain. Never did I see such +a sight!”</p> +<p>“Nay, never was such a sight seen,” Bawn took up +the strain. “And furthermore, it was such a large +bear.”</p> +<p>“Witchcraft,” Ugh-Gluk suggested.</p> +<p>“I know not,” Bawn replied. “I tell +only of what my eyes beheld. And after a while the bear +grew weak and tired, for he was very heavy and he had jumped +about with exceeding violence, and he went off along the +shore-ice, shaking his head slowly from side to side and sitting +down ever and again to squeal and cry. And Keesh followed +after the bear, and we followed after Keesh, and for that day and +three days more we followed. The bear grew weak, and never +ceased crying from his pain.”</p> +<p>“It was a charm!” Ugh-Gluk exclaimed. +“Surely it was a charm!”</p> +<p>“It may well be.”</p> +<p>And Bim relieved Bawn. “The bear wandered, now +this way and now that, doubling back and forth and crossing his +trail in circles, so that at the end he was near where Keesh had +first come upon him. By this time he was quite sick, the +bear, and could crawl no farther, so Keesh came up close and +speared him to death.”</p> +<p>“And then?” Klosh-Kwan demanded.</p> +<p>“Then we left Keesh skinning the bear, and came running +that the news of the killing might be told.”</p> +<p>And in the afternoon of that day the women hauled in the meat +of the bear while the men sat in council assembled. When +Keesh arrived a messenger was sent to him, bidding him come to +the council. But he sent reply, saying that he was hungry +and tired; also that his <i>igloo</i> was large and comfortable +and could hold many men.</p> +<p>And curiosity was so strong on the men that the whole council, +Klosh-Kwan to the fore, rose up and went to the <i>igloo</i> of +Keesh. He was eating, but he received them with respect and +seated them according to their rank. Ikeega was proud and +embarrassed by turns, but Keesh was quite composed.</p> +<p>Klosh-Kwan recited the information brought by Bim and Bawn, +and at its close said in a stern voice: “So +explanation is wanted, O Keesh, of thy manner of hunting. +Is there witchcraft in it?”</p> +<p>Keesh looked up and smiled. “Nay, O +Klosh-Kwan. It is not for a boy to know aught of witches, +and of witches I know nothing. I have but devised a means +whereby I may kill the ice-bear with ease, that is all. It +be headcraft, not witchcraft.”</p> +<p>“And may any man?”</p> +<p>“Any man.”</p> +<p>There was a long silence. The men looked in one +another’s faces, and Keesh went on eating.</p> +<p>“And . . . and . . . and wilt thou tell us, O +Keesh?” Klosh-Kwan finally asked in a tremulous voice.</p> +<p>“Yea, I will tell thee.” Keesh finished +sucking a marrow-bone and rose to his feet. “It is +quite simple. Behold!”</p> +<p>He picked up a thin strip of whalebone and showed it to +them. The ends were sharp as needle-points. The strip +he coiled carefully, till it disappeared in his hand. Then, +suddenly releasing it, it sprang straight again. He picked +up a piece of blubber.</p> +<p>“So,” he said, “one takes a small chunk of +blubber, thus, and thus makes it hollow. Then into the +hollow goes the whalebone, so, tightly coiled, and another piece +of blubber is fitted over the whale-bone. After that it is +put outside where it freezes into a little round ball. The +bear swallows the little round ball, the blubber melts, the +whalebone with its sharp ends stands out straight, the bear gets +sick, and when the bear is very sick, why, you kill him with a +spear. It is quite simple.”</p> +<p>And Ugh-Gluk said “Oh!” and Klosh-Kwan said +“Ah!” And each said something after his own +manner, and all understood.</p> +<p>And this is the story of Keesh, who lived long ago on the rim +of the polar sea. Because he exercised headcraft and not +witchcraft, he rose from the meanest <i>igloo</i> to be head man +of his village, and through all the years that he lived, it is +related, his tribe was prosperous, and neither widow nor weak one +cried aloud in the night because there was no meat.</p> +<div class="chapter"> +<h2>THE UNEXPECTED</h2> +</div> +<p>It is a simple matter to see the obvious, to do the +expected. The tendency of the individual life is to be +static rather than dynamic, and this tendency is made into a +propulsion by civilization, where the obvious only is seen, and +the unexpected rarely happens. When the unexpected does +happen, however, and when it is of sufficiently grave import, the +unfit perish. They do not see what is not obvious, are +unable to do the unexpected, are incapable of adjusting their +well-grooved lives to other and strange grooves. In short, +when they come to the end of their own groove, they die.</p> +<p>On the other hand, there are those that make toward survival, +the fit individuals who escape from the rule of the obvious and +the expected and adjust their lives to no matter what strange +grooves they may stray into, or into which they may be +forced. Such an individual was Edith Whittlesey. She +was born in a rural district of England, where life proceeds by +rule of thumb and the unexpected is so very unexpected that when +it happens it is looked upon as an immorality. She went +into service early, and while yet a young woman, by rule-of-thumb +progression, she became a lady’s maid.</p> +<p>The effect of civilization is to impose human law upon +environment until it becomes machine-like in its +regularity. The objectionable is eliminated, the inevitable +is foreseen. One is not even made wet by the rain nor cold +by the frost; while death, instead of stalking about grewsome and +accidental, becomes a prearranged pageant, moving along a +well-oiled groove to the family vault, where the hinges are kept +from rusting and the dust from the air is swept continually +away.</p> +<p>Such was the environment of Edith Whittlesey. Nothing +happened. It could scarcely be called a happening, when, at +the age of twenty-five, she accompanied her mistress on a bit of +travel to the United States. The groove merely changed its +direction. It was still the same groove and well +oiled. It was a groove that bridged the Atlantic with +uneventfulness, so that the ship was not a ship in the midst of +the sea, but a capacious, many-corridored hotel that moved +swiftly and placidly, crushing the waves into submission with its +colossal bulk until the sea was a mill-pond, monotonous with +quietude. And at the other side the groove continued on +over the land—a well-disposed, respectable groove that +supplied hotels at every stopping-place, and hotels on wheels +between the stopping-places.</p> +<p>In Chicago, while her mistress saw one side of social life, +Edith Whittlesey saw another side; and when she left her +lady’s service and became Edith Nelson, she betrayed, +perhaps faintly, her ability to grapple with the unexpected and +to master it. Hans Nelson, immigrant, Swede by birth and +carpenter by occupation, had in him that Teutonic unrest that +drives the race ever westward on its great adventure. He +was a large-muscled, stolid sort of a man, in whom little +imagination was coupled with immense initiative, and who +possessed, withal, loyalty and affection as sturdy as his own +strength.</p> +<p>“When I have worked hard and saved me some money, I will +go to Colorado,” he had told Edith on the day after their +wedding. A year later they were in Colorado, where Hans +Nelson saw his first mining and caught the mining-fever +himself. His prospecting led him through the Dakotas, +Idaho, and eastern Oregon, and on into the mountains of British +Columbia. In camp and on trail, Edith Nelson was always +with him, sharing his luck, his hardship, and his toil. The +short step of the house-reared woman she exchanged for the long +stride of the mountaineer. She learned to look upon danger +clear-eyed and with understanding, losing forever that panic fear +which is bred of ignorance and which afflicts the city-reared, +making them as silly as silly horses, so that they await fate in +frozen horror instead of grappling with it, or stampede in blind +self-destroying terror which clutters the way with their crushed +carcasses.</p> +<p>Edith Nelson met the unexpected at every turn of the trail, +and she trained her vision so that she saw in the landscape, not +the obvious, but the concealed. She, who had never cooked +in her life, learned to make bread without the mediation of hops, +yeast, or baking-powder, and to bake bread, top and bottom, in a +frying-pan before an open fire. And when the last cup of +flour was gone and the last rind of bacon, she was able to rise +to the occasion, and of moccasins and the softer-tanned bits of +leather in the outfit to make a grub-stake substitute that +somehow held a man’s soul in his body and enabled him to +stagger on. She learned to pack a horse as well as a +man,—a task to break the heart and the pride of any +city-dweller, and she knew how to throw the hitch best suited for +any particular kind of pack. Also, she could build a fire +of wet wood in a downpour of rain and not lose her temper. +In short, in all its guises she mastered the unexpected. +But the Great Unexpected was yet to come into her life and put +its test upon her.</p> +<p>The gold-seeking tide was flooding northward into Alaska, and +it was inevitable that Hans Nelson and his wife should he caught +up by the stream and swept toward the Klondike. The fall of +1897 found them at Dyea, but without the money to carry an outfit +across Chilcoot Pass and float it down to Dawson. So Hans +Nelson worked at his trade that winter and helped rear the +mushroom outfitting-town of Skaguay.</p> +<p>He was on the edge of things, and throughout the winter he +heard all Alaska calling to him. Latuya Bay called loudest, +so that the summer of 1898 found him and his wife threading the +mazes of the broken coast-line in seventy-foot Siwash +canoes. With them were Indians, also three other men. +The Indians landed them and their supplies in a lonely bight of +land a hundred miles or so beyond Latuya Bay, and returned to +Skaguay; but the three other men remained, for they were members +of the organized party. Each had put an equal share of +capital into the outfitting, and the profits were to be divided +equally. In that Edith Nelson undertook to cook for the +outfit, a man’s share was to be her portion.</p> +<p>First, spruce trees were cut down and a three-room cabin +constructed. To keep this cabin was Edith Nelson’s +task. The task of the men was to search for gold, which +they did; and to find gold, which they likewise did. It was +not a startling find, merely a low-pay placer where long hours of +severe toil earned each man between fifteen and twenty dollars a +day. The brief Alaskan summer protracted itself beyond its +usual length, and they took advantage of the opportunity, +delaying their return to Skaguay to the last moment. And +then it was too late. Arrangements had been made to +accompany the several dozen local Indians on their fall trading +trip down the coast. The Siwashes had waited on the white +people until the eleventh hour, and then departed. There +was no course left the party but to wait for chance +transportation. In the meantime the claim was cleaned up +and firewood stocked in.</p> +<p>The Indian summer had dreamed on and on, and then, suddenly, +with the sharpness of bugles, winter came. It came in a +single night, and the miners awoke to howling wind, driving snow, +and freezing water. Storm followed storm, and between the +storms there was the silence, broken only by the boom of the surf +on the desolate shore, where the salt spray rimmed the beach with +frozen white.</p> +<p>All went well in the cabin. Their gold-dust had weighed +up something like eight thousand dollars, and they could not but +be contented. The men made snowshoes, hunted fresh meat for +the larder, and in the long evenings played endless games of +whist and pedro. Now that the mining had ceased, Edith +Nelson turned over the fire-building and the dish-washing to the +men, while she darned their socks and mended their clothes.</p> +<p>There was no grumbling, no bickering, nor petty quarrelling in +the little cabin, and they often congratulated one another on the +general happiness of the party. Hans Nelson was stolid and +easy-going, while Edith had long before won his unbounded +admiration by her capacity for getting on with people. +Harkey, a long, lank Texan, was unusually friendly for one with a +saturnine disposition, and, as long as his theory that gold grew +was not challenged, was quite companionable. The fourth +member of the party, Michael Dennin, contributed his Irish wit to +the gayety of the cabin. He was a large, powerful man, +prone to sudden rushes of anger over little things, and of +unfailing good-humor under the stress and strain of big +things. The fifth and last member, Dutchy, was the willing +butt of the party. He even went out of his way to raise a +laugh at his own expense in order to keep things cheerful. +His deliberate aim in life seemed to be that of a maker of +laughter. No serious quarrel had ever vexed the serenity of +the party; and, now that each had sixteen hundred dollars to show +for a short summer’s work, there reigned the well-fed, +contented spirit of prosperity.</p> +<p>And then the unexpected happened. They had just sat down +to the breakfast table. Though it was already eight +o’clock (late breakfasts had followed naturally upon +cessation of the steady work at mining) a candle in the neck of a +bottle lighted the meal. Edith and Hans sat at each end of +the table. On one side, with their backs to the door, sat +Harkey and Dutchy. The place on the other side was +vacant. Dennin had not yet come in.</p> +<p>Hans Nelson looked at the empty chair, shook his head slowly, +and, with a ponderous attempt at humor, said: “Always +is he first at the grub. It is very strange. Maybe he +is sick.”</p> +<p>“Where is Michael?” Edith asked.</p> +<p>“Got up a little ahead of us and went outside,” +Harkey answered.</p> +<p>Dutchy’s face beamed mischievously. He pretended +knowledge of Dennin’s absence, and affected a mysterious +air, while they clamored for information. Edith, after a +peep into the men’s bunk-room, returned to the table. +Hans looked at her, and she shook her head.</p> +<p>“He was never late at meal-time before,” she +remarked.</p> +<p>“I cannot understand,” said Hans. +“Always has he the great appetite like the +horse.”</p> +<p>“It is too bad,” Dutchy said, with a sad shake of +his head.</p> +<p>They were beginning to make merry over their comrade’s +absence.</p> +<p>“It is a great pity!” Dutchy volunteered.</p> +<p>“What?” they demanded in chorus.</p> +<p>“Poor Michael,” was the mournful reply.</p> +<p>“Well, what’s wrong with Michael?” Harkey +asked.</p> +<p>“He is not hungry no more,” wailed Dutchy. +“He has lost der appetite. He do not like der +grub.”</p> +<p>“Not from the way he pitches into it up to his +ears,” remarked Harkey.</p> +<p>“He does dot shust to be politeful to Mrs. +Nelson,” was Dutchy’s quick retort. “I +know, I know, and it is too pad. Why is he not here? +Pecause he haf gone out. Why haf he gone out? For der +defelopment of der appetite. How does he defelop der +appetite? He walks barefoots in der snow. Ach! +don’t I know? It is der way der rich peoples chases +after der appetite when it is no more and is running away. +Michael haf sixteen hundred dollars. He is rich +peoples. He haf no appetite. Derefore, pecause, he is +chasing der appetite. Shust you open der door und you will +see his barefoots in der snow. No, you will not see der +appetite. Dot is shust his trouble. When he sees der +appetite he will catch it und come to preak-fast.”</p> +<p>They burst into loud laughter at Dutchy’s +nonsense. The sound had scarcely died away when the door +opened and Dennin came in. All turned to look at him. +He was carrying a shot-gun. Even as they looked, he lifted +it to his shoulder and fired twice. At the first shot +Dutchy sank upon the table, overturning his mug of coffee, his +yellow mop of hair dabbling in his plate of mush. His +forehead, which pressed upon the near edge of the plate, tilted +the plate up against his hair at an angle of forty-five +degrees. Harkey was in the air, in his spring to his feet, +at the second shot, and he pitched face down upon the floor, his +“My God!” gurgling and dying in his throat.</p> +<p>It was the unexpected. Hans and Edith were +stunned. They sat at the table with bodies tense, their +eyes fixed in a fascinated gaze upon the murderer. Dimly +they saw him through the smoke of the powder, and in the silence +nothing was to be heard save the drip-drip of Dutchy’s +spilled coffee on the floor. Dennin threw open the breech +of the shot-gun, ejecting the empty shells. Holding the gun +with one hand, he reached with the other into his pocket for +fresh shells.</p> +<p>He was thrusting the shells into the gun when Edith Nelson was +aroused to action. It was patent that he intended to kill +Hans and her. For a space of possibly three seconds of time +she had been dazed and paralysed by the horrible and +inconceivable form in which the unexpected had made its +appearance. Then she rose to it and grappled with it. She +grappled with it concretely, making a cat-like leap for the +murderer and gripping his neck-cloth with both her hands. +The impact of her body sent him stumbling backward several +steps. He tried to shake her loose and still retain his +hold on the gun. This was awkward, for her firm-fleshed +body had become a cat’s. She threw herself to one +side, and with her grip at his throat nearly jerked him to the +floor. He straightened himself and whirled swiftly. +Still faithful to her hold, her body followed the circle of his +whirl so that her feet left the floor, and she swung through the +air fastened to his throat by her hands. The whirl +culminated in a collision with a chair, and the man and woman +crashed to the floor in a wild struggling fall that extended +itself across half the length of the room.</p> +<p>Hans Nelson was half a second behind his wife in rising to the +unexpected. His nerve processes and mental processes were +slower than hers. His was the grosser organism, and it had +taken him half a second longer to perceive, and determine, and +proceed to do. She had already flown at Dennin and gripped +his throat, when Hans sprang to his feet. But her coolness +was not his. He was in a blind fury, a Berserker +rage. At the instant he sprang from his chair his mouth +opened and there issued forth a sound that was half roar, half +bellow. The whirl of the two bodies had already started, +and still roaring, or bellowing, he pursued this whirl down the +room, overtaking it when it fell to the floor.</p> +<p>Hans hurled himself upon the prostrate man, striking madly +with his fists. They were sledge-like blows, and when Edith +felt Dennin’s body relax she loosed her grip and rolled +clear. She lay on the floor, panting and watching. +The fury of blows continued to rain down. Dennin did not +seem to mind the blows. He did not even move. Then it +dawned upon her that he was unconscious. She cried out to +Hans to stop. She cried out again. But he paid no +heed to her voice. She caught him by the arm, but her +clinging to it merely impeded his effort.</p> +<p>It was no reasoned impulse that stirred her to do what she +then did. Nor was it a sense of pity, nor obedience to the +“Thou shalt not” of religion. Rather was it +some sense of law, an ethic of her race and early environment, +that compelled her to interpose her body between her husband and +the helpless murderer. It was not until Hans knew he was +striking his wife that he ceased. He allowed himself to be +shoved away by her in much the same way that a ferocious but +obedient dog allows itself to be shoved away by its master. +The analogy went even farther. Deep in his throat, in an +animal-like way, Hans’s rage still rumbled, and several +times he made as though to spring back upon his prey and was only +prevented by the woman’s swiftly interposed body.</p> +<p>Back and farther back Edith shoved her husband. She had +never seen him in such a condition, and she was more frightened +of him than she had been of Dennin in the thick of the +struggle. She could not believe that this raging beast was +her Hans, and with a shock she became suddenly aware of a +shrinking, instinctive fear that he might snap her hand in his +teeth like any wild animal. For some seconds, unwilling to +hurt her, yet dogged in his desire to return to the attack, Hans +dodged back and forth. But she resolutely dodged with him, +until the first glimmerings of reason returned and he gave +over.</p> +<p>Both crawled to their feet. Hans staggered back against +the wall, where he leaned, his face working, in his throat the +deep and continuous rumble that died away with the seconds and at +last ceased. The time for the reaction had come. +Edith stood in the middle of the floor, wringing her hands, +panting and gasping, her whole body trembling violently.</p> +<p>Hans looked at nothing, but Edith’s eyes wandered wildly +from detail to detail of what had taken place. Dennin lay +without movement. The overturned chair, hurled onward in +the mad whirl, lay near him. Partly under him lay the +shot-gun, still broken open at the breech. Spilling out of +his right hand were the two cartridges which he had failed to put +into the gun and which he had clutched until consciousness left +him. Harkey lay on the floor, face downward, where he had +fallen; while Dutchy rested forward on the table, his yellow mop +of hair buried in his mush-plate, the plate itself still tilted +at an angle of forty-five degrees. This tilted plate +fascinated her. Why did it not fall down? It was +ridiculous. It was not in the nature of things for a +mush-plate to up-end itself on the table, even if a man or so had +been killed.</p> +<p>She glanced back at Dennin, but her eyes returned to the +tilted plate. It was so ridiculous! She felt a +hysterical impulse to laugh. Then she noticed the silence, +and forgot the plate in a desire for something to happen. +The monotonous drip of the coffee from the table to the floor +merely emphasized the silence. Why did not Hans do +something? say something? She looked at him and was about +to speak, when she discovered that her tongue refused its wonted +duty. There was a peculiar ache in her throat, and her +mouth was dry and furry. She could only look at Hans, who, +in turn, looked at her.</p> +<p>Suddenly the silence was broken by a sharp, metallic +clang. She screamed, jerking her eyes back to the +table. The plate had fallen down. Hans sighed as +though awakening from sleep. The clang of the plate had +aroused them to life in a new world. The cabin epitomized +the new world in which they must thenceforth live and move. +The old cabin was gone forever. The horizon of life was +totally new and unfamiliar. The unexpected had swept its +wizardry over the face of things, changing the perspective, +juggling values, and shuffling the real and the unreal into +perplexing confusion.</p> +<p>“My God, Hans!” was Edith’s first +speech.</p> +<p>He did not answer, but stared at her with horror. Slowly +his eyes wandered over the room, for the first time taking in its +details. Then he put on his cap and started for the +door.</p> +<p>“Where are you going?” Edith demanded, in an agony +of apprehension.</p> +<p>His hand was on the door-knob, and he half turned as he +answered, “To dig some graves.”</p> +<p>“Don’t leave me, Hans, with—” her eyes +swept the room—“with this.”</p> +<p>“The graves must be dug sometime,” he said.</p> +<p>“But you do not know how many,” she objected +desperately. She noted his indecision, and added, +“Besides, I’ll go with you and help.”</p> +<p>Hans stepped back to the table and mechanically snuffed the +candle. Then between them they made the examination. +Both Harkey and Dutchy were dead—frightfully dead, because +of the close range of the shot-gun. Hans refused to go near +Dennin, and Edith was forced to conduct this portion of the +investigation by herself.</p> +<p>“He isn’t dead,” she called to Hans.</p> +<p>He walked over and looked down at the murderer.</p> +<p>“What did you say?” Edith demanded, having caught +the rumble of inarticulate speech in her husband’s +throat.</p> +<p>“I said it was a damn shame that he isn’t +dead,” came the reply.</p> +<p>Edith was bending over the body.</p> +<p>“Leave him alone,” Hans commanded harshly, in a +strange voice.</p> +<p>She looked at him in sudden alarm. He had picked up the +shot-gun dropped by Dennin and was thrusting in the shells.</p> +<p>“What are you going to do?” she cried, rising +swiftly from her bending position.</p> +<p>Hans did not answer, but she saw the shot-gun going to his +shoulder. She grasped the muzzle with her hand and threw it +up.</p> +<p>“Leave me alone!” he cried hoarsely.</p> +<p>He tried to jerk the weapon away from her, but she came in +closer and clung to him.</p> +<p>“Hans! Hans! Wake up!” she +cried. “Don’t be crazy!”</p> +<p>“He killed Dutchy and Harkey!” was her +husband’s reply; “and I am going to kill +him.”</p> +<p>“But that is wrong,” she objected. +“There is the law.”</p> +<p>He sneered his incredulity of the law’s potency in such +a region, but he merely iterated, dispassionately, doggedly, +“He killed Dutchy and Harkey.”</p> +<p>Long she argued it with him, but the argument was one-sided, +for he contented himself with repeating again and again, +“He killed Dutchy and Harkey.” But she could +not escape from her childhood training nor from the blood that +was in her. The heritage of law was hers, and right +conduct, to her, was the fulfilment of the law. She could +see no other righteous course to pursue. Hans’s +taking the law in his own hands was no more justifiable than +Dennin’s deed. Two wrongs did not make a right, she +contended, and there was only one way to punish Dennin, and that +was the legal way arranged by society. At last Hans gave in +to her.</p> +<p>“All right,” he said. “Have it your +own way. And to-morrow or next day look to see him kill you +and me.”</p> +<p>She shook her head and held out her hand for the +shot-gun. He started to hand it to her, then hesitated.</p> +<p>“Better let me shoot him,” he pleaded.</p> +<p>Again she shook her head, and again he started to pass her the +gun, when the door opened, and an Indian, without knocking, came +in. A blast of wind and flurry of snow came in with +him. They turned and faced him, Hans still holding the +shot-gun. The intruder took in the scene without a +quiver. His eyes embraced the dead and wounded in a +sweeping glance. No surprise showed in his face, not even +curiosity. Harkey lay at his feet, but he took no notice of +him. So far as he was concerned, Harkey’s body did +not exist.</p> +<p>“Much wind,” the Indian remarked by way of +salutation. “All well? Very well?”</p> +<p>Hans, still grasping the gun, felt sure that the Indian +attributed to him the mangled corpses. He glanced +appealingly at his wife.</p> +<p>“Good morning, Negook,” she said, her voice +betraying her effort. “No, not very well. Much +trouble.”</p> +<p>“Good-by, I go now, much hurry,” the Indian said, +and without semblance of haste, with great deliberation stepping +clear of a red pool on the floor, he opened the door and went +out.</p> +<p>The man and woman looked at each other.</p> +<p>“He thinks we did it,” Hans gasped, “that I +did it.”</p> +<p>Edith was silent for a space. Then she said, briefly, in +a businesslike way:</p> +<p>“Never mind what he thinks. That will come +after. At present we have two graves to dig. But +first of all, we’ve got to tie up Dennin so he can’t +escape.”</p> +<p>Hans refused to touch Dennin, but Edith lashed him securely, +hand and foot. Then she and Hans went out into the +snow. The ground was frozen. It was impervious to a +blow of the pick. They first gathered wood, then scraped +the snow away and on the frozen surface built a fire. When +the fire had burned for an hour, several inches of dirt had +thawed. This they shovelled out, and then built a fresh +fire. Their descent into the earth progressed at the rate +of two or three inches an hour.</p> +<p>It was hard and bitter work. The flurrying snow did not +permit the fire to burn any too well, while the wind cut through +their clothes and chilled their bodies. They held but +little conversation. The wind interfered with speech. +Beyond wondering at what could have been Dennin’s motive, +they remained silent, oppressed by the horror of the +tragedy. At one o’clock, looking toward the cabin, +Hans announced that he was hungry.</p> +<p>“No, not now, Hans,” Edith answered. +“I couldn’t go back alone into that cabin the way it +is, and cook a meal.”</p> +<p>At two o’clock Hans volunteered to go with her; but she +held him to his work, and four o’clock found the two graves +completed. They were shallow, not more than two feet deep, +but they would serve the purpose. Night had fallen. +Hans got the sled, and the two dead men were dragged through the +darkness and storm to their frozen sepulchre. The funeral +procession was anything but a pageant. The sled sank deep +into the drifted snow and pulled hard. The man and the +woman had eaten nothing since the previous day, and were weak +from hunger and exhaustion. They had not the strength to +resist the wind, and at times its buffets hurled them off their +feet. On several occasions the sled was overturned, and +they were compelled to reload it with its sombre freight. +The last hundred feet to the graves was up a steep slope, and +this they took on all fours, like sled-dogs, making legs of their +arms and thrusting their hands into the snow. Even so, they +were twice dragged backward by the weight of the sled, and slid +and fell down the hill, the living and the dead, the haul-ropes +and the sled, in ghastly entanglement.</p> +<p>“To-morrow I will put up head-boards with their +names,” Hans said, when the graves were filled in.</p> +<p>Edith was sobbing. A few broken sentences had been all +she was capable of in the way of a funeral service, and now her +husband was compelled to half-carry her back to the cabin.</p> +<p>Dennin was conscious. He had rolled over and over on the +floor in vain efforts to free himself. He watched Hans and +Edith with glittering eyes, but made no attempt to speak. +Hans still refused to touch the murderer, and sullenly watched +Edith drag him across the floor to the men’s +bunk-room. But try as she would, she could not lift him +from the floor into his bunk.</p> +<p>“Better let me shoot him, and we’ll have no more +trouble,” Hans said in final appeal.</p> +<p>Edith shook her head and bent again to her task. To her +surprise the body rose easily, and she knew Hans had relented and +was helping her. Then came the cleansing of the +kitchen. But the floor still shrieked the tragedy, until +Hans planed the surface of the stained wood away and with the +shavings made a fire in the stove.</p> +<p>The days came and went. There was much of darkness and +silence, broken only by the storms and the thunder on the beach +of the freezing surf. Hans was obedient to Edith’s +slightest order. All his splendid initiative had +vanished. She had elected to deal with Dennin in her way, +and so he left the whole matter in her hands.</p> +<p>The murderer was a constant menace. At all times there +was the chance that he might free himself from his bonds, and +they were compelled to guard him day and night. The man or +the woman sat always beside him, holding the loaded +shot-gun. At first, Edith tried eight-hour watches, but the +continuous strain was too great, and afterwards she and Hans +relieved each other every four hours. As they had to sleep, +and as the watches extended through the night, their whole waking +time was expended in guarding Dennin. They had barely time +left over for the preparation of meals and the getting of +firewood.</p> +<p>Since Negook’s inopportune visit, the Indians had +avoided the cabin. Edith sent Hans to their cabins to get +them to take Dennin down the coast in a canoe to the nearest +white settlement or trading post, but the errand was +fruitless. Then Edith went herself and interviewed +Negook. He was head man of the little village, keenly aware +of his responsibility, and he elucidated his policy thoroughly in +few words.</p> +<p>“It is white man’s trouble,” he said, +“not Siwash trouble. My people help you, then will it +be Siwash trouble too. When white man’s trouble and +Siwash trouble come together and make a trouble, it is a great +trouble, beyond understanding and without end. Trouble no +good. My people do no wrong. What for they help you +and have trouble?”</p> +<p>So Edith Nelson went back to the terrible cabin with its +endless alternating four-hour watches. Sometimes, when it +was her turn and she sat by the prisoner, the loaded shot-gun in +her lap, her eyes would close and she would doze. Always +she aroused with a start, snatching up the gun and swiftly +looking at him. These were distinct nervous shocks, and +their effect was not good on her. Such was her fear of the +man, that even though she were wide awake, if he moved under the +bedclothes she could not repress the start and the quick reach +for the gun.</p> +<p>She was preparing herself for a nervous break-down, and she +knew it. First came a fluttering of the eyeballs, so that +she was compelled to close her eyes for relief. A little +later the eyelids were afflicted by a nervous twitching that she +could not control. To add to the strain, she could not +forget the tragedy. She remained as close to the horror as +on the first morning when the unexpected stalked into the cabin +and took possession. In her daily ministrations upon the +prisoner she was forced to grit her teeth and steel herself, body +and spirit.</p> +<p>Hans was affected differently. He became obsessed by the +idea that it was his duty to kill Dennin; and whenever he waited +upon the bound man or watched by him, Edith was troubled by the +fear that Hans would add another red entry to the cabin’s +record. Always he cursed Dennin savagely and handled him +roughly. Hans tried to conceal his homicidal mania, and he +would say to his wife: “By and by you will want me to +kill him, and then I will not kill him. It would make me +sick.” But more than once, stealing into the room, +when it was her watch off, she would catch the two men glaring +ferociously at each other, wild animals the pair of them, in +Hans’s face the lust to kill, in Dennin’s the +fierceness and savagery of the cornered rat. +“Hans!” she would cry, “wake up!” and he +would come to a recollection of himself, startled and shamefaced +and unrepentant.</p> +<p>So Hans became another factor in the problem the unexpected +had given Edith Nelson to solve. At first it had been +merely a question of right conduct in dealing with Dennin, and +right conduct, as she conceived it, lay in keeping him a prisoner +until he could be turned over for trial before a proper +tribunal. But now entered Hans, and she saw that his sanity +and his salvation were involved. Nor was she long in +discovering that her own strength and endurance had become part +of the problem. She was breaking down under the +strain. Her left arm had developed involuntary jerkings and +twitchings. She spilled her food from her spoon, and could +place no reliance in her afflicted arm. She judged it to be +a form of St. Vitus’s dance, and she feared the extent to +which its ravages might go. What if she broke down? +And the vision she had of the possible future, when the cabin +might contain only Dennin and Hans, was an added horror.</p> +<p>After the third day, Dennin had begun to talk. His first +question had been, “What are you going to do with +me?” And this question he repeated daily and many times a +day. And always Edith replied that he would assuredly be +dealt with according to law. In turn, she put a daily +question to him,—“Why did you do it?” To +this he never replied. Also, he received the question with +out-bursts of anger, raging and straining at the rawhide that +bound him and threatening her with what he would do when he got +loose, which he said he was sure to do sooner or later. At +such times she cocked both triggers of the gun, prepared to meet +him with leaden death if he should burst loose, herself trembling +and palpitating and dizzy from the tension and shock.</p> +<p>But in time Dennin grew more tractable. It seemed to her +that he was growing weary of his unchanging recumbent +position. He began to beg and plead to be released. +He made wild promises. He would do them no harm. He +would himself go down the coast and give himself up to the +officers of the law. He would give them his share of the +gold. He would go away into the heart of the wilderness, +and never again appear in civilization. He would take his +own life if she would only free him. His pleadings usually +culminated in involuntary raving, until it seemed to her that he +was passing into a fit; but always she shook her head and denied +him the freedom for which he worked himself into a passion.</p> +<p>But the weeks went by, and he continued to grow more +tractable. And through it all the weariness was asserting +itself more and more. “I am so tired, so +tired,” he would murmur, rolling his head back and forth on +the pillow like a peevish child. At a little later period +he began to make impassioned pleas for death, to beg her to kill +him, to beg Hans to put him our of his misery so that he might at +least rest comfortably.</p> +<p>The situation was fast becoming impossible. +Edith’s nervousness was increasing, and she knew her +break-down might come any time. She could not even get her +proper rest, for she was haunted by the fear that Hans would +yield to his mania and kill Dennin while she slept. Though +January had already come, months would have to elapse before any +trading schooner was even likely to put into the bay. Also, +they had not expected to winter in the cabin, and the food was +running low; nor could Hans add to the supply by hunting. +They were chained to the cabin by the necessity of guarding their +prisoner.</p> +<p>Something must be done, and she knew it. She forced +herself to go back into a reconsideration of the problem. +She could not shake off the legacy of her race, the law that was +of her blood and that had been trained into her. She knew +that whatever she did she must do according to the law, and in +the long hours of watching, the shot-gun on her knees, the +murderer restless beside her and the storms thundering without, +she made original sociological researches and worked out for +herself the evolution of the law. It came to her that the +law was nothing more than the judgment and the will of any group +of people. It mattered not how large was the group of +people. There were little groups, she reasoned, like +Switzerland, and there were big groups like the United +States. Also, she reasoned, it did not matter how small was +the group of people. There might be only ten thousand +people in a country, yet their collective judgment and will would +be the law of that country. Why, then, could not one +thousand people constitute such a group? she asked herself. +And if one thousand, why not one hundred? Why not +fifty? Why not five? Why not—two?</p> +<p>She was frightened at her own conclusion, and she talked it +over with Hans. At first he could not comprehend, and then, +when he did, he added convincing evidence. He spoke of +miners’ meetings, where all the men of a locality came +together and made the law and executed the law. There might +be only ten or fifteen men altogether, he said, but the will of +the majority became the law for the whole ten or fifteen, and +whoever violated that will was punished.</p> +<p>Edith saw her way clear at last. Dennin must hang. +Hans agreed with her. Between them they constituted the +majority of this particular group. It was the group-will +that Dennin should be hanged. In the execution of this will +Edith strove earnestly to observe the customary forms, but the +group was so small that Hans and she had to serve as witnesses, +as jury, and as judges—also as executioners. She +formally charged Michael Dennin with the murder of Dutchy and +Harkey, and the prisoner lay in his bunk and listened to the +testimony, first of Hans, and then of Edith. He refused to +plead guilty or not guilty, and remained silent when she asked +him if he had anything to say in his own defence. She and +Hans, without leaving their seats, brought in the jury’s +verdict of guilty. Then, as judge, she imposed the +sentence. Her voice shook, her eyelids twitched, her left +arm jerked, but she carried it out.</p> +<p>“Michael Dennin, in three days’ time you are to be +hanged by the neck until you are dead.”</p> +<p>Such was the sentence. The man breathed an unconscious +sigh of relief, then laughed defiantly, and said, “Thin +I’m thinkin’ the damn bunk won’t be +achin’ me back anny more, an’ that’s a +consolation.”</p> +<p>With the passing of the sentence a feeling of relief seemed to +communicate itself to all of them. Especially was it +noticeable in Dennin. All sullenness and defiance +disappeared, and he talked sociably with his captors, and even +with flashes of his old-time wit. Also, he found great +satisfaction in Edith’s reading to him from the +Bible. She read from the New Testament, and he took keen +interest in the prodigal son and the thief on the cross.</p> +<p>On the day preceding that set for the execution, when Edith +asked her usual question, “Why did you do it?” Dennin +answered, “’Tis very simple. I was +thinkin’—”</p> +<p>But she hushed him abruptly, asked him to wait, and hurried to +Hans’s bedside. It was his watch off, and he came out +of his sleep, rubbing his eyes and grumbling.</p> +<p>“Go,” she told him, “and bring up Negook and +one other Indian. Michael’s going to confess. +Make them come. Take the rifle along and bring them up at +the point of it if you have to.”</p> +<p>Half an hour later Negook and his uncle, Hadikwan, were +ushered into the death chamber. They came unwillingly, Hans +with his rifle herding them along.</p> +<p>“Negook,” Edith said, “there is to be no +trouble for you and your people. Only is it for you to sit +and do nothing but listen and understand.”</p> +<p>Thus did Michael Dennin, under sentence of death, make public +confession of his crime. As he talked, Edith wrote his +story down, while the Indians listened, and Hans guarded the door +for fear the witnesses might bolt.</p> +<p>He had not been home to the old country for fifteen years, +Dennin explained, and it had always been his intention to return +with plenty of money and make his old mother comfortable for the +rest of her days.</p> +<p>“An’ how was I to be doin’ it on sixteen +hundred?” he demanded. “What I was after +wantin’ was all the goold, the whole eight +thousan’. Thin I cud go back in style. What ud +be aisier, thinks I to myself, than to kill all iv yez, report it +at Skaguay for an Indian-killin’, an’ thin pull out +for Ireland? An’ so I started in to kill all iv yez, +but, as Harkey was fond of sayin’, I cut out too large a +chunk an’ fell down on the swallowin’ iv it. +An’ that’s me confession. I did me duty to the +devil, an’ now, God willin’, I’ll do me duty to +God.”</p> +<p>“Negook and Hadikwan, you have heard the white +man’s words,” Edith said to the Indians. +“His words are here on this paper, and it is for you to +make a sign, thus, on the paper, so that white men to come after +will know that you have heard.”</p> +<p>The two Siwashes put crosses opposite their signatures, +received a summons to appear on the morrow with all their tribe +for a further witnessing of things, and were allowed to go.</p> +<p>Dennin’s hands were released long enough for him to sign +the document. Then a silence fell in the room. Hans +was restless, and Edith felt uncomfortable. Dennin lay on +his back, staring straight up at the moss-chinked roof.</p> +<p>“An’ now I’ll do me duty to God,” he +murmured. He turned his head toward Edith. +“Read to me,” he said, “from the book;” +then added, with a glint of playfulness, “Mayhap +’twill help me to forget the bunk.”</p> +<p>The day of the execution broke clear and cold. The +thermometer was down to twenty-five below zero, and a chill wind +was blowing which drove the frost through clothes and flesh to +the bones. For the first time in many weeks Dennin stood +upon his feet. His muscles had remained inactive so long, +and he was so out of practice in maintaining an erect position, +that he could scarcely stand.</p> +<p>He reeled back and forth, staggered, and clutched hold of +Edith with his bound hands for support.</p> +<p>“Sure, an’ it’s dizzy I am,” he +laughed weakly.</p> +<p>A moment later he said, “An’ it’s glad I am +that it’s over with. That damn bunk would iv been the +death iv me, I know.”</p> +<p>When Edith put his fur cap on his head and proceeded to pull +the flaps down over his ears, he laughed and said:</p> +<p>“What are you doin’ that for?”</p> +<p>“It’s freezing cold outside,” she +answered.</p> +<p>“An’ in tin minutes’ time what’ll +matter a frozen ear or so to poor Michael Dennin?” he +asked.</p> +<p>She had nerved herself for the last culminating ordeal, and +his remark was like a blow to her self-possession. So far, +everything had seemed phantom-like, as in a dream, but the brutal +truth of what he had said shocked her eyes wide open to the +reality of what was taking place. Nor was her distress +unnoticed by the Irishman.</p> +<p>“I’m sorry to be troublin’ you with me +foolish spache,” he said regretfully. “I mint +nothin’ by it. ’Tis a great day for Michael +Dennin, an’ he’s as gay as a lark.”</p> +<p>He broke out in a merry whistle, which quickly became +lugubrious and ceased.</p> +<p>“I’m wishin’ there was a priest,” he +said wistfully; then added swiftly, “But Michael +Dennin’s too old a campaigner to miss the luxuries when he +hits the trail.”</p> +<p>He was so very weak and unused to walking that when the door +opened and he passed outside, the wind nearly carried him off his +feet. Edith and Hans walked on either side of him and +supported him, the while he cracked jokes and tried to keep them +cheerful, breaking off, once, long enough to arrange the +forwarding of his share of the gold to his mother in Ireland.</p> +<p>They climbed a slight hill and came out into an open space +among the trees. Here, circled solemnly about a barrel that +stood on end in the snow, were Negook and Hadikwan, and all the +Siwashes down to the babies and the dogs, come to see the way of +the white man’s law. Near by was an open grave which +Hans had burned into the frozen earth.</p> +<p>Dennin cast a practical eye over the preparations, noting the +grave, the barrel, the thickness of the rope, and the diameter of +the limb over which the rope was passed.</p> +<p>“Sure, an’ I couldn’t iv done better meself, +Hans, if it’d been for you.”</p> +<p>He laughed loudly at his own sally, but Hans’s face was +frozen into a sullen ghastliness that nothing less than the trump +of doom could have broken. Also, Hans was feeling very +sick. He had not realized the enormousness of the task of +putting a fellow-man out of the world. Edith, on the other +hand, had realized; but the realization did not make the task any +easier. She was filled with doubt as to whether she could +hold herself together long enough to finish it. She felt +incessant impulses to scream, to shriek, to collapse into the +snow, to put her hands over her eyes and turn and run blindly +away, into the forest, anywhere, away. It was only by a +supreme effort of soul that she was able to keep upright and go +on and do what she had to do. And in the midst of it all +she was grateful to Dennin for the way he helped her.</p> +<p>“Lind me a hand,” he said to Hans, with whose +assistance he managed to mount the barrel.</p> +<p>He bent over so that Edith could adjust the rope about his +neck. Then he stood upright while Hans drew the rope taut +across the overhead branch.</p> +<p>“Michael Dennin, have you anything to say?” Edith +asked in a clear voice that shook in spite of her.</p> +<p>Dennin shuffled his feet on the barrel, looked down bashfully +like a man making his maiden speech, and cleared his throat.</p> +<p>“I’m glad it’s over with,” he +said. “You’ve treated me like a Christian, +an’ I’m thankin’ you hearty for your +kindness.”</p> +<p>“Then may God receive you, a repentant sinner,” +she said.</p> +<p>“Ay,” he answered, his deep voice as a response to +her thin one, “may God receive me, a repentant +sinner.”</p> +<p>“Good-by, Michael,” she cried, and her voice +sounded desperate.</p> +<p>She threw her weight against the barrel, but it did not +overturn.</p> +<p>“Hans! Quick! Help me!” she cried +faintly.</p> +<p>She could feel her last strength going, and the barrel +resisted her. Hans hurried to her, and the barrel went out +from under Michael Dennin.</p> +<p>She turned her back, thrusting her fingers into her +ears. Then she began to laugh, harshly, sharply, +metallically; and Hans was shocked as he had not been shocked +through the whole tragedy. Edith Nelson’s break-down +had come. Even in her hysteria she knew it, and she was +glad that she had been able to hold up under the strain until +everything had been accomplished. She reeled toward +Hans.</p> +<p>“Take me to the cabin, Hans,” she managed to +articulate.</p> +<p>“And let me rest,” she added. “Just +let me rest, and rest, and rest.”</p> +<p>With Hans’s arm around her, supporting her weight and +directing her helpless steps, she went off across the snow. +But the Indians remained solemnly to watch the working of the +white man’s law that compelled a man to dance upon the +air.</p> +<div class="chapter"> +<h2>BROWN WOLF</h2> +</div> +<p>She had delayed, because of the dew-wet grass, in order to put +on her overshoes, and when she emerged from the house found her +waiting husband absorbed in the wonder of a bursting +almond-bud. She sent a questing glance across the tall +grass and in and out among the orchard trees.</p> +<p>“Where’s Wolf?” she asked.</p> +<p>“He was here a moment ago.” Walt Irvine drew +himself away with a jerk from the metaphysics and poetry of the +organic miracle of blossom, and surveyed the landscape. +“He was running a rabbit the last I saw of him.”</p> +<p>“Wolf! Wolf! Here Wolf!” she called, +as they left the clearing and took the trail that led down +through the waxen-belled manzanita jungle to the county road.</p> +<p>Irvine thrust between his lips the little finger of each hand +and lent to her efforts a shrill whistling.</p> +<p>She covered her ears hastily and made a wry grimace.</p> +<p>“My! for a poet, delicately attuned and all the rest of +it, you can make unlovely noises. My ear-drums are +pierced. You outwhistle—”</p> +<p>“Orpheus.”</p> +<p>“I was about to say a street-arab,” she concluded +severely.</p> +<p>“Poesy does not prevent one from being +practical—at least it doesn’t prevent +<i>me</i>. Mine is no futility of genius that can’t +sell gems to the magazines.”</p> +<p>He assumed a mock extravagance, and went on:</p> +<p>“I am no attic singer, no ballroom warbler. And +why? Because I am practical. Mine is no squalor of +song that cannot transmute itself, with proper exchange value, +into a flower-crowned cottage, a sweet mountain-meadow, a grove +of redwoods, an orchard of thirty-seven trees, one long row of +blackberries and two short rows of strawberries, to say nothing +of a quarter of a mile of gurgling brook. I am a +beauty-merchant, a trader in song, and I pursue utility, dear +Madge. I sing a song, and thanks to the magazine editors I +transmute my song into a waft of the west wind sighing through +our redwoods, into a murmur of waters over mossy stones that +sings back to me another song than the one I sang and yet the +same song wonderfully—er—transmuted.”</p> +<p>“O that all your song-transmutations were as +successful!” she laughed.</p> +<p>“Name one that wasn’t.”</p> +<p>“Those two beautiful sonnets that you transmuted into +the cow that was accounted the worst milker in the +township.”</p> +<p>“She was beautiful—” he began,</p> +<p>“But she didn’t give milk,” Madge +interrupted.</p> +<p>“But she <i>was</i> beautiful, now, wasn’t +she?” he insisted.</p> +<p>“And here’s where beauty and utility fall +out,” was her reply. “And there’s the +Wolf!”</p> +<p>From the thicket-covered hillside came a crashing of +underbrush, and then, forty feet above them, on the edge of the +sheer wall of rock, appeared a wolf’s head and +shoulders. His braced fore paws dislodged a pebble, and +with sharp-pricked ears and peering eyes he watched the fall of +the pebble till it struck at their feet. Then he +transferred his gaze and with open mouth laughed down at +them.</p> +<p>“You Wolf, you!” and “You blessed +Wolf!” the man and woman called out to him.</p> +<p>The ears flattened back and down at the sound, and the head +seemed to snuggle under the caress of an invisible hand.</p> +<p>They watched him scramble backward into the thicket, then +proceeded on their way. Several minutes later, rounding a +turn in the trail where the descent was less precipitous, he +joined them in the midst of a miniature avalanche of pebbles and +loose soil. He was not demonstrative. A pat and a rub +around the ears from the man, and a more prolonged caressing from +the woman, and he was away down the trail in front of them, +gliding effortlessly over the ground in true wolf fashion.</p> +<p>In build and coat and brush he was a huge timber-wolf; but the +lie was given to his wolfhood by his color and marking. +There the dog unmistakably advertised itself. No wolf was +ever colored like him. He was brown, deep brown, red-brown, +an orgy of browns. Back and shoulders were a warm brown +that paled on the sides and underneath to a yellow that was dingy +because of the brown that lingered in it. The white of the +throat and paws and the spots over the eyes was dirty because of +the persistent and ineradicable brown, while the eyes themselves +were twin topazes, golden and brown.</p> +<p>The man and woman loved the dog very much; perhaps this was +because it had been such a task to win his love. It had +been no easy matter when he first drifted in mysteriously out of +nowhere to their little mountain cottage. Footsore and +famished, he had killed a rabbit under their very noses and under +their very windows, and then crawled away and slept by the spring +at the foot of the blackberry bushes. When Walt Irvine went +down to inspect the intruder, he was snarled at for his pains, +and Madge likewise was snarled at when she went down to present, +as a peace-offering, a large pan of bread and milk.</p> +<p>A most unsociable dog he proved to be, resenting all their +advances, refusing to let them lay hands on him, menacing them +with bared fangs and bristling hair. Nevertheless he +remained, sleeping and resting by the spring, and eating the food +they gave him after they set it down at a safe distance and +retreated. His wretched physical condition explained why he +lingered; and when he had recuperated, after several days’ +sojourn, he disappeared.</p> +<p>And this would have been the end of him, so far as Irvine and +his wife were concerned, had not Irvine at that particular time +been called away into the northern part of the state. +Riding along on the train, near to the line between California +and Oregon, he chanced to look out of the window and saw his +unsociable guest sliding along the wagon road, brown and wolfish, +tired yet tireless, dust-covered and soiled with two hundred +miles of travel.</p> +<p>Now Irvine was a man of impulse, a poet. He got off the +train at the next station, bought a piece of meat at a butcher +shop, and captured the vagrant on the outskirts of the +town. The return trip was made in the baggage car, and so +Wolf came a second time to the mountain cottage. Here he +was tied up for a week and made love to by the man and +woman. But it was very circumspect love-making. +Remote and alien as a traveller from another planet, he snarled +down their soft-spoken love-words. He never barked. +In all the time they had him he was never known to bark.</p> +<p>To win him became a problem. Irvine liked +problems. He had a metal plate made, on which was +stamped: <span class="smcap">Return to Walt Irvine</span>, +<span class="smcap">Glen Ellen</span>, <span class="smcap">Sonoma +County</span>, <span class="smcap">California</span>. This +was riveted to a collar and strapped about the dog’s +neck. Then he was turned loose, and promptly he +disappeared. A day later came a telegram from Mendocino +County. In twenty hours he had made over a hundred miles to +the north, and was still going when captured.</p> +<p>He came back by Wells Fargo Express, was tied up three days, +and was loosed on the fourth and lost. This time he gained +southern Oregon before he was caught and returned. Always, +as soon as he received his liberty, he fled away, and always he +fled north. He was possessed of an obsession that drove him +north. The homing instinct, Irvine called it, after he had +expended the selling price of a sonnet in getting the animal back +from northern Oregon.</p> +<p>Another time the brown wanderer succeeded in traversing half +the length of California, all of Oregon, and most of Washington, +before he was picked up and returned “Collect.” +A remarkable thing was the speed with which he travelled. +Fed up and rested, as soon as he was loosed he devoted all his +energy to getting over the ground. On the first day’s +run he was known to cover as high as a hundred and fifty miles, +and after that he would average a hundred miles a day until +caught. He always arrived back lean and hungry and savage, +and always departed fresh and vigorous, cleaving his way +northward in response to some prompting of his being that no one +could understand.</p> +<p>But at last, after a futile year of flight, he accepted the +inevitable and elected to remain at the cottage where first he +had killed the rabbit and slept by the spring. Even after +that, a long time elapsed before the man and woman succeeded in +patting him. It was a great victory, for they alone were +allowed to put hands on him. He was fastidiously exclusive, +and no guest at the cottage ever succeeded in making up to +him. A low growl greeted such approach; if any one had the +hardihood to come nearer, the lips lifted, the naked fangs +appeared, and the growl became a snarl—a snarl so terrible +and malignant that it awed the stoutest of them, as it likewise +awed the farmers’ dogs that knew ordinary dog-snarling, but +had never seen wolf-snarling before.</p> +<p>He was without antecedents. His history began with Walt +and Madge. He had come up from the south, but never a clew +did they get of the owner from whom he had evidently fled. +Mrs. Johnson, their nearest neighbor and the one who supplied +them with milk, proclaimed him a Klondike dog. Her brother +was burrowing for frozen pay-streaks in that far country, and so +she constituted herself an authority on the subject.</p> +<p>But they did not dispute her. There were the tips of +Wolf’s ears, obviously so severely frozen at some time that +they would never quite heal again. Besides, he looked like +the photographs of the Alaskan dogs they saw published in +magazines and newspapers. They often speculated over his +past, and tried to conjure up (from what they had read and heard) +what his northland life had been. That the northland still +drew him, they knew; for at night they sometimes heard him crying +softly; and when the north wind blew and the bite of frost was in +the air, a great restlessness would come upon him and he would +lift a mournful lament which they knew to be the long +wolf-howl. Yet he never barked. No provocation was +great enough to draw from him that canine cry.</p> +<p>Long discussion they had, during the time of winning him, as +to whose dog he was. Each claimed him, and each proclaimed +loudly any expression of affection made by him. But the man +had the better of it at first, chiefly because he was a +man. It was patent that Wolf had had no experience with +women. He did not understand women. Madge’s +skirts were something he never quite accepted. The swish of +them was enough to set him a-bristle with suspicion, and on a +windy day she could not approach him at all.</p> +<p>On the other hand, it was Madge who fed him; also it was she +who ruled the kitchen, and it was by her favor, and her favor +alone, that he was permitted to come within that sacred +precinct. It was because of these things that she bade fair +to overcome the handicap of her garments. Then it was that +Walt put forth special effort, making it a practice to have Wolf +lie at his feet while he wrote, and, between petting and talking, +losing much time from his work. Walt won in the end, and +his victory was most probably due to the fact that he was a man, +though Madge averred that they would have had another quarter of +a mile of gurgling brook, and at least two west winds sighing +through their redwoods, had Walt properly devoted his energies to +song-transmutation and left Wolf alone to exercise a natural +taste and an unbiassed judgment.</p> +<p>“It’s about time I heard from those +triolets,” Walt said, after a silence of five minutes, +during which they had swung steadily down the trail. +“There’ll be a check at the post-office, I know, and +we’ll transmute it into beautiful buckwheat flour, a gallon +of maple syrup, and a new pair of overshoes for you.”</p> +<p>“And into beautiful milk from Mrs. Johnson’s +beautiful cow,” Madge added. “To-morrow’s +the first of the month, you know.”</p> +<p>Walt scowled unconsciously; then his face brightened, and he +clapped his hand to his breast pocket.</p> +<p>“Never mind. I have here a nice beautiful new cow, +the best milker in California.”</p> +<p>“When did you write it?” she demanded +eagerly. Then, reproachfully, “And you never showed +it to me.”</p> +<p>“I saved it to read to you on the way to the +post-office, in a spot remarkably like this one,” he +answered, indicating, with a wave of his hand, a dry log on which +to sit.</p> +<p>A tiny stream flowed out of a dense fern-brake, slipped down a +mossy-lipped stone, and ran across the path at their feet. +From the valley arose the mellow song of meadow-larks, while +about them, in and out, through sunshine and shadow, fluttered +great yellow butterflies.</p> +<p>Up from below came another sound that broke in upon Walt +reading softly from his manuscript. It was a crunching of +heavy feet, punctuated now and again by the clattering of a +displaced stone. As Walt finished and looked to his wife +for approval, a man came into view around the turn of the +trail. He was bare-headed and sweaty. With a +handkerchief in one hand he mopped his face, while in the other +hand he carried a new hat and a wilted starched collar which he +had removed from his neck. He was a well-built man, and his +muscles seemed on the point of bursting out of the painfully new +and ready-made black clothes he wore.</p> +<p>“Warm day,” Walt greeted him. Walt believed +in country democracy, and never missed an opportunity to practise +it.</p> +<p>The man paused and nodded.</p> +<p>“I guess I ain’t used much to the warm,” he +vouchsafed half apologetically. “I’m more +accustomed to zero weather.”</p> +<p>“You don’t find any of that in this +country,” Walt laughed.</p> +<p>“Should say not,” the man answered. +“An’ I ain’t here a-lookin’ for it +neither. I’m tryin’ to find my sister. +Mebbe you know where she lives. Her name’s Johnson, +Mrs. William Johnson.”</p> +<p>“You’re not her Klondike brother!” Madge +cried, her eyes bright with interest, “about whom +we’ve heard so much?”</p> +<p>“Yes’m, that’s me,” he answered +modestly. “My name’s Miller, Skiff +Miller. I just thought I’d s’prise +her.”</p> +<p>“You are on the right track then. Only +you’ve come by the foot-path.” Madge stood up +to direct him, pointing up the canyon a quarter of a mile. +“You see that blasted redwood? Take the little trail +turning off to the right. It’s the short cut to her +house. You can’t miss it.”</p> +<p>“Yes’m, thank you, ma’am,” he +said. He made tentative efforts to go, but seemed awkwardly +rooted to the spot. He was gazing at her with an open +admiration of which he was quite unconscious, and which was +drowning, along with him, in the rising sea of embarrassment in +which he floundered.</p> +<p>“We’d like to hear you tell about the +Klondike,” Madge said. “Mayn’t we come +over some day while you are at your sister’s? Or, +better yet, won’t you come over and have dinner with +us?”</p> +<p>“Yes’m, thank you, ma’am,” he mumbled +mechanically. Then he caught himself up and added: +“I ain’t stoppin’ long. I got to be +pullin’ north again. I go out on to-night’s +train. You see, I’ve got a mail contract with the +government.”</p> +<p>When Madge had said that it was too bad, he made another +futile effort to go. But he could not take his eyes from +her face. He forgot his embarrassment in his admiration, +and it was her turn to flush and feel uncomfortable.</p> +<p>It was at this juncture, when Walt had just decided it was +time for him to be saying something to relieve the strain, that +Wolf, who had been away nosing through the brush, trotted +wolf-like into view.</p> +<p>Skiff Miller’s abstraction disappeared. The pretty +woman before him passed out of his field of vision. He had +eyes only for the dog, and a great wonder came into his face.</p> +<p>“Well, I’ll be damned!” he enunciated slowly +and solemnly.</p> +<p>He sat down ponderingly on the log, leaving Madge +standing. At the sound of his voice, Wolf’s ears had +flattened down, then his mouth had opened in a laugh. He +trotted slowly up to the stranger and first smelled his hands, +then licked them with his tongue.</p> +<p>Skiff Miller patted the dog’s head, and slowly and +solemnly repeated, “Well, I’ll be damned!”</p> +<p>“Excuse me, ma’am,” he said the next moment +“I was just s’prised some, that was all.”</p> +<p>“We’re surprised, too,” she answered +lightly. “We never saw Wolf make up to a stranger +before.”</p> +<p>“Is that what you call him—Wolf?” the man +asked.</p> +<p>Madge nodded. “But I can’t understand his +friendliness toward you—unless it’s because +you’re from the Klondike. He’s a Klondike dog, +you know.”</p> +<p>“Yes’m,” Miller said absently. He +lifted one of Wolf’s fore legs and examined the foot-pads, +pressing them and denting them with his thumb. “Kind +of soft,” he remarked. “He ain’t been on +trail for a long time.”</p> +<p>“I say,” Walt broke in, “it is remarkable +the way he lets you handle him.”</p> +<p>Skiff Miller arose, no longer awkward with admiration of +Madge, and in a sharp, businesslike manner asked, “How long +have you had him?”</p> +<p>But just then the dog, squirming and rubbing against the +newcomer’s legs, opened his mouth and barked. It was +an explosive bark, brief and joyous, but a bark.</p> +<p>“That’s a new one on me,” Skiff Miller +remarked.</p> +<p>Walt and Madge stared at each other. The miracle had +happened. Wolf had barked.</p> +<p>“It’s the first time he ever barked,” Madge +said.</p> +<p>“First time I ever heard him, too,” Miller +volunteered.</p> +<p>Madge smiled at him. The man was evidently a +humorist.</p> +<p>“Of course,” she said, “since you have only +seen him for five minutes.”</p> +<p>Skiff Miller looked at her sharply, seeking in her face the +guile her words had led him to suspect.</p> +<p>“I thought you understood,” he said slowly. +“I thought you’d tumbled to it from his makin’ +up to me. He’s my dog. His name ain’t +Wolf. It’s Brown.”</p> +<p>“Oh, Walt!” was Madge’s instinctive cry to +her husband.</p> +<p>Walt was on the defensive at once.</p> +<p>“How do you know he’s your dog?” he +demanded.</p> +<p>“Because he is,” was the reply.</p> +<p>“Mere assertion,” Walt said sharply.</p> +<p>In his slow and pondering way, Skiff Miller looked at him, +then asked, with a nod of his head toward Madge:</p> +<p>“How d’you know she’s your wife? You +just say, ‘Because she is,’ and I’ll say +it’s mere assertion. The dog’s mine. I +bred ’m an’ raised ’m, an’ I guess I +ought to know. Look here. I’ll prove it to +you.”</p> +<p>Skiff Miller turned to the dog. +“Brown!” His voice rang out sharply, and at the +sound the dog’s ears flattened down as to a caress. +“Gee!” The dog made a swinging turn to the +right. “Now mush-on!” And the dog ceased +his swing abruptly and started straight ahead, halting obediently +at command.</p> +<p>“I can do it with whistles,” Skiff Miller said +proudly. “He was my lead dog.”</p> +<p>“But you are not going to take him away with you?” +Madge asked tremulously.</p> +<p>The man nodded.</p> +<p>“Back into that awful Klondike world of +suffering?”</p> +<p>He nodded and added: “Oh, it ain’t so bad as +all that. Look at me. Pretty healthy specimen, +ain’t I?”</p> +<p>“But the dogs! The terrible hardship, the +heart-breaking toil, the starvation, the frost! Oh, +I’ve read about it and I know.”</p> +<p>“I nearly ate him once, over on Little Fish +River,” Miller volunteered grimly. “If I +hadn’t got a moose that day was all that saved +’m.”</p> +<p>“I’d have died first!” Madge cried.</p> +<p>“Things is different down here,” Miller +explained. “You don’t have to eat dogs. +You think different just about the time you’re all +in. You’ve never ben all in, so you don’t know +anything about it.”</p> +<p>“That’s the very point,” she argued +warmly. “Dogs are not eaten in California. Why +not leave him here? He is happy. He’ll never +want for food—you know that. He’ll never suffer +from cold and hardship. Here all is softness and +gentleness. Neither the human nor nature is savage. +He will never know a whip-lash again. And as for the +weather—why, it never snows here.”</p> +<p>“But it’s all-fired hot in summer, beggin’ +your pardon,” Skiff Miller laughed.</p> +<p>“But you do not answer,” Madge continued +passionately. “What have you to offer him in that +northland life?”</p> +<p>“Grub, when I’ve got it, and that’s most of +the time,” came the answer.</p> +<p>“And the rest of the time?”</p> +<p>“No grub.”</p> +<p>“And the work?”</p> +<p>“Yes, plenty of work,” Miller blurted out +impatiently. “Work without end, an’ famine, +an’ frost, an all the rest of the +miseries—that’s what he’ll get when he comes +with me. But he likes it. He is used to it. He +knows that life. He was born to it an’ brought up to +it. An’ you don’t know anything about it. +You don’t know what you’re talking about. +That’s where the dog belongs, and that’s where +he’ll be happiest.”</p> +<p>“The dog doesn’t go,” Walt announced in a +determined voice. “So there is no need of further +discussion.”</p> +<p>“What’s that?” Skiff Miller demanded, his +brows lowering and an obstinate flush of blood reddening his +forehead.</p> +<p>“I said the dog doesn’t go, and that settles +it. I don’t believe he’s your dog. You +may have seen him sometime. You may even sometime have +driven him for his owner. But his obeying the ordinary +driving commands of the Alaskan trail is no demonstration that he +is yours. Any dog in Alaska would obey you as he +obeyed. Besides, he is undoubtedly a valuable dog, as dogs +go in Alaska, and that is sufficient explanation of your desire +to get possession of him. Anyway, you’ve got to prove +property.”</p> +<p>Skiff Miller, cool and collected, the obstinate flush a trifle +deeper on his forehead, his huge muscles bulging under the black +cloth of his coat, carefully looked the poet up and down as +though measuring the strength of his slenderness.</p> +<p>The Klondiker’s face took on a contemptuous expression +as he said finally, “I reckon there’s nothin’ +in sight to prevent me takin’ the dog right here an’ +now.”</p> +<p>Walt’s face reddened, and the striking-muscles of his +arms and shoulders seemed to stiffen and grow tense. His +wife fluttered apprehensively into the breach.</p> +<p>“Maybe Mr. Miller is right,” she said. +“I am afraid that he is. Wolf does seem to know him, +and certainly he answers to the name of +‘Brown.’ He made friends with him instantly, +and you know that’s something he never did with anybody +before. Besides, look at the way he barked. He was +just bursting with joy. Joy over what? Without doubt +at finding Mr. Miller.”</p> +<p>Walt’s striking-muscles relaxed, and his shoulders +seemed to droop with hopelessness.</p> +<p>“I guess you’re right, Madge,” he +said. “Wolf isn’t Wolf, but Brown, and he must +belong to Mr. Miller.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps Mr. Miller will sell him,” she +suggested. “We can buy him.”</p> +<p>Skiff Miller shook his head, no longer belligerent, but +kindly, quick to be generous in response to generousness.</p> +<p>“I had five dogs,” he said, casting about for the +easiest way to temper his refusal. “He was the +leader. They was the crack team of Alaska. +Nothin’ could touch ’em. In 1898 I refused five +thousand dollars for the bunch. Dogs was high, then, +anyway; but that wasn’t what made the fancy price. It +was the team itself. Brown was the best in the team. +That winter I refused twelve hundred for ’m. I +didn’t sell ’m then, an’ I ain’t +a-sellin’ ’m now. Besides, I think a mighty lot +of that dog. I’ve ben lookin’ for ’m for +three years. It made me fair sick when I found he’d +ben stole—not the value of him, but the—well, I liked +’m like hell, that’s all, beggin’ your +pardon. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I seen +’m just now. I thought I was dreamin’. It +was too good to be true. Why, I was his wet-nurse. I +put ’m to bed, snug every night. His mother died, and +I brought ’m up on condensed milk at two dollars a can when +I couldn’t afford it in my own coffee. He never knew +any mother but me. He used to suck my finger regular, the +darn little cuss—that finger right there!”</p> +<p>And Skiff Miller, too overwrought for speech, held up a fore +finger for them to see.</p> +<p>“That very finger,” he managed to articulate, as +though it somehow clinched the proof of ownership and the bond of +affection.</p> +<p>He was still gazing at his extended finger when Madge began to +speak.</p> +<p>“But the dog,” she said. “You +haven’t considered the dog.”</p> +<p>Skiff Miller looked puzzled.</p> +<p>“Have you thought about him?” she asked.</p> +<p>“Don’t know what you’re drivin’ +at,” was the response.</p> +<p>“Maybe the dog has some choice in the matter,” +Madge went on. “Maybe he has his likes and +desires. You have not considered him. You give him no +choice. It has never entered your mind that possibly he +might prefer California to Alaska. You consider only what +you like. You do with him as you would with a sack of +potatoes or a bale of hay.”</p> +<p>This was a new way of looking at it, and Miller was visibly +impressed as he debated it in his mind. Madge took +advantage of his indecision.</p> +<p>“If you really love him, what would be happiness to him +would be your happiness also,” she urged.</p> +<p>Skiff Miller continued to debate with himself, and Madge stole +a glance of exultation to her husband, who looked back warm +approval.</p> +<p>“What do you think?” the Klondiker suddenly +demanded.</p> +<p>It was her turn to be puzzled. “What do you +mean?” she asked.</p> +<p>“D’ye think he’d sooner stay in +California?”</p> +<p>She nodded her head with positiveness. “I am sure +of it.”</p> +<p>Skiff Miller again debated with himself, though this time +aloud, at the same time running his gaze in a judicial way over +the mooted animal.</p> +<p>“He was a good worker. He’s done a heap of +work for me. He never loafed on me, an’ he was a +joe-dandy at hammerin’ a raw team into shape. +He’s got a head on him. He can do everything but +talk. He knows what you say to him. Look at ’m +now. He knows we’re talkin’ about +him.”</p> +<p>The dog was lying at Skiff Miller’s feet, head close +down on paws, ears erect and listening, and eyes that were quick +and eager to follow the sound of speech as it fell from the lips +of first one and then the other.</p> +<p>“An’ there’s a lot of work in ’m +yet. He’s good for years to come. An’ I +do like him. I like him like hell.”</p> +<p>Once or twice after that Skiff Miller opened his mouth and +closed it again without speaking. Finally he said:</p> +<p>“I’ll tell you what I’ll do. Your +remarks, ma’am, has some weight in them. The +dog’s worked hard, and maybe he’s earned a soft berth +an’ has got a right to choose. Anyway, we’ll +leave it up to him. Whatever he says, goes. You +people stay right here settin’ down. I’ll say +good-by and walk off casual-like. If he wants to stay, he +can stay. If he wants to come with me, let ’m +come. I won’t call ’m to come an’ +don’t you call ’m to come back.”</p> +<p>He looked with sudden suspicion at Madge, and added, +“Only you must play fair. No persuadin’ after +my back is turned.”</p> +<p>“We’ll play fair,” Madge began, but Skiff +Miller broke in on her assurances.</p> +<p>“I know the ways of women,” he announced. +“Their hearts is soft. When their hearts is touched +they’re likely to stack the cards, look at the bottom of +the deck, an’ lie like the devil—beggin’ your +pardon, ma’am. I’m only discoursin’ about +women in general.”</p> +<p>“I don’t know how to thank you,” Madge +quavered.</p> +<p>“I don’t see as you’ve got any call to thank +me,” he replied. “Brown ain’t decided +yet. Now you won’t mind if I go away slow? +It’s no more’n fair, seein’ I’ll be out +of sight inside a hundred yards.”—Madge agreed, and +added, “And I promise you faithfully that we won’t do +anything to influence him.”</p> +<p>“Well, then, I might as well be gettin’ +along,” Skiff Miller said in the ordinary tones of one +departing.</p> +<p>At this change in his voice, Wolf lifted his head quickly, and +still more quickly got to his feet when the man and woman shook +hands. He sprang up on his hind legs, resting his fore paws +on her hip and at the same time licking Skiff Miller’s +hand. When the latter shook hands with Walt, Wolf repeated +his act, resting his weight on Walt and licking both men’s +hands.</p> +<p>“It ain’t no picnic, I can tell you that,” +were the Klondiker’s last words, as he turned and went +slowly up the trail.</p> +<p>For the distance of twenty feet Wolf watched him go, himself +all eagerness and expectancy, as though waiting for the man to +turn and retrace his steps. Then, with a quick low whine, +Wolf sprang after him, overtook him, caught his hand between his +teeth with reluctant tenderness, and strove gently to make him +pause.</p> +<p>Failing in this, Wolf raced back to where Walt Irvine sat, +catching his coat-sleeve in his teeth and trying vainly to drag +him after the retreating man.</p> +<p>Wolf’s perturbation began to wax. He desired +ubiquity. He wanted to be in two places at the same time, +with the old master and the new, and steadily the distance +between them was increasing. He sprang about excitedly, +making short nervous leaps and twists, now toward one, now toward +the other, in painful indecision, not knowing his own mind, +desiring both and unable to choose, uttering quick sharp whines +and beginning to pant.</p> +<p>He sat down abruptly on his haunches, thrusting his nose +upward, the mouth opening and closing with jerking movements, +each time opening wider. These jerking movements were in +unison with the recurrent spasms that attacked the throat, each +spasm severer and more intense than the preceding one. And +in accord with jerks and spasms the larynx began to vibrate, at +first silently, accompanied by the rush of air expelled from the +lungs, then sounding a low, deep note, the lowest in the register +of the human ear. All this was the nervous and muscular +preliminary to howling.</p> +<p>But just as the howl was on the verge of bursting from the +full throat, the wide-opened mouth was closed, the paroxysms +ceased, and he looked long and steadily at the retreating +man. Suddenly Wolf turned his head, and over his shoulder +just as steadily regarded Walt. The appeal was +unanswered. Not a word nor a sign did the dog receive, no +suggestion and no clew as to what his conduct should be.</p> +<p>A glance ahead to where the old master was nearing the curve +of the trail excited him again. He sprang to his feet with +a whine, and then, struck by a new idea, turned his attention to +Madge. Hitherto he had ignored her, but now, both masters +failing him, she alone was left. He went over to her and +snuggled his head in her lap, nudging her arm with his +nose—an old trick of his when begging for favors. He +backed away from her and began writhing and twisting playfully, +curvetting and prancing, half rearing and striking his fore paws +to the earth, struggling with all his body, from the wheedling +eyes and flattening ears to the wagging tail, to express the +thought that was in him and that was denied him utterance.</p> +<p>This, too, he soon abandoned. He was depressed by the +coldness of these humans who had never been cold before. No +response could he draw from them, no help could he get. +They did not consider him. They were as dead.</p> +<p>He turned and silently gazed after the old master. Skiff +Miller was rounding the curve. In a moment he would be gone +from view. Yet he never turned his head, plodding straight +onward, slowly and methodically, as though possessed of no +interest in what was occurring behind his back.</p> +<p>And in this fashion he went out of view. Wolf waited for +him to reappear. He waited a long minute, silently, +quietly, without movement, as though turned to stone—withal +stone quick with eagerness and desire. He barked once, and +waited. Then he turned and trotted back to Walt +Irvine. He sniffed his hand and dropped down heavily at his +feet, watching the trail where it curved emptily from view.</p> +<p>The tiny stream slipping down the mossy-lipped stone seemed +suddenly to increase the volume of its gurgling noise. Save +for the meadow-larks, there was no other sound. The great +yellow butterflies drifted silently through the sunshine and lost +themselves in the drowsy shadows. Madge gazed triumphantly +at her husband.</p> +<p>A few minutes later Wolf got upon his feet. Decision and +deliberation marked his movements. He did not glance at the +man and woman. His eyes were fixed up the trail. He +had made up his mind. They knew it. And they knew, so +far as they were concerned, that the ordeal had just begun.</p> +<p>He broke into a trot, and Madge’s lips pursed, forming +an avenue for the caressing sound that it was the will of her to +send forth. But the caressing sound was not made. She +was impelled to look at her husband, and she saw the sternness +with which he watched her. The pursed lips relaxed, and she +sighed inaudibly.</p> +<p>Wolf’s trot broke into a run. Wider and wider were +the leaps he made. Not once did he turn his head, his +wolf’s brush standing out straight behind him. He cut +sharply across the curve of the trail and was gone.</p> +<div class="chapter"> +<h2>THE SUN-DOG TRAIL</h2> +</div> +<p>Sitka Charley smoked his pipe and gazed thoughtfully at the +<i>Police Gazette</i> illustration on the wall. For half an +hour he had been steadily regarding it, and for half an hour I +had been slyly watching him. Something was going on in that +mind of his, and, whatever it was, I knew it was well worth +knowing. He had lived life, and seen things, and performed +that prodigy of prodigies, namely, the turning of his back upon +his own people, and, in so far as it was possible for an Indian, +becoming a white man even in his mental processes. As he +phrased it himself, he had come into the warm, sat among us, by +our fires, and become one of us. He had never learned to +read nor write, but his vocabulary was remarkable, and more +remarkable still was the completeness with which he had assumed +the white man’s point of view, the white man’s +attitude toward things.</p> +<p>We had struck this deserted cabin after a hard day on +trail. The dogs had been fed, the supper dishes washed, the +beds made, and we were now enjoying that most delicious hour that +comes each day, and but once each day, on the Alaskan trail, the +hour when nothing intervenes between the tired body and bed save +the smoking of the evening pipe. Some former denizen of the +cabin had decorated its walls with illustrations torn from +magazines and newspapers, and it was these illustrations that had +held Sitka Charley’s attention from the moment of our +arrival two hours before. He had studied them intently, +ranging from one to another and back again, and I could see that +there was uncertainty in his mind, and bepuzzlement.</p> +<p>“Well?” I finally broke the silence.</p> +<p>He took the pipe from his mouth and said simply, “I do +not understand.”</p> +<p>He smoked on again, and again removed the pipe, using it to +point at the <i>Police Gazette</i> illustration.</p> +<p>“That picture—what does it mean? I do not +understand.”</p> +<p>I looked at the picture. A man, with a preposterously +wicked face, his right hand pressed dramatically to his heart, +was falling backward to the floor. Confronting him, with a +face that was a composite of destroying angel and Adonis, was a +man holding a smoking revolver.</p> +<p>“One man is killing the other man,” I said, aware +of a distinct bepuzzlement of my own and of failure to +explain.</p> +<p>“Why?” asked Sitka Charley.</p> +<p>“I do not know,” I confessed.</p> +<p>“That picture is all end,” he said. +“It has no beginning.”</p> +<p>“It is life,” I said.</p> +<p>“Life has beginning,” he objected.</p> +<p>I was silenced for the moment, while his eyes wandered on to +an adjoining decoration, a photographic reproduction of +somebody’s “Leda and the Swan.”</p> +<p>“That picture,” he said, “has no +beginning. It has no end. I do not understand +pictures.”</p> +<p>“Look at that picture,” I commanded, pointing to a +third decoration. “It means something. Tell me +what it means to you.”</p> +<p>He studied it for several minutes.</p> +<p>“The little girl is sick,” he said finally. +“That is the doctor looking at her. They have been up +all night—see, the oil is low in the lamp, the first +morning light is coming in at the window. It is a great +sickness; maybe she will die, that is why the doctor looks so +hard. That is the mother. It is a great sickness, +because the mother’s head is on the table and she is +crying.”</p> +<p>“How do you know she is crying?” I +interrupted. “You cannot see her face. Perhaps +she is asleep.”</p> +<p>Sitka Charley looked at me in swift surprise, then back at the +picture. It was evident that he had not reasoned the +impression.</p> +<p>“Perhaps she is asleep,” he repeated. He +studied it closely. “No, she is not asleep. The +shoulders show that she is not asleep. I have seen the +shoulders of a woman who cried. The mother is crying. +It is a very great sickness.”</p> +<p>“And now you understand the picture,” I cried.</p> +<p>He shook his head, and asked, “The little +girl—does it die?”</p> +<p>It was my turn for silence.</p> +<p>“Does it die?” he reiterated. “You are +a painter-man. Maybe you know.”</p> +<p>“No, I do not know,” I confessed.</p> +<p>“It is not life,” he delivered himself +dogmatically. “In life little girl die or get +well. Something happen in life. In picture nothing +happen. No, I do not understand pictures.”</p> +<p>His disappointment was patent. It was his desire to +understand all things that white men understand, and here, in +this matter, he failed. I felt, also, that there was +challenge in his attitude. He was bent upon compelling me +to show him the wisdom of pictures. Besides, he had +remarkable powers of visualization. I had long since +learned this. He visualized everything. He saw life +in pictures, felt life in pictures, generalized life in pictures; +and yet he did not understand pictures when seen through other +men’s eyes and expressed by those men with color and line +upon canvas.</p> +<p>“Pictures are bits of life,” I said. +“We paint life as we see it. For instance, Charley, +you are coming along the trail. It is night. You see +a cabin. The window is lighted. You look through the +window for one second, or for two seconds, you see something, and +you go on your way. You saw maybe a man writing a +letter. You saw something without beginning or end. +Nothing happened. Yet it was a bit of life you saw. +You remember it afterward. It is like a picture in your +memory. The window is the frame of the picture.”</p> +<p>I could see that he was interested, and I knew that as I spoke +he had looked through the window and seen the man writing the +letter.</p> +<p>“There is a picture you have painted that I +understand,” he said. “It is a true +picture. It has much meaning. It is in your cabin at +Dawson. It is a faro table. There are men +playing. It is a large game. The limit is +off.”</p> +<p>“How do you know the limit is off?” I broke in +excitedly, for here was where my work could be tried out on an +unbiassed judge who knew life only, and not art, and who was a +sheer master of reality. Also, I was very proud of that +particular piece of work. I had named it “The Last +Turn,” and I believed it to be one of the best things I had +ever done.</p> +<p>“There are no chips on the table,” Sitka Charley +explained. “The men are playing with markers. +That means the roof is the limit. One man play yellow +markers—maybe one yellow marker worth one thousand dollars, +maybe two thousand dollars. One man play red markers. +Maybe they are worth five hundred dollars, maybe one thousand +dollars. It is a very big game. Everybody play very +high, up to the roof. How do I know? You make the +dealer with blood little bit warm in face.” (I was +delighted.) “The lookout, you make him lean forward +in his chair. Why he lean forward? Why his face very +much quiet? Why his eyes very much bright? Why dealer +warm with blood a little bit in the face? Why all men very +quiet?—the man with yellow markers? the man with white +markers? the man with red markers? Why nobody talk? +Because very much money. Because last turn.”</p> +<p>“How do you know it is the last turn?” I +asked.</p> +<p>“The king is coppered, the seven is played open,” +he answered. “Nobody bet on other cards. Other +cards all gone. Everybody one mind. Everybody play +king to lose, seven to win. Maybe bank lose twenty thousand +dollars, maybe bank win. Yes, that picture I +understand.”</p> +<p>“Yet you do not know the end!” I cried +triumphantly. “It is the last turn, but the cards are +not yet turned. In the picture they will never be +turned. Nobody will ever know who wins nor who +loses.”</p> +<p>“And the men will sit there and never talk,” he +said, wonder and awe growing in his face. “And the +lookout will lean forward, and the blood will be warm in the face +of the dealer. It is a strange thing. Always will +they sit there, always; and the cards will never be +turned.”</p> +<p>“It is a picture,” I said. “It is +life. You have seen things like it yourself.”</p> +<p>He looked at me and pondered, then said, very slowly: +“No, as you say, there is no end to it. Nobody will +ever know the end. Yet is it a true thing. I have +seen it. It is life.”</p> +<p>For a long time he smoked on in silence, weighing the +pictorial wisdom of the white man and verifying it by the facts +of life. He nodded his head several times, and grunted once +or twice. Then he knocked the ashes from his pipe, +carefully refilled it, and after a thoughtful pause, lighted it +again.</p> +<p>“Then have I, too, seen many pictures of life,” he +began; “pictures not painted, but seen with the eyes. +I have looked at them like through the window at the man writing +the letter. I have seen many pieces of life, without +beginning, without end, without understanding.”</p> +<p>With a sudden change of position he turned his eyes full upon +me and regarded me thoughtfully.</p> +<p>“Look you,” he said; “you are a +painter-man. How would you paint this which I saw, a +picture without beginning, the ending of which I do not +understand, a piece of life with the northern lights for a candle +and Alaska for a frame.”</p> +<p>“It is a large canvas,” I murmured.</p> +<p>But he ignored me, for the picture he had in mind was before +his eyes and he was seeing it.</p> +<p>“There are many names for this picture,” he +said. “But in the picture there are many sun-dogs, +and it comes into my mind to call it ‘The Sun-Dog +Trail.’ It was a long time ago, seven years ago, the +fall of ’97, when I saw the woman first time. At Lake +Linderman I had one canoe, very good Peterborough canoe. I +came over Chilcoot Pass with two thousand letters for +Dawson. I was letter carrier. Everybody rush to +Klondike at that time. Many people on trail. Many +people chop down trees and make boats. Last water, snow in +the air, snow on the ground, ice on the lake, on the river ice in +the eddies. Every day more snow, more ice. Maybe one +day, maybe three days, maybe six days, any day maybe freeze-up +come, then no more water, all ice, everybody walk, Dawson six +hundred miles, long time walk. Boat go very quick. +Everybody want to go boat. Everybody say, ‘Charley, +two hundred dollars you take me in canoe,’ ‘Charley, +three hundred dollars,’ ‘Charley, four hundred +dollars.’ I say no, all the time I say no. I am +letter carrier.</p> +<p>“In morning I get to Lake Linderman. I walk all +night and am much tired. I cook breakfast, I eat, then I +sleep on the beach three hours. I wake up. It is ten +o’clock. Snow is falling. There is wind, much +wind that blows fair. Also, there is a woman who sits in +the snow alongside. She is white woman, she is young, very +pretty, maybe she is twenty years old, maybe twenty-five years +old. She look at me. I look at her. She is very +tired. She is no dance-woman. I see that right +away. She is good woman, and she is very tired.</p> +<p>“‘You are Sitka Charley,’ she says. I +get up quick and roll blankets so snow does not get inside. +‘I go to Dawson,’ she says. ‘I go in your +canoe—how much?’</p> +<p>“I do not want anybody in my canoe. I do not like +to say no. So I say, ‘One thousand +dollars.’ Just for fun I say it, so woman cannot come +with me, much better than say no. She look at me very hard, +then she says, ‘When you start?’ I say right +away. Then she says all right, she will give me one +thousand dollars.</p> +<p>“What can I say? I do not want the woman, yet have +I given my word that for one thousand dollars she can come. +I am surprised. Maybe she make fun, too, so I say, +‘Let me see thousand dollars.’ And that woman, +that young woman, all alone on the trail, there in the snow, she +take out one thousand dollars, in greenbacks, and she put them in +my hand. I look at money, I look at her. What can I +say? I say, ‘No, my canoe very small. There is +no room for outfit.’ She laugh. She says, +‘I am great traveller. This is my +outfit.’ She kick one small pack in the snow. +It is two fur robes, canvas outside, some woman’s clothes +inside. I pick it up. Maybe thirty-five pounds. +I am surprised. She take it away from me. She says, +‘Come, let us start.’ She carries pack into +canoe. What can I say? I put my blankets into +canoe. We start.</p> +<p>“And that is the way I saw the woman first time. +The wind was fair. I put up small sail. The canoe +went very fast, it flew like a bird over the high waves. +The woman was much afraid. ‘What for you come +Klondike much afraid?’ I ask. She laugh at me, a hard +laugh, but she is still much afraid. Also is she very +tired. I run canoe through rapids to Lake Bennett. +Water very bad, and woman cry out because she is afraid. We +go down Lake Bennett, snow, ice, wind like a gale, but woman is +very tired and go to sleep.</p> +<p>“That night we make camp at Windy Arm. Woman sit +by fire and eat supper. I look at her. She is +pretty. She fix hair. There is much hair, and it is +brown, also sometimes it is like gold in the firelight, when she +turn her head, so, and flashes come from it like golden +fire. The eyes are large and brown, sometimes warm like a +candle behind a curtain, sometimes very hard and bright like +broken ice when sun shines upon it. When she +smile—how can I say?—when she smile I know white man +like to kiss her, just like that, when she smile. She never +do hard work. Her hands are soft, like baby’s +hand. She is soft all over, like baby. She is not +thin, but round like baby; her arm, her leg, her muscles, all +soft and round like baby. Her waist is small, and when she +stand up, when she walk, or move her head or arm, it is—I +do not know the word—but it is nice to look at, +like—maybe I say she is built on lines like the lines of a +good canoe, just like that, and when she move she is like the +movement of the good canoe sliding through still water or leaping +through water when it is white and fast and angry. It is +very good to see.</p> +<p>“Why does she come into Klondike, all alone, with plenty +of money? I do not know. Next day I ask her. +She laugh and says: ‘Sitka Charley, that is none of +your business. I give you one thousand dollars take me to +Dawson. That only is your business.’ Next day +after that I ask her what is her name. She laugh, then she +says, ‘Mary Jones, that is my name.’ I do not +know her name, but I know all the time that Mary Jones is not her +name.</p> +<p>“It is very cold in canoe, and because of cold sometimes +she not feel good. Sometimes she feel good and she +sing. Her voice is like a silver bell, and I feel good all +over like when I go into church at Holy Cross Mission, and when +she sing I feel strong and paddle like hell. Then she laugh +and says, ‘You think we get to Dawson before freeze-up, +Charley?’ Sometimes she sit in canoe and is thinking +far away, her eyes like that, all empty. She does not see +Sitka Charley, nor the ice, nor the snow. She is far +away. Very often she is like that, thinking far away. +Sometimes, when she is thinking far away, her face is not good to +see. It looks like a face that is angry, like the face of +one man when he want to kill another man.</p> +<p>“Last day to Dawson very bad. Shore-ice in all the +eddies, mush-ice in the stream. I cannot paddle. The +canoe freeze to ice. I cannot get to shore. There is +much danger. All the time we go down Yukon in the +ice. That night there is much noise of ice. Then ice +stop, canoe stop, everything stop. ‘Let us go to +shore,’ the woman says. I say no, better wait. +By and by, everything start down-stream again. There is +much snow. I cannot see. At eleven o’clock at +night, everything stop. At one o’clock everything +start again. At three o’clock everything stop. +Canoe is smashed like eggshell, but is on top of ice and cannot +sink. I hear dogs howling. We wait. We +sleep. By and by morning come. There is no more +snow. It is the freeze-up, and there is Dawson. Canoe +smash and stop right at Dawson. Sitka Charley has come in +with two thousand letters on very last water.</p> +<p>“The woman rent a cabin on the hill, and for one week I +see her no more. Then, one day, she come to me. +‘Charley,’ she says, ‘how do you like to work +for me? You drive dogs, make camp, travel with +me.’ I say that I make too much money carrying +letters. She says, ‘Charley, I will pay you more +money.’ I tell her that pick-and-shovel man get +fifteen dollars a day in the mines. She says, ‘That +is four hundred and fifty dollars a month.’ And I +say, ‘Sitka Charley is no pick-and-shovel man.’ +Then she says, ‘I understand, Charley. I will give +you seven hundred and fifty dollars each month.’ It +is a good price, and I go to work for her. I buy for her +dogs and sled. We travel up Klondike, up Bonanza and +Eldorado, over to Indian River, to Sulphur Creek, to Dominion, +back across divide to Gold Bottom and to Too Much Gold, and back +to Dawson. All the time she look for something, I do not +know what. I am puzzled. ‘What thing you look +for?’ I ask. She laugh. ‘You look for +gold?’ I ask. She laugh. Then she says, +‘That is none of your business, Charley.’ And +after that I never ask any more.</p> +<p>“She has a small revolver which she carries in her +belt. Sometimes, on trail, she makes practice with +revolver. I laugh. ‘What for you laugh, +Charley?’ she ask. ‘What for you play with +that?’ I say. ‘It is no good. It is too +small. It is for a child, a little plaything.’ +When we get back to Dawson she ask me to buy good revolver for +her. I buy a Colt’s 44. It is very heavy, but +she carry it in her belt all the time.</p> +<p>“At Dawson comes the man. Which way he come I do +not know. Only do I know he is <i>checha-quo</i>—what +you call tenderfoot. His hands are soft, just like +hers. He never do hard work. He is soft all +over. At first I think maybe he is her husband. But +he is too young. Also, they make two beds at night. +He is maybe twenty years old. His eyes blue, his hair +yellow, he has a little mustache which is yellow. His name +is John Jones. Maybe he is her brother. I do not +know. I ask questions no more. Only I think his name +not John Jones. Other people call him Mr. Girvan. I +do not think that is his name. I do not think her name is +Miss Girvan, which other people call her. I think nobody +know their names.</p> +<p>“One night I am asleep at Dawson. He wake me +up. He says, ‘Get the dogs ready; we +start.’ No more do I ask questions, so I get the dogs +ready and we start. We go down the Yukon. It is +night-time, it is November, and it is very cold—sixty-five +below. She is soft. He is soft. The cold +bites. They get tired. They cry under their breaths +to themselves. By and by I say better we stop and make +camp. But they say that they will go on. Three times +I say better to make camp and rest, but each time they say they +will go on. After that I say nothing. All the time, +day after day, is it that way. They are very soft. +They get stiff and sore. They do not understand moccasins, +and their feet hurt very much. They limp, they stagger like +drunken people, they cry under their breaths; and all the time +they say, ‘On! on! We will go on!’</p> +<p>“They are like crazy people. All the time do they +go on, and on. Why do they go on? I do not +know. Only do they go on. What are they after? +I do not know. They are not after gold. There is no +stampede. Besides, they spend plenty of money. But I +ask questions no more. I, too, go on and on, because I am +strong on the trail and because I am greatly paid.</p> +<p>“We make Circle City. That for which they look is +not there. I think now that we will rest, and rest the +dogs. But we do not rest, not for one day do we rest. +‘Come,’ says the woman to the man, ‘let us go +on.’ And we go on. We leave the Yukon. We +cross the divide to the west and swing down into the Tanana +Country. There are new diggings there. But that for +which they look is not there, and we take the back trail to +Circle City.</p> +<p>“It is a hard journey. December is most +gone. The days are short. It is very cold. One +morning it is seventy below zero. ‘Better that we +don’t travel to-day,’ I say, ‘else will the +frost be unwarmed in the breathing and bite all the edges of our +lungs. After that we will have bad cough, and maybe next +spring will come pneumonia.’ But they are +<i>checha-quo</i>. They do not understand the trail. +They are like dead people they are so tired, but they say, +‘Let us go on.’ We go on. The frost bites +their lungs, and they get the dry cough. They cough till +the tears run down their cheeks. When bacon is frying they +must run away from the fire and cough half an hour in the +snow. They freeze their cheeks a little bit, so that the +skin turns black and is very sore. Also, the man freezes +his thumb till the end is like to come off, and he must wear a +large thumb on his mitten to keep it warm. And sometimes, +when the frost bites hard and the thumb is very cold, he must +take off the mitten and put the hand between his legs next to the +skin, so that the thumb may get warm again.</p> +<p>“We limp into Circle City, and even I, Sitka Charley, am +tired. It is Christmas Eve. I dance, drink, make a +good time, for to-morrow is Christmas Day and we will rest. +But no. It is five o’clock in the +morning—Christmas morning. I am two hours +asleep. The man stand by my bed. ‘Come, +Charley,’ he says, ‘harness the dogs. We +start.’</p> +<p>“Have I not said that I ask questions no more? +They pay me seven hundred and fifty dollars each month. +They are my masters. I am their man. If they say, +‘Charley, come, let us start for hell,’ I will +harness the dogs, and snap the whip, and start for hell. So +I harness the dogs, and we start down the Yukon. Where do +we go? They do not say. Only do they say, ‘On! +on! We will go on!’</p> +<p>“They are very weary. They have travelled many +hundreds of miles, and they do not understand the way of the +trail. Besides, their cough is very bad—the dry cough +that makes strong men swear and weak men cry. But they go +on. Every day they go on. Never do they rest the +dogs. Always do they buy new dogs. At every camp, at +every post, at every Indian village, do they cut out the tired +dogs and put in fresh dogs. They have much money, money +without end, and like water they spend it. They are +crazy? Sometimes I think so, for there is a devil in them +that drives them on and on, always on. What is it that they +try to find? It is not gold. Never do they dig in the +ground. I think a long time. Then I think it is a man +they try to find. But what man? Never do we see the +man. Yet are they like wolves on the trail of the +kill. But they are funny wolves, soft wolves, baby wolves +who do not understand the way of the trail. They cry aloud +in their sleep at night. In their sleep they moan and groan +with the pain of their weariness. And in the day, as they +stagger along the trail, they cry under their breaths. They +are funny wolves.</p> +<p>“We pass Fort Yukon. We pass Fort Hamilton. +We pass Minook. January has come and nearly gone. The +days are very short. At nine o’clock comes +daylight. At three o’clock comes night. And it +is cold. And even I, Sitka Charley, am tired. Will we +go on forever this way without end? I do not know. +But always do I look along the trail for that which they try to +find. There are few people on the trail. Sometimes we +travel one hundred miles and never see a sign of life. It +is very quiet. There is no sound. Sometimes it snows, +and we are like wandering ghosts. Sometimes it is clear, +and at midday the sun looks at us for a moment over the hills to +the south. The northern lights flame in the sky, and the +sun-dogs dance, and the air is filled with frost-dust.</p> +<p>“I am Sitka Charley, a strong man. I was born on +the trail, and all my days have I lived on the trail. And +yet have these two baby wolves made me very tired. I am +lean, like a starved cat, and I am glad of my bed at night, and +in the morning am I greatly weary. Yet ever are we hitting +the trail in the dark before daylight, and still on the trail +does the dark after nightfall find us. These two baby +wolves! If I am lean like a starved cat, they are lean like +cats that have never eaten and have died. Their eyes are +sunk deep in their heads, bright sometimes as with fever, dim and +cloudy sometimes like the eyes of the dead. Their cheeks +are hollow like caves in a cliff. Also are their cheeks +black and raw from many freezings. Sometimes it is the +woman in the morning who says, ‘I cannot get up. I +cannot move. Let me die.’ And it is the man who +stands beside her and says, ‘Come, let us go +on.’ And they go on. And sometimes it is the +man who cannot get up, and the woman says, ‘Come, let us go +on.’ But the one thing they do, and always do, is to +go on. Always do they go on.</p> +<p>“Sometimes, at the trading posts, the man and woman get +letters. I do not know what is in the letters. But it +is the scent that they follow, these letters themselves are the +scent. One time an Indian gives them a letter. I talk +with him privately. He says it is a man with one eye who +gives him the letter, a man who travels fast down the +Yukon. That is all. But I know that the baby wolves +are after the man with the one eye.</p> +<p>“It is February, and we have travelled fifteen hundred +miles. We are getting near Bering Sea, and there are storms +and blizzards. The going is hard. We come to +Anvig. I do not know, but I think sure they get a letter at +Anvig, for they are much excited, and they say, ‘Come, +hurry, let us go on.’ But I say we must buy grub, and +they say we must travel light and fast. Also, they say that +we can get grub at Charley McKeon’s cabin. Then do I +know that they take the big cut-off, for it is there that Charley +McKeon lives where the Black Rock stands by the trail.</p> +<p>“Before we start, I talk maybe two minutes with the +priest at Anvig. Yes, there is a man with one eye who has +gone by and who travels fast. And I know that for which +they look is the man with the one eye. We leave Anvig with +little grub, and travel light and fast. There are three +fresh dogs bought in Anvig, and we travel very fast. The +man and woman are like mad. We start earlier in the +morning, we travel later at night. I look sometimes to see +them die, these two baby wolves, but they will not die. +They go on and on. When the dry cough take hold of them +hard, they hold their hands against their stomach and double up +in the snow, and cough, and cough, and cough. They cannot +walk, they cannot talk. Maybe for ten minutes they cough, +maybe for half an hour, and then they straighten up, the tears +from the coughing frozen on their faces, and the words they say +are, ‘Come, let us go on.’</p> +<p>“Even I, Sitka Charley, am greatly weary, and I think +seven hundred and fifty dollars is a cheap price for the labor I +do. We take the big cut-off, and the trail is fresh. +The baby wolves have their noses down to the trail, and they say, +‘Hurry!’ All the time do they say, +‘Hurry! Faster! Faster!’ It is hard +on the dogs. We have not much food and we cannot give them +enough to eat, and they grow weak. Also, they must work +hard. The woman has true sorrow for them, and often, +because of them, the tears are in her eyes. But the devil +in her that drives her on will not let her stop and rest the +dogs.</p> +<p>“And then we come upon the man with the one eye. +He is in the snow by the trail, and his leg is broken. +Because of the leg he has made a poor camp, and has been lying on +his blankets for three days and keeping a fire going. When +we find him he is swearing. He swears like hell. +Never have I heard a man swear like that man. I am +glad. Now that they have found that for which they look, we +will have rest. But the woman says, ‘Let us +start. Hurry!’</p> +<p>“I am surprised. But the man with the one eye +says, ‘Never mind me. Give me your grub. You +will get more grub at McKeon’s cabin to-morrow. Send +McKeon back for me. But do you go on.’ Here is +another wolf, an old wolf, and he, too, thinks but the one +thought, to go on. So we give him our grub, which is not +much, and we chop wood for his fire, and we take his strongest +dogs and go on. We left the man with one eye there in the +snow, and he died there in the snow, for McKeon never went back +for him. And who that man was, and why he came to be there, +I do not know. But I think he was greatly paid by the man +and the woman, like me, to do their work for them.</p> +<p>“That day and that night we had nothing to eat, and all +next day we travelled fast, and we were weak with hunger. +Then we came to the Black Rock, which rose five hundred feet +above the trail. It was at the end of the day. +Darkness was coming, and we could not find the cabin of +McKeon. We slept hungry, and in the morning looked for the +cabin. It was not there, which was a strange thing, for +everybody knew that McKeon lived in a cabin at Black Rock. +We were near to the coast, where the wind blows hard and there is +much snow. Everywhere there were small hills of snow where +the wind had piled it up. I have a thought, and I dig in +one and another of the hills of snow. Soon I find the walls +of the cabin, and I dig down to the door. I go +inside. McKeon is dead. Maybe two or three weeks he +is dead. A sickness had come upon him so that he could not +leave the cabin. The wind and the snow had covered the +cabin. He had eaten his grub and died. I looked for +his cache, but there was no grub in it.</p> +<p>“‘Let us go on,’ said the woman. Her +eyes were hungry, and her hand was upon her heart, as with the +hurt of something inside. She bent back and forth like a +tree in the wind as she stood there. ‘Yes, let us go +on,’ said the man. His voice was hollow, like the +<i>klonk</i> of an old raven, and he was hunger-mad. His +eyes were like live coals of fire, and as his body rocked to and +fro, so rocked his soul inside. And I, too, said, +‘Let us go on.’ For that one thought, laid upon +me like a lash for every mile of fifteen hundred miles, had +burned itself into my soul, and I think that I, too, was +mad. Besides, we could only go on, for there was no +grub. And we went on, giving no thought to the man with the +one eye in the snow.</p> +<p>“There is little travel on the big cut-off. +Sometimes two or three months and nobody goes by. The snow +had covered the trail, and there was no sign that men had ever +come or gone that way. All day the wind blew and the snow +fell, and all day we travelled, while our stomachs gnawed their +desire and our bodies grew weaker with every step they +took. Then the woman began to fall. Then the +man. I did not fall, but my feet were heavy and I caught my +toes and stumbled many times.</p> +<p>“That night is the end of February. I kill three +ptarmigan with the woman’s revolver, and we are made +somewhat strong again. But the dogs have nothing to +eat. They try to eat their harness, which is of leather and +walrus-hide, and I must fight them off with a club and hang all +the harness in a tree. And all night they howl and fight +around that tree. But we do not mind. We sleep like +dead people, and in the morning get up like dead people out of +their graves and go on along the trail.</p> +<p>“That morning is the 1st of March, and on that morning I +see the first sign of that after which the baby wolves are in +search. It is clear weather, and cold. The sun stay +longer in the sky, and there are sun-dogs flashing on either +side, and the air is bright with frost-dust. The snow falls +no more upon the trail, and I see the fresh sign of dogs and +sled. There is one man with that outfit, and I see in the +snow that he is not strong. He, too, has not enough to +eat. The young wolves see the fresh sign, too, and they are +much excited. ‘Hurry!’ they say. All the +time they say, ‘Hurry! Faster, Charley, +faster!’</p> +<p>“We make hurry very slow. All the time the man and +the woman fall down. When they try to ride on sled the dogs +are too weak, and the dogs fall down. Besides, it is so +cold that if they ride on the sled they will freeze. It is +very easy for a hungry man to freeze. When the woman fall +down, the man help her up. Sometimes the woman help the man +up. By and by both fall down and cannot get up, and I must +help them up all the time, else they will not get up and will die +there in the snow. This is very hard work, for I am greatly +weary, and as well I must drive the dogs, and the man and woman +are very heavy with no strength in their bodies. So, by and +by, I, too, fall down in the snow, and there is no one to help me +up. I must get up by myself. And always do I get up +by myself, and help them up, and make the dogs go on.</p> +<p>“That night I get one ptarmigan, and we are very +hungry. And that night the man says to me, ‘What time +start to-morrow, Charley?’ It is like the voice of a +ghost. I say, ‘All the time you make start at five +o’clock.’ ‘To-morrow,’ he says, +‘we will start at three o’clock.’ I laugh +in great bitterness, and I say, ‘You are dead +man.’ And he says, ‘To-morrow we will start at +three o’clock.’</p> +<p>“And we start at three o’clock, for I am their +man, and that which they say is to be done, I do. It is +clear and cold, and there is no wind. When daylight comes +we can see a long way off. And it is very quiet. We +can hear no sound but the beat of our hearts, and in the silence +that is a very loud sound. We are like sleep-walkers, and +we walk in dreams until we fall down; and then we know we must +get up, and we see the trail once more and bear the beating of +our hearts. Sometimes, when I am walking in dreams this +way, I have strange thoughts. Why does Sitka Charley live? +I ask myself. Why does Sitka Charley work hard, and go +hungry, and have all this pain? For seven hundred and fifty +dollars a month, I make the answer, and I know it is a foolish +answer. Also is it a true answer. And after that +never again do I care for money. For that day a large +wisdom came to me. There was a great light, and I saw +clear, and I knew that it was not for money that a man must live, +but for a happiness that no man can give, or buy, or sell, and +that is beyond all value of all money in the world.</p> +<p>“In the morning we come upon the last-night camp of the +man who is before us. It is a poor camp, the kind a man +makes who is hungry and without strength. On the snow there +are pieces of blanket and of canvas, and I know what has +happened. His dogs have eaten their harness, and he has +made new harness out of his blankets. The man and woman +stare hard at what is to be seen, and as I look at them my back +feels the chill as of a cold wind against the skin. Their +eyes are toil-mad and hunger-mad, and burn like fire deep in +their heads. Their faces are like the faces of people who +have died of hunger, and their cheeks are black with the dead +flesh of many freezings. ‘Let us go on,’ says +the man. But the woman coughs and falls in the snow. +It is the dry cough where the frost has bitten the lungs. +For a long time she coughs, then like a woman crawling out of her +grave she crawls to her feet. The tears are ice upon her +cheeks, and her breath makes a noise as it comes and goes, and +she says, ‘Let us go on.’</p> +<p>“We go on. And we walk in dreams through the +silence. And every time we walk is a dream and we are +without pain; and every time we fall down is an awakening, and we +see the snow and the mountains and the fresh trail of the man who +is before us, and we know all our pain again. We come to +where we can see a long way over the snow, and that for which +they look is before them. A mile away there are black spots +upon the snow. The black spots move. My eyes are dim, +and I must stiffen my soul to see. And I see one man with +dogs and a sled. The baby wolves see, too. They can +no longer talk, but they whisper, ‘On, on. Let us +hurry!’</p> +<p>“And they fall down, but they go on. The man who +is before us, his blanket harness breaks often, and he must stop +and mend it. Our harness is good, for I have hung it in +trees each night. At eleven o’clock the man is half a +mile away. At one o’clock he is a quarter of a mile +away. He is very weak. We see him fall down many +times in the snow. One of his dogs can no longer travel, +and he cuts it out of the harness. But he does not kill +it. I kill it with the axe as I go by, as I kill one of my +dogs which loses its legs and can travel no more.</p> +<p>“Now we are three hundred yards away. We go very +slow. Maybe in two, three hours we go one mile. We do +not walk. All the time we fall down. We stand up and +stagger two steps, maybe three steps, then we fall down +again. And all the time I must help up the man and +woman. Sometimes they rise to their knees and fall forward, +maybe four or five times before they can get to their feet again +and stagger two or three steps and fall. But always do they +fall forward. Standing or kneeling, always do they fall +forward, gaining on the trail each time by the length of their +bodies.</p> +<p>“Sometimes they crawl on hands and knees like animals +that live in the forest. We go like snails, like snails +that are dying we go so slow. And yet we go faster than the +man who is before us. For he, too, falls all the time, and +there is no Sitka Charley to lift him up. Now he is two +hundred yards away. After a long time he is one hundred +yards away.</p> +<p>“It is a funny sight. I want to laugh out loud, +Ha! ha! just like that, it is so funny. It is a race of +dead men and dead dogs. It is like in a dream when you have +a nightmare and run away very fast for your life and go very +slow. The man who is with me is mad. The woman is +mad. I am mad. All the world is mad, and I want to +laugh, it is so funny.</p> +<p>“The stranger-man who is before us leaves his dogs +behind and goes on alone across the snow. After a long time +we come to the dogs. They lie helpless in the snow, their +harness of blanket and canvas on them, the sled behind them, and +as we pass them they whine to us and cry like babies that are +hungry.</p> +<p>“Then we, too, leave our dogs and go on alone across the +snow. The man and the woman are nearly gone, and they moan +and groan and sob, but they go on. I, too, go on. I +have but one thought. It is to come up to the +stranger-man. Then it is that I shall rest, and not until +then shall I rest, and it seems that I must lie down and sleep +for a thousand years, I am so tired.</p> +<p>“The stranger-man is fifty yards away, all alone in the +white snow. He falls and crawls, staggers, and falls and +crawls again. He is like an animal that is sore wounded and +trying to run from the hunter. By and by he crawls on hands +and knees. He no longer stands up. And the man and +woman no longer stand up. They, too, crawl after him on +hands and knees. But I stand up. Sometimes I fall, +but always do I stand up again.</p> +<p>“It is a strange thing to see. All about is the +snow and the silence, and through it crawl the man and the woman, +and the stranger-man who goes before. On either side the +sun are sun-dogs, so that there are three suns in the sky. +The frost-dust is like the dust of diamonds, and all the air is +filled with it. Now the woman coughs, and lies still in the +snow until the fit has passed, when she crawls on again. +Now the man looks ahead, and he is blear-eyed as with old age and +must rub his eyes so that he can see the stranger-man. And +now the stranger-man looks back over his shoulder. And +Sitka Charley, standing upright, maybe falls down and stands +upright again.</p> +<p>“After a long time the stranger-man crawls no +more. He stands slowly upon his feet and rocks back and +forth. Also does he take off one mitten and wait with +revolver in his hand, rocking back and forth as he waits. +His face is skin and bones and frozen black. It is a hungry +face. The eyes are deep-sunk in his head, and the lips are +snarling. The man and woman, too, get upon their feet and +they go toward him very slowly. And all about is the snow +and the silence. And in the sky are three suns, and all the +air is flashing with the dust of diamonds.</p> +<p>“And thus it was that I, Sitka Charley, saw the baby +wolves make their kill. No word is spoken. Only does +the stranger-man snarl with his hungry face. Also does he +rock to and fro, his shoulders drooping, his knees bent, and his +legs wide apart so that he does not fall down. The man and +the woman stop maybe fifty feet away. Their legs, too, are +wide apart so that they do not fall down, and their bodies rock +to and fro. The stranger-man is very weak. His arm +shakes, so that when he shoots at the man his bullet strikes in +the snow. The man cannot take off his mitten. The +stranger-man shoots at him again, and this time the bullet goes +by in the air. Then the man takes the mitten in his teeth +and pulls it off. But his hand is frozen and he cannot hold +the revolver, and it fails in the snow. I look at the +woman. Her mitten is off, and the big Colt’s revolver +is in her hand. Three times she shoot, quick, just like +that. The hungry face of the stranger-man is still snarling +as he falls forward into the snow.</p> +<p>“They do not look at the dead man. ‘Let us +go on,’ they say. And we go on. But now that +they have found that for which they look, they are like +dead. The last strength has gone out of them. They +can stand no more upon their feet. They will not crawl, but +desire only to close their eyes and sleep. I see not far +away a place for camp. I kick them. I have my +dog-whip, and I give them the lash of it. They cry aloud, +but they must crawl. And they do crawl to the place for +camp. I build fire so that they will not freeze. Then +I go back for sled. Also, I kill the dogs of the +stranger-man so that we may have food and not die. I put +the man and woman in blankets and they sleep. Sometimes I +wake them and give them little bit of food. They are not +awake, but they take the food. The woman sleep one day and +a half. Then she wake up and go to sleep again. The +man sleep two days and wake up and go to sleep again. After +that we go down to the coast at St. Michaels. And when the +ice goes out of Bering Sea, the man and woman go away on a +steamship. But first they pay me my seven hundred and fifty +dollars a month. Also, they make me a present of one +thousand dollars. And that was the year that Sitka Charley +gave much money to the Mission at Holy Cross.”</p> +<p>“But why did they kill the man?” I asked.</p> +<p>Sitka Charley delayed reply until he had lighted his +pipe. He glanced at the <i>Police Gazette</i> illustration +and nodded his head at it familiarly. Then he said, +speaking slowly and ponderingly:</p> +<p>“I have thought much. I do not know. It is +something that happened. It is a picture I remember. +It is like looking in at the window and seeing the man writing a +letter. They came into my life and they went out of my +life, and the picture is as I have said, without beginning, the +end without understanding.”</p> +<p>“You have painted many pictures in the telling,” I +said.</p> +<p>“Ay,” he nodded his head. “But they +were without beginning and without end.”</p> +<p>“The last picture of all had an end,” I said.</p> +<p>“Ay,” he answered. “But what +end?”</p> +<p>“It was a piece of life,” I said.</p> +<p>“Ay,” he answered. “It was a piece of +life.”</p> +<div class="chapter"> +<h2>NEGORE, THE COWARD</h2> +</div> +<p>He had followed the trail of his fleeing people for eleven +days, and his pursuit had been in itself a flight; for behind him +he knew full well were the dreaded Russians, toiling through the +swampy lowlands and over the steep divides, bent on no less than +the extermination of all his people. He was travelling +light. A rabbit-skin sleeping-robe, a muzzle-loading rifle, +and a few pounds of sun-dried salmon constituted his +outfit. He would have marvelled that a whole +people—women and children and aged—could travel so +swiftly, had he not known the terror that drove them on.</p> +<p>It was in the old days of the Russian occupancy of Alaska, +when the nineteenth century had run but half its course, that +Negore fled after his fleeing tribe and came upon it this summer +night by the head waters of the Pee-lat. Though near the +midnight hour, it was bright day as he passed through the weary +camp. Many saw him, all knew him, but few and cold were the +greetings he received.</p> +<p>“Negore, the Coward,” he heard Illiha, a young +woman, laugh, and Sun-ne, his sister’s daughter, laughed +with her.</p> +<p>Black anger ate at his heart; but he gave no sign, threading +his way among the camp-fires until he came to one where sat an +old man. A young woman was kneading with skilful fingers +the tired muscles of his legs. He raised a sightless face +and listened intently as Negore’s foot crackled a dead +twig.</p> +<p>“Who comes?” he queried in a thin, tremulous +voice.</p> +<p>“Negore,” said the young woman, scarcely looking +up from her task.</p> +<p>Negore’s face was expressionless. For many minutes +he stood and waited. The old man’s head had sunk back +upon his chest. The young woman pressed and prodded the +wasted muscles, resting her body on her knees, her bowed head +hidden as in a cloud by her black wealth of hair. Negore +watched the supple body, bending at the hips as a lynx’s +body might bend, pliant as a young willow stalk, and, withal, +strong as only youth is strong. He looked, and was aware of +a great yearning, akin in sensation to physical hunger. At +last he spoke, saying:</p> +<p>“Is there no greeting for Negore, who has been long gone +and has but now come back?”</p> +<p>She looked up at him with cold eyes. The old man +chuckled to himself after the manner of the old.</p> +<p>“Thou art my woman, Oona,” Negore said, his tones +dominant and conveying a hint of menace.</p> +<p>She arose with catlike ease and suddenness to her full height, +her eyes flashing, her nostrils quivering like a +deer’s.</p> +<p>“I was thy woman to be, Negore, but thou art a coward; +the daughter of Old Kinoos mates not with a coward!”</p> +<p>She silenced him with an imperious gesture as he strove to +speak.</p> +<p>“Old Kinoos and I came among you from a strange +land. Thy people took us in by their fires and made us +warm, nor asked whence or why we wandered. It was their +thought that Old Kinoos had lost the sight of his eyes from age; +nor did Old Kinoos say otherwise, nor did I, his daughter. +Old Kinoos is a brave man, but Old Kinoos was never a +boaster. And now, when I tell thee of how his blindness +came to be, thou wilt know, beyond question, that the daughter of +Kinoos cannot mother the children of a coward such as thou art, +Negore.”</p> +<p>Again she silenced the speech that rushed up to his +tongue.</p> +<p>“Know, Negore, if journey be added unto journey of all +thy journeyings through this land, thou wouldst not come to the +unknown Sitka on the Great Salt Sea. In that place there be +many Russian folk, and their rule is harsh. And from Sitka, +Old Kinoos, who was Young Kinoos in those days, fled away with +me, a babe in his arms, along the islands in the midst of the +sea. My mother dead tells the tale of his wrong; a Russian, +dead with a spear through breast and back, tells the tale of the +vengeance of Kinoos.</p> +<p>“But wherever we fled, and however far we fled, always +did we find the hated Russian folk. Kinoos was unafraid, +but the sight of them was a hurt to his eyes; so we fled on and +on, through the seas and years, till we came to the Great Fog +Sea, Negore, of which thou hast heard, but which thou hast never +seen. We lived among many peoples, and I grew to be a +woman; but Kinoos, growing old, took to him no other woman, nor +did I take a man.</p> +<p>“At last we came to Pastolik, which is where the Yukon +drowns itself in the Great Fog Sea. Here we lived long, on +the rim of the sea, among a people by whom the Russians were well +hated. But sometimes they came, these Russians, in great +ships, and made the people of Pastolik show them the way through +the islands uncountable of the many-mouthed Yukon. And +sometimes the men they took to show them the way never came back, +till the people became angry and planned a great plan.</p> +<p>“So, when there came a ship, Old Kinoos stepped forward +and said he would show the way. He was an old man then, and +his hair was white; but he was unafraid. And he was +cunning, for he took the ship to where the sea sucks in to the +land and the waves beat white on the mountain called +Romanoff. The sea sucked the ship in to where the waves +beat white, and it ground upon the rocks and broke open its +sides. Then came all the people of Pastolik, (for this was +the plan), with their war-spears, and arrows, and some few +guns. But first the Russians put out the eyes of Old Kinoos +that he might never show the way again, and then they fought, +where the waves beat white, with the people of Pastolik.</p> +<p>“Now the head-man of these Russians was Ivan. He +it was, with his two thumbs, who drove out the eyes of +Kinoos. He it was who fought his way through the white +water, with two men left of all his men, and went away along the +rim of the Great Fog Sea into the north. Kinoos was +wise. He could see no more and was helpless as a +child. So he fled away from the sea, up the great, strange +Yukon, even to Nulato, and I fled with him.</p> +<p>“This was the deed my father did, Kinoos, an old +man. But how did the young man, Negore?”</p> +<p>Once again she silenced him.</p> +<p>“With my own eyes I saw, at Nulato, before the gates of +the great fort, and but few days gone. I saw the Russian, +Ivan, who thrust out my father’s eyes, lay the lash of his +dog-whip upon thee and beat thee like a dog. This I saw, +and knew thee for a coward. But I saw thee not, that night, +when all thy people—yea, even the boys not yet +hunters—fell upon the Russians and slew them +all.”</p> +<p>“Not Ivan,” said Negore, quietly. +“Even now is he on our heels, and with him many Russians +fresh up from the sea.”</p> +<p>Oona made no effort to hide her surprise and chagrin that Ivan +was not dead, but went on:</p> +<p>“In the day I saw thee a coward; in the night, when all +men fought, even the boys not yet hunters, I saw thee not and +knew thee doubly a coward.”</p> +<p>“Thou art done? All done?” Negore asked.</p> +<p>She nodded her head and looked at him askance, as though +astonished that he should have aught to say.</p> +<p>“Know then that Negore is no coward,” he said; and +his speech was very low and quiet. “Know that when I +was yet a boy I journeyed alone down to the place where the Yukon +drowns itself in the Great Fog Sea. Even to Pastolik I +journeyed, and even beyond, into the north, along the rim of the +sea. This I did when I was a boy, and I was no +coward. Nor was I coward when I journeyed, a young man and +alone, up the Yukon farther than man had ever been, so far that I +came to another folk, with white faces, who live in a great fort +and talk speech other than that the Russians talk. Also +have I killed the great bear of the Tanana country, where no one +of my people hath ever been. And I have fought with the +Nuklukyets, and the Kaltags, and the Sticks in far regions, even +I, and alone. These deeds, whereof no man knows, I speak +for myself. Let my people speak for me of things I have +done which they know. They will not say Negore is a +coward.”</p> +<p>He finished proudly, and proudly waited.</p> +<p>“These be things which happened before I came into the +land,” she said, “and I know not of them. Only +do I know what I know, and I know I saw thee lashed like a dog in +the day; and in the night, when the great fort flamed red and the +men killed and were killed, I saw thee not. Also, thy +people do call thee Negore, the Coward. It is thy name now, +Negore, the Coward.”</p> +<p>“It is not a good name,” Old Kinoos chuckled.</p> +<p>“Thou dost not understand, Kinoos,” Negore said +gently. “But I shall make thee understand. Know +that I was away on the hunt of the bear, with Kamo-tah, my +mother’s son. And Kamo-tah fought with a great +bear. We had no meat for three days, and Kamo-tah was not +strong of arm nor swift of foot. And the great bear crushed +him, so, till his bones cracked like dry sticks. Thus I +found him, very sick and groaning upon the ground. And +there was no meat, nor could I kill aught that the sick man might +eat.</p> +<p>“So I said, ‘I will go to Nulato and bring thee +food, also strong men to carry thee to camp.’ And +Kamo-tah said, ‘Go thou to Nulato and get food, but say no +word of what has befallen me. And when I have eaten, and am +grown well and strong, I will kill this bear. Then will I +return in honor to Nulato, and no man may laugh and say Kamo-tah +was undone by a bear.’</p> +<p>“So I gave heed to my brother’s words; and when I +was come to Nulato, and the Russian, Ivan, laid the lash of his +dog-whip upon me, I knew I must not fight. For no man knew +of Kamo-tah, sick and groaning and hungry; and did I fight with +Ivan, and die, then would my brother die, too. So it was, +Oona, that thou sawest me beaten like a dog.</p> +<p>“Then I heard the talk of the shamans and chiefs that +the Russians had brought strange sicknesses upon the people, and +killed our men, and stolen our women, and that the land must be +made clean. As I say, I heard the talk, and I knew it for +good talk, and I knew that in the night the Russians were to be +killed. But there was my brother, Kamo-tah, sick and +groaning and with no meat; so I could not stay and fight with the +men and the boys not yet hunters.</p> +<p>“And I took with me meat and fish, and the lash-marks of +Ivan, and I found Kamo-tah no longer groaning, but dead. +Then I went back to Nulato, and, behold, there was no +Nulato—only ashes where the great fort had stood, and the +bodies of many men. And I saw the Russians come up the +Yukon in boats, fresh from the sea, many Russians; and I saw Ivan +creep forth from where he lay hid and make talk with them. +And the next day I saw Ivan lead them upon the trail of the +tribe. Even now are they upon the trail, and I am here, +Negore, but no coward.”</p> +<p>“This is a tale I hear,” said Oona, though her +voice was gentler than before. “Kamo-tah is dead and +cannot speak for thee, and I know only what I know, and I must +know thee of my own eyes for no coward.”</p> +<p>Negore made an impatient gesture.</p> +<p>“There be ways and ways,” she added. +“Art thou willing to do no less than what Old Kinoos hath +done?”</p> +<p>He nodded his head, and waited.</p> +<p>“As thou hast said, they seek for us even now, these +Russians. Show them the way, Negore, even as Old Kinoos +showed them the way, so that they come, unprepared, to where we +wait for them, in a passage up the rocks. Thou knowest the +place, where the wall is broken and high. Then will we +destroy them, even Ivan. When they cling like flies to the +wall, and top is no less near than bottom, our men shall fall +upon them from above and either side, with spears, and arrows, +and guns. And the women and children, from above, shall +loosen the great rocks and hurl them down upon them. It +will be a great day, for the Russians will be killed, the land +will be made clean, and Ivan, even Ivan who thrust out my +father’s eyes and laid the lash of his dog-whip upon thee, +will be killed. Like a dog gone mad will he die, his breath +crushed out of him beneath the rocks. And when the fighting +begins, it is for thee, Negore, to crawl secretly away so that +thou be not slain.”</p> +<p>“Even so,” he answered. “Negore will +show them the way. And then?”</p> +<p>“And then I shall be thy woman, Negore’s woman, +the brave man’s woman. And thou shalt hunt meat for +me and Old Kinoos, and I shall cook thy food, and sew thee warm +parkas and strong, and make thee moccasins after the way of my +people, which is a better way than thy people’s way. +And as I say, I shall be thy woman, Negore, always thy +woman. And I shall make thy life glad for thee, so that all +thy days will be a song and laughter, and thou wilt know the +woman Oona as unlike all other women, for she has journeyed far, +and lived in strange places, and is wise in the ways of men and +in the ways they may be made glad. And in thine old age +will she still make thee glad, and thy memory of her in the days +of thy strength will be sweet, for thou wilt know always that she +was ease to thee, and peace, and rest, and that beyond all women +to other men has she been woman to thee.”</p> +<p>“Even so,” said Negore, and the hunger for her ate +at his heart, and his arms went out for her as a hungry +man’s arms might go out for food.</p> +<p>“When thou hast shown the way, Negore,” she chided +him; but her eyes were soft, and warm, and he knew she looked +upon him as woman had never looked before.</p> +<p>“It is well,” he said, turning resolutely on his +heel. “I go now to make talk with the chiefs, so that +they may know I am gone to show the Russians the way.”</p> +<p>“Oh, Negore, my man! my man!” she said to herself, +as she watched him go, but she said it so softly that even Old +Kinoos did not hear, and his ears were over keen, what of his +blindness.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>Three days later, having with craft ill-concealed his +hiding-place, Negore was dragged forth like a rat and brought +before Ivan—“Ivan the Terrible” he was known by +the men who marched at his back. Negore was armed with a +miserable bone-barbed spear, and he kept his rabbit-skin robe +wrapped closely about him, and though the day was warm he +shivered as with an ague. He shook his head that he did not +understand the speech Ivan put at him, and made that he was very +weary and sick, and wished only to sit down and rest, pointing +the while to his stomach in sign of his sickness, and shivering +fiercely. But Ivan had with him a man from Pastolik who +talked the speech of Negore, and many and vain were the questions +they asked him concerning his tribe, till the man from Pastolik, +who was called Karduk, said:</p> +<p>“It is the word of Ivan that thou shalt be lashed till +thou diest if thou dost not speak. And know, strange +brother, when I tell thee the word of Ivan is the law, that I am +thy friend and no friend of Ivan. For I come not willingly +from my country by the sea, and I desire greatly to live; +wherefore I obey the will of my master—as thou wilt obey, +strange brother, if thou art wise, and wouldst live.”</p> +<p>“Nay, strange brother,” Negore answered, “I +know not the way my people are gone, for I was sick, and they +fled so fast my legs gave out from under me, and I fell +behind.”</p> +<p>Negore waited while Karduk talked with Ivan. Then Negore +saw the Russian’s face go dark, and he saw the men step to +either side of him, snapping the lashes of their whips. +Whereupon he betrayed a great fright, and cried aloud that he was +a sick man and knew nothing, but would tell what he knew. +And to such purpose did he tell, that Ivan gave the word to his +men to march, and on either side of Negore marched the men with +the whips, that he might not run away. And when he made +that he was weak of his sickness, and stumbled and walked not so +fast as they walked, they laid their lashes upon him till he +screamed with pain and discovered new strength. And when +Karduk told him all would he well with him when they had +overtaken his tribe, he asked, “And then may I rest and +move not?”</p> +<p>Continually he asked, “And then may I rest and move +not?”</p> +<p>And while he appeared very sick and looked about him with dull +eyes, he noted the fighting strength of Ivan’s men, and +noted with satisfaction that Ivan did not recognize him as the +man he had beaten before the gates of the fort. It was a +strange following his dull eyes saw. There were Slavonian +hunters, fair-skinned and mighty-muscled; short, squat Finns, +with flat noses and round faces; Siberian half-breeds, whose +noses were more like eagle-beaks; and lean, slant-eyed men, who +bore in their veins the Mongol and Tartar blood as well as the +blood of the Slav. Wild adventurers they were, forayers and +destroyers from the far lands beyond the Sea of Bering, who +blasted the new and unknown world with fire and sword and +clutched greedily for its wealth of fur and hide. Negore +looked upon them with satisfaction, and in his mind’s eye +he saw them crushed and lifeless at the passage up the +rocks. And ever he saw, waiting for him at the passage up +the rocks, the face and the form of Oona, and ever he heard her +voice in his ears and felt the soft, warm glow of her eyes. +But never did he forget to shiver, nor to stumble where the +footing was rough, nor to cry aloud at the bite of the +lash. Also, he was afraid of Karduk, for he knew him for no +true man. His was a false eye, and an easy tongue—a +tongue too easy, he judged, for the awkwardness of honest +speech.</p> +<p>All that day they marched. And on the next, when Karduk +asked him at command of Ivan, he said he doubted they would meet +with his tribe till the morrow. But Ivan, who had once been +shown the way by Old Kinoos, and had found that way to lead +through the white water and a deadly fight, believed no more in +anything. So when they came to a passage up the rocks, he +halted his forty men, and through Karduk demanded if the way were +clear.</p> +<p>Negore looked at it shortly and carelessly. It was a +vast slide that broke the straight wall of a cliff, and was +overrun with brush and creeping plants, where a score of tribes +could have lain well hidden.</p> +<p>He shook his head. “Nay, there be nothing +there,” he said. “The way is clear.”</p> +<p>Again Ivan spoke to Karduk, and Karduk said:</p> +<p>“Know, strange brother, if thy talk be not straight, and +if thy people block the way and fall upon Ivan and his men, that +thou shalt die, and at once.”</p> +<p>“My talk is straight,” Negore said. +“The way is clear.”</p> +<p>Still Ivan doubted, and ordered two of his Slavonian hunters +to go up alone. Two other men he ordered to the side of +Negore. They placed their guns against his breast and +waited. All waited. And Negore knew, should one arrow +fly, or one spear be flung, that his death would come upon +him. The two Slavonian hunters toiled upward till they grew +small and smaller, and when they reached the top and waved their +hats that all was well, they were like black specks against the +sky.</p> +<p>The guns were lowered from Negore’s breast and Ivan gave +the order for his men to go forward. Ivan was silent, lost +in thought. For an hour he marched, as though puzzled, and +then, through Karduk’s mouth, he said to Negore:</p> +<p>“How didst thou know the way was clear when thou didst +look so briefly upon it?”</p> +<p>Negore thought of the little birds he had seen perched among +the rocks and upon the bushes, and smiled, it was so simple; but +he shrugged his shoulders and made no answer. For he was +thinking, likewise, of another passage up the rocks, to which +they would soon come, and where the little birds would all be +gone. And he was glad that Karduk came from the Great Fog +Sea, where there were no trees or bushes, and where men learned +water-craft instead of land-craft and wood-craft.</p> +<p>Three hours later, when the sun rode overhead, they came to +another passage up the rocks, and Karduk said:</p> +<p>“Look with all thine eyes, strange brother, and see if +the way be clear, for Ivan is not minded this time to wait while +men go up before.”</p> +<p>Negore looked, and he looked with two men by his side, their +guns resting against his breast. He saw that the little +birds were all gone, and once he saw the glint of sunlight on a +rifle-barrel. And he thought of Oona, and of her +words: “And when the fighting begins, it is for thee, +Negore, to crawl secretly away so that thou be not +slain.”</p> +<p>He felt the two guns pressing on his breast. This was +not the way she had planned. There would be no crawling +secretly away. He would be the first to die when the +fighting began. But he said, and his voice was steady, and +he still feigned to see with dull eyes and to shiver from his +sickness:</p> +<p>“The way is clear.”</p> +<p>And they started up, Ivan and his forty men from the far lands +beyond the Sea of Bering. And there was Karduk, the man +from Pastolik, and Negore, with the two guns always upon +him. It was a long climb, and they could not go fast; but +very fast to Negore they seemed to approach the midway point +where top was no less near than bottom.</p> +<p>A gun cracked among the rocks to the right, and Negore heard +the war-yell of all his tribe, and for an instant saw the rocks +and bushes bristle alive with his kinfolk. Then he felt +torn asunder by a burst of flame hot through his being, and as he +fell he knew the sharp pangs of life as it wrenches at the flesh +to be free.</p> +<p>But he gripped his life with a miser’s clutch and would +not let it go. He still breathed the air, which bit his +lungs with a painful sweetness; and dimly he saw and heard, with +passing spells of blindness and deafness, the flashes of sight +and sound again wherein he saw the hunters of Ivan falling to +their deaths, and his own brothers fringing the carnage and +filling the air with the tumult of their cries and weapons, and, +far above, the women and children loosing the great rocks that +leaped like things alive and thundered down.</p> +<p>The sun danced above him in the sky, the huge walls reeled and +swung, and still he heard and saw dimly. And when the great +Ivan fell across his legs, hurled there lifeless and crushed by a +down-rushing rock, he remembered the blind eyes of Old Kinoos and +was glad.</p> +<p>Then the sounds died down, and the rocks no longer thundered +past, and he saw his tribespeople creeping close and closer, +spearing the wounded as they came. And near to him he heard +the scuffle of a mighty Slavonian hunter, loath to die, and, half +uprisen, borne back and down by the thirsty spears.</p> +<p>Then he saw above him the face of Oona, and felt about him the +arms of Oona; and for a moment the sun steadied and stood still, +and the great walls were upright and moved not.</p> +<p>“Thou art a brave man, Negore,” he heard her say +in his ear; “thou art my man, Negore.”</p> +<p>And in that moment he lived all the life of gladness of which +she had told him, and the laughter and the song, and as the sun +went out of the sky above him, as in his old age, he knew the +memory of her was sweet. And as even the memories dimmed +and died in the darkness that fell upon him, he knew in her arms +the fulfilment of all the ease and rest she had promised +him. And as black night wrapped around him, his head upon +her breast, he felt a great peace steal about him, and he was +aware of the hush of many twilights and the mystery of +silence.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOVE OF LIFE***</p> + +<p> </p> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..272fb5f --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #710 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/710) diff --git a/old/710.txt b/old/710.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7cc721a --- /dev/null +++ b/old/710.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5498 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Love of Life, by Jack London, Illustrated by +Charles Livingston Bull + + +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: Love of Life + and Other Stories + + +Author: Jack London + + + +Release Date: April 13, 2007 [eBook #710] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOVE OF LIFE*** + + + + +Transcribed from the 1913 Macmillan and Co. edition by David Price, email +ccx074@pglaf.org + + + + + +LOVE OF LIFE +AND OTHER STORIES + + +BY +JACK LONDON +AUTHOR OF "THE CALL OF THE WILD," "PEOPLE +OF THE ABYSS," ETC., ETC. + +New York +PUBLISHED FOR +THE REVIEW OF REVIEWS COMPANY +BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY +LONDON: MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD. +1913 +_All rights reserved_ + +COPYRIGHT, 1906, +By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY. + +{He watched the play of life before him: p0.jpg} + +Set up and electrotyped. Published September, 1907. Reprinted December, +1907; December, 1911. October, 1913. + + + + +LOVE OF LIFE + + + "This out of all will remain-- + They have lived and have tossed: + So much of the game will be gain, + Though the gold of the dice has been lost." + +They limped painfully down the bank, and once the foremost of the two men +staggered among the rough-strewn rocks. They were tired and weak, and +their faces had the drawn expression of patience which comes of hardship +long endured. They were heavily burdened with blanket packs which were +strapped to their shoulders. Head-straps, passing across the forehead, +helped support these packs. Each man carried a rifle. They walked in a +stooped posture, the shoulders well forward, the head still farther +forward, the eyes bent upon the ground. + +"I wish we had just about two of them cartridges that's layin' in that +cache of ourn," said the second man. + +His voice was utterly and drearily expressionless. He spoke without +enthusiasm; and the first man, limping into the milky stream that foamed +over the rocks, vouchsafed no reply. + +The other man followed at his heels. They did not remove their +foot-gear, though the water was icy cold--so cold that their ankles ached +and their feet went numb. In places the water dashed against their +knees, and both men staggered for footing. + +The man who followed slipped on a smooth boulder, nearly fell, but +recovered himself with a violent effort, at the same time uttering a +sharp exclamation of pain. He seemed faint and dizzy and put out his +free hand while he reeled, as though seeking support against the air. +When he had steadied himself he stepped forward, but reeled again and +nearly fell. Then he stood still and looked at the other man, who had +never turned his head. + +The man stood still for fully a minute, as though debating with himself. +Then he called out: + +"I say, Bill, I've sprained my ankle." + +Bill staggered on through the milky water. He did not look around. The +man watched him go, and though his face was expressionless as ever, his +eyes were like the eyes of a wounded deer. + +The other man limped up the farther bank and continued straight on +without looking back. The man in the stream watched him. His lips +trembled a little, so that the rough thatch of brown hair which covered +them was visibly agitated. His tongue even strayed out to moisten them. + +"Bill!" he cried out. + +It was the pleading cry of a strong man in distress, but Bill's head did +not turn. The man watched him go, limping grotesquely and lurching +forward with stammering gait up the slow slope toward the soft sky-line +of the low-lying hill. He watched him go till he passed over the crest +and disappeared. Then he turned his gaze and slowly took in the circle +of the world that remained to him now that Bill was gone. + +Near the horizon the sun was smouldering dimly, almost obscured by +formless mists and vapors, which gave an impression of mass and density +without outline or tangibility. The man pulled out his watch, the while +resting his weight on one leg. It was four o'clock, and as the season +was near the last of July or first of August,--he did not know the +precise date within a week or two,--he knew that the sun roughly marked +the northwest. He looked to the south and knew that somewhere beyond +those bleak hills lay the Great Bear Lake; also, he knew that in that +direction the Arctic Circle cut its forbidding way across the Canadian +Barrens. This stream in which he stood was a feeder to the Coppermine +River, which in turn flowed north and emptied into Coronation Gulf and +the Arctic Ocean. He had never been there, but he had seen it, once, on +a Hudson Bay Company chart. + +Again his gaze completed the circle of the world about him. It was not a +heartening spectacle. Everywhere was soft sky-line. The hills were all +low-lying. There were no trees, no shrubs, no grasses--naught but a +tremendous and terrible desolation that sent fear swiftly dawning into +his eyes. + +"Bill!" he whispered, once and twice; "Bill!" + +He cowered in the midst of the milky water, as though the vastness were +pressing in upon him with overwhelming force, brutally crushing him with +its complacent awfulness. He began to shake as with an ague-fit, till +the gun fell from his hand with a splash. This served to rouse him. He +fought with his fear and pulled himself together, groping in the water +and recovering the weapon. He hitched his pack farther over on his left +shoulder, so as to take a portion of its weight from off the injured +ankle. Then he proceeded, slowly and carefully, wincing with pain, to +the bank. + +He did not stop. With a desperation that was madness, unmindful of the +pain, he hurried up the slope to the crest of the hill over which his +comrade had disappeared--more grotesque and comical by far than that +limping, jerking comrade. But at the crest he saw a shallow valley, +empty of life. He fought with his fear again, overcame it, hitched the +pack still farther over on his left shoulder, and lurched on down the +slope. + +The bottom of the valley was soggy with water, which the thick moss held, +spongelike, close to the surface. This water squirted out from under his +feet at every step, and each time he lifted a foot the action culminated +in a sucking sound as the wet moss reluctantly released its grip. He +picked his way from muskeg to muskeg, and followed the other man's +footsteps along and across the rocky ledges which thrust like islets +through the sea of moss. + +Though alone, he was not lost. Farther on he knew he would come to where +dead spruce and fir, very small and weazened, bordered the shore of a +little lake, the _titchin-nichilie_, in the tongue of the country, the +"land of little sticks." And into that lake flowed a small stream, the +water of which was not milky. There was rush-grass on that stream--this +he remembered well--but no timber, and he would follow it till its first +trickle ceased at a divide. He would cross this divide to the first +trickle of another stream, flowing to the west, which he would follow +until it emptied into the river Dease, and here he would find a cache +under an upturned canoe and piled over with many rocks. And in this +cache would be ammunition for his empty gun, fish-hooks and lines, a +small net--all the utilities for the killing and snaring of food. Also, +he would find flour,--not much,--a piece of bacon, and some beans. + +Bill would be waiting for him there, and they would paddle away south +down the Dease to the Great Bear Lake. And south across the lake they +would go, ever south, till they gained the Mackenzie. And south, still +south, they would go, while the winter raced vainly after them, and the +ice formed in the eddies, and the days grew chill and crisp, south to +some warm Hudson Bay Company post, where timber grew tall and generous +and there was grub without end. + +These were the thoughts of the man as he strove onward. But hard as he +strove with his body, he strove equally hard with his mind, trying to +think that Bill had not deserted him, that Bill would surely wait for him +at the cache. He was compelled to think this thought, or else there +would not be any use to strive, and he would have lain down and died. And +as the dim ball of the sun sank slowly into the northwest he covered +every inch--and many times--of his and Bill's flight south before the +downcoming winter. And he conned the grub of the cache and the grub of +the Hudson Bay Company post over and over again. He had not eaten for +two days; for a far longer time he had not had all he wanted to eat. +Often he stooped and picked pale muskeg berries, put them into his mouth, +and chewed and swallowed them. A muskeg berry is a bit of seed enclosed +in a bit of water. In the mouth the water melts away and the seed chews +sharp and bitter. The man knew there was no nourishment in the berries, +but he chewed them patiently with a hope greater than knowledge and +defying experience. + +At nine o'clock he stubbed his toe on a rocky ledge, and from sheer +weariness and weakness staggered and fell. He lay for some time, without +movement, on his side. Then he slipped out of the pack-straps and +clumsily dragged himself into a sitting posture. It was not yet dark, +and in the lingering twilight he groped about among the rocks for shreds +of dry moss. When he had gathered a heap he built a fire,--a +smouldering, smudgy fire,--and put a tin pot of water on to boil. + +He unwrapped his pack and the first thing he did was to count his +matches. There were sixty-seven. He counted them three times to make +sure. He divided them into several portions, wrapping them in oil paper, +disposing of one bunch in his empty tobacco pouch, of another bunch in +the inside band of his battered hat, of a third bunch under his shirt on +the chest. This accomplished, a panic came upon him, and he unwrapped +them all and counted them again. There were still sixty-seven. + +He dried his wet foot-gear by the fire. The moccasins were in soggy +shreds. The blanket socks were worn through in places, and his feet were +raw and bleeding. His ankle was throbbing, and he gave it an +examination. It had swollen to the size of his knee. He tore a long +strip from one of his two blankets and bound the ankle tightly. He tore +other strips and bound them about his feet to serve for both moccasins +and socks. Then he drank the pot of water, steaming hot, wound his +watch, and crawled between his blankets. + +He slept like a dead man. The brief darkness around midnight came and +went. The sun arose in the northeast--at least the day dawned in that +quarter, for the sun was hidden by gray clouds. + +At six o'clock he awoke, quietly lying on his back. He gazed straight up +into the gray sky and knew that he was hungry. As he rolled over on his +elbow he was startled by a loud snort, and saw a bull caribou regarding +him with alert curiosity. The animal was not mere than fifty feet away, +and instantly into the man's mind leaped the vision and the savor of a +caribou steak sizzling and frying over a fire. Mechanically he reached +for the empty gun, drew a bead, and pulled the trigger. The bull snorted +and leaped away, his hoofs rattling and clattering as he fled across the +ledges. + +The man cursed and flung the empty gun from him. He groaned aloud as he +started to drag himself to his feet. It was a slow and arduous task. + +His joints were like rusty hinges. They worked harshly in their sockets, +with much friction, and each bending or unbending was accomplished only +through a sheer exertion of will. When he finally gained his feet, +another minute or so was consumed in straightening up, so that he could +stand erect as a man should stand. + +He crawled up a small knoll and surveyed the prospect. There were no +trees, no bushes, nothing but a gray sea of moss scarcely diversified by +gray rocks, gray lakelets, and gray streamlets. The sky was gray. There +was no sun nor hint of sun. He had no idea of north, and he had +forgotten the way he had come to this spot the night before. But he was +not lost. He knew that. Soon he would come to the land of the little +sticks. He felt that it lay off to the left somewhere, not far--possibly +just over the next low hill. + +He went back to put his pack into shape for travelling. He assured +himself of the existence of his three separate parcels of matches, though +he did not stop to count them. But he did linger, debating, over a squat +moose-hide sack. It was not large. He could hide it under his two +hands. He knew that it weighed fifteen pounds,--as much as all the rest +of the pack,--and it worried him. He finally set it to one side and +proceeded to roll the pack. He paused to gaze at the squat moose-hide +sack. He picked it up hastily with a defiant glance about him, as though +the desolation were trying to rob him of it; and when he rose to his feet +to stagger on into the day, it was included in the pack on his back. + +He bore away to the left, stopping now and again to eat muskeg berries. +His ankle had stiffened, his limp was more pronounced, but the pain of it +was as nothing compared with the pain of his stomach. The hunger pangs +were sharp. They gnawed and gnawed until he could not keep his mind +steady on the course he must pursue to gain the land of little sticks. +The muskeg berries did not allay this gnawing, while they made his tongue +and the roof of his mouth sore with their irritating bite. + +He came upon a valley where rock ptarmigan rose on whirring wings from +the ledges and muskegs. Ker--ker--ker was the cry they made. He threw +stones at them, but could not hit them. He placed his pack on the ground +and stalked them as a cat stalks a sparrow. The sharp rocks cut through +his pants' legs till his knees left a trail of blood; but the hurt was +lost in the hurt of his hunger. He squirmed over the wet moss, +saturating his clothes and chilling his body; but he was not aware of it, +so great was his fever for food. And always the ptarmigan rose, +whirring, before him, till their ker--ker--ker became a mock to him, and +he cursed them and cried aloud at them with their own cry. + +Once he crawled upon one that must have been asleep. He did not see it +till it shot up in his face from its rocky nook. He made a clutch as +startled as was the rise of the ptarmigan, and there remained in his hand +three tail-feathers. As he watched its flight he hated it, as though it +had done him some terrible wrong. Then he returned and shouldered his +pack. + +As the day wore along he came into valleys or swales where game was more +plentiful. A band of caribou passed by, twenty and odd animals, +tantalizingly within rifle range. He felt a wild desire to run after +them, a certitude that he could run them down. A black fox came toward +him, carrying a ptarmigan in his mouth. The man shouted. It was a +fearful cry, but the fox, leaping away in fright, did not drop the +ptarmigan. + +Late in the afternoon he followed a stream, milky with lime, which ran +through sparse patches of rush-grass. Grasping these rushes firmly near +the root, he pulled up what resembled a young onion-sprout no larger than +a shingle-nail. It was tender, and his teeth sank into it with a crunch +that promised deliciously of food. But its fibers were tough. It was +composed of stringy filaments saturated with water, like the berries, and +devoid of nourishment. He threw off his pack and went into the +rush-grass on hands and knees, crunching and munching, like some bovine +creature. + +He was very weary and often wished to rest--to lie down and sleep; but he +was continually driven on--not so much by his desire to gain the land of +little sticks as by his hunger. He searched little ponds for frogs and +dug up the earth with his nails for worms, though he knew in spite that +neither frogs nor worms existed so far north. + +He looked into every pool of water vainly, until, as the long twilight +came on, he discovered a solitary fish, the size of a minnow, in such a +pool. He plunged his arm in up to the shoulder, but it eluded him. He +reached for it with both hands and stirred up the milky mud at the +bottom. In his excitement he fell in, wetting himself to the waist. Then +the water was too muddy to admit of his seeing the fish, and he was +compelled to wait until the sediment had settled. + +The pursuit was renewed, till the water was again muddied. But he could +not wait. He unstrapped the tin bucket and began to bale the pool. He +baled wildly at first, splashing himself and flinging the water so short +a distance that it ran back into the pool. He worked more carefully, +striving to be cool, though his heart was pounding against his chest and +his hands were trembling. At the end of half an hour the pool was nearly +dry. Not a cupful of water remained. And there was no fish. He found a +hidden crevice among the stones through which it had escaped to the +adjoining and larger pool--a pool which he could not empty in a night and +a day. Had he known of the crevice, he could have closed it with a rock +at the beginning and the fish would have been his. + +Thus he thought, and crumpled up and sank down upon the wet earth. At +first he cried softly to himself, then he cried loudly to the pitiless +desolation that ringed him around; and for a long time after he was +shaken by great dry sobs. + +He built a fire and warmed himself by drinking quarts of hot water, and +made camp on a rocky ledge in the same fashion he had the night before. +The last thing he did was to see that his matches were dry and to wind +his watch. The blankets were wet and clammy. His ankle pulsed with +pain. But he knew only that he was hungry, and through his restless +sleep he dreamed of feasts and banquets and of food served and spread in +all imaginable ways. + +He awoke chilled and sick. There was no sun. The gray of earth and sky +had become deeper, more profound. A raw wind was blowing, and the first +flurries of snow were whitening the hilltops. The air about him +thickened and grew white while he made a fire and boiled more water. It +was wet snow, half rain, and the flakes were large and soggy. At first +they melted as soon as they came in contact with the earth, but ever more +fell, covering the ground, putting out the fire, spoiling his supply of +moss-fuel. + +This was a signal for him to strap on his pack and stumble onward, he +knew not where. He was not concerned with the land of little sticks, nor +with Bill and the cache under the upturned canoe by the river Dease. He +was mastered by the verb "to eat." He was hunger-mad. He took no heed +of the course he pursued, so long as that course led him through the +swale bottoms. He felt his way through the wet snow to the watery muskeg +berries, and went by feel as he pulled up the rush-grass by the roots. +But it was tasteless stuff and did not satisfy. He found a weed that +tasted sour and he ate all he could find of it, which was not much, for +it was a creeping growth, easily hidden under the several inches of snow. + +He had no fire that night, nor hot water, and crawled under his blanket +to sleep the broken hunger-sleep. The snow turned into a cold rain. He +awakened many times to feel it falling on his upturned face. Day came--a +gray day and no sun. It had ceased raining. The keenness of his hunger +had departed. Sensibility, as far as concerned the yearning for food, +had been exhausted. There was a dull, heavy ache in his stomach, but it +did not bother him so much. He was more rational, and once more he was +chiefly interested in the land of little sticks and the cache by the +river Dease. + +He ripped the remnant of one of his blankets into strips and bound his +bleeding feet. Also, he recinched the injured ankle and prepared himself +for a day of travel. When he came to his pack, he paused long over the +squat moose-hide sack, but in the end it went with him. + +The snow had melted under the rain, and only the hilltops showed white. +The sun came out, and he succeeded in locating the points of the compass, +though he knew now that he was lost. Perhaps, in his previous days' +wanderings, he had edged away too far to the left. He now bore off to +the right to counteract the possible deviation from his true course. + +Though the hunger pangs were no longer so exquisite, he realized that he +was weak. He was compelled to pause for frequent rests, when he attacked +the muskeg berries and rush-grass patches. His tongue felt dry and +large, as though covered with a fine hairy growth, and it tasted bitter +in his mouth. His heart gave him a great deal of trouble. When he had +travelled a few minutes it would begin a remorseless thump, thump, thump, +and then leap up and away in a painful flutter of beats that choked him +and made him go faint and dizzy. + +In the middle of the day he found two minnows in a large pool. It was +impossible to bale it, but he was calmer now and managed to catch them in +his tin bucket. They were no longer than his little finger, but he was +not particularly hungry. The dull ache in his stomach had been growing +duller and fainter. It seemed almost that his stomach was dozing. He +ate the fish raw, masticating with painstaking care, for the eating was +an act of pure reason. While he had no desire to eat, he knew that he +must eat to live. + +In the evening he caught three more minnows, eating two and saving the +third for breakfast. The sun had dried stray shreds of moss, and he was +able to warm himself with hot water. He had not covered more than ten +miles that day; and the next day, travelling whenever his heart permitted +him, he covered no more than five miles. But his stomach did not give +him the slightest uneasiness. It had gone to sleep. He was in a strange +country, too, and the caribou were growing more plentiful, also the +wolves. Often their yelps drifted across the desolation, and once he saw +three of them slinking away before his path. + +Another night; and in the morning, being more rational, he untied the +leather string that fastened the squat moose-hide sack. From its open +mouth poured a yellow stream of coarse gold-dust and nuggets. He roughly +divided the gold in halves, caching one half on a prominent ledge, +wrapped in a piece of blanket, and returning the other half to the sack. +He also began to use strips of the one remaining blanket for his feet. He +still clung to his gun, for there were cartridges in that cache by the +river Dease. + +This was a day of fog, and this day hunger awoke in him again. He was +very weak and was afflicted with a giddiness which at times blinded him. +It was no uncommon thing now for him to stumble and fall; and stumbling +once, he fell squarely into a ptarmigan nest. There were four newly +hatched chicks, a day old--little specks of pulsating life no more than a +mouthful; and he ate them ravenously, thrusting them alive into his mouth +and crunching them like egg-shells between his teeth. The mother +ptarmigan beat about him with great outcry. He used his gun as a club +with which to knock her over, but she dodged out of reach. He threw +stones at her and with one chance shot broke a wing. Then she fluttered +away, running, trailing the broken wing, with him in pursuit. + +The little chicks had no more than whetted his appetite. He hopped and +bobbed clumsily along on his injured ankle, throwing stones and screaming +hoarsely at times; at other times hopping and bobbing silently along, +picking himself up grimly and patiently when he fell, or rubbing his eyes +with his hand when the giddiness threatened to overpower him. + +The chase led him across swampy ground in the bottom of the valley, and +he came upon footprints in the soggy moss. They were not his own--he +could see that. They must be Bill's. But he could not stop, for the +mother ptarmigan was running on. He would catch her first, then he would +return and investigate. + +He exhausted the mother ptarmigan; but he exhausted himself. She lay +panting on her side. He lay panting on his side, a dozen feet away, +unable to crawl to her. And as he recovered she recovered, fluttering +out of reach as his hungry hand went out to her. The chase was resumed. +Night settled down and she escaped. He stumbled from weakness and +pitched head foremost on his face, cutting his cheek, his pack upon his +back. He did not move for a long while; then he rolled over on his side, +wound his watch, and lay there until morning. + +Another day of fog. Half of his last blanket had gone into +foot-wrappings. He failed to pick up Bill's trail. It did not matter. +His hunger was driving him too compellingly--only--only he wondered if +Bill, too, were lost. By midday the irk of his pack became too +oppressive. Again he divided the gold, this time merely spilling half of +it on the ground. In the afternoon he threw the rest of it away, there +remaining to him only the half-blanket, the tin bucket, and the rifle. + +An hallucination began to trouble him. He felt confident that one +cartridge remained to him. It was in the chamber of the rifle and he had +overlooked it. On the other hand, he knew all the time that the chamber +was empty. But the hallucination persisted. He fought it off for hours, +then threw his rifle open and was confronted with emptiness. The +disappointment was as bitter as though he had really expected to find the +cartridge. + +He plodded on for half an hour, when the hallucination arose again. Again +he fought it, and still it persisted, till for very relief he opened his +rifle to unconvince himself. At times his mind wandered farther afield, +and he plodded on, a mere automaton, strange conceits and whimsicalities +gnawing at his brain like worms. But these excursions out of the real +were of brief duration, for ever the pangs of the hunger-bite called him +back. He was jerked back abruptly once from such an excursion by a sight +that caused him nearly to faint. He reeled and swayed, doddering like a +drunken man to keep from falling. Before him stood a horse. A horse! He +could not believe his eyes. A thick mist was in them, intershot with +sparkling points of light. He rubbed his eyes savagely to clear his +vision, and beheld, not a horse, but a great brown bear. The animal was +studying him with bellicose curiosity. + +The man had brought his gun halfway to his shoulder before he realized. +He lowered it and drew his hunting-knife from its beaded sheath at his +hip. Before him was meat and life. He ran his thumb along the edge of +his knife. It was sharp. The point was sharp. He would fling himself +upon the bear and kill it. But his heart began its warning thump, thump, +thump. Then followed the wild upward leap and tattoo of flutters, the +pressing as of an iron band about his forehead, the creeping of the +dizziness into his brain. + +His desperate courage was evicted by a great surge of fear. In his +weakness, what if the animal attacked him? He drew himself up to his +most imposing stature, gripping the knife and staring hard at the bear. +The bear advanced clumsily a couple of steps, reared up, and gave vent to +a tentative growl. If the man ran, he would run after him; but the man +did not run. He was animated now with the courage of fear. He, too, +growled, savagely, terribly, voicing the fear that is to life germane and +that lies twisted about life's deepest roots. + +The bear edged away to one side, growling menacingly, himself appalled by +this mysterious creature that appeared upright and unafraid. But the man +did not move. He stood like a statue till the danger was past, when he +yielded to a fit of trembling and sank down into the wet moss. + +He pulled himself together and went on, afraid now in a new way. It was +not the fear that he should die passively from lack of food, but that he +should be destroyed violently before starvation had exhausted the last +particle of the endeavor in him that made toward surviving. There were +the wolves. Back and forth across the desolation drifted their howls, +weaving the very air into a fabric of menace that was so tangible that he +found himself, arms in the air, pressing it back from him as it might be +the walls of a wind-blown tent. + +Now and again the wolves, in packs of two and three, crossed his path. +But they sheered clear of him. They were not in sufficient numbers, and +besides they were hunting the caribou, which did not battle, while this +strange creature that walked erect might scratch and bite. + +In the late afternoon he came upon scattered bones where the wolves had +made a kill. The debris had been a caribou calf an hour before, +squawking and running and very much alive. He contemplated the bones, +clean-picked and polished, pink with the cell-life in them which had not +yet died. Could it possibly be that he might be that ere the day was +done! Such was life, eh? A vain and fleeting thing. It was only life +that pained. There was no hurt in death. To die was to sleep. It meant +cessation, rest. Then why was he not content to die? + +But he did not moralize long. He was squatting in the moss, a bone in +his mouth, sucking at the shreds of life that still dyed it faintly pink. +The sweet meaty taste, thin and elusive almost as a memory, maddened him. +He closed his jaws on the bones and crunched. Sometimes it was the bone +that broke, sometimes his teeth. Then he crushed the bones between +rocks, pounded them to a pulp, and swallowed them. He pounded his +fingers, too, in his haste, and yet found a moment in which to feel +surprise at the fact that his fingers did not hurt much when caught under +the descending rock. + +Came frightful days of snow and rain. He did not know when he made camp, +when he broke camp. He travelled in the night as much as in the day. He +rested wherever he fell, crawled on whenever the dying life in him +flickered up and burned less dimly. He, as a man, no longer strove. It +was the life in him, unwilling to die, that drove him on. He did not +suffer. His nerves had become blunted, numb, while his mind was filled +with weird visions and delicious dreams. + +But ever he sucked and chewed on the crushed bones of the caribou calf, +the least remnants of which he had gathered up and carried with him. He +crossed no more hills or divides, but automatically followed a large +stream which flowed through a wide and shallow valley. He did not see +this stream nor this valley. He saw nothing save visions. Soul and body +walked or crawled side by side, yet apart, so slender was the thread that +bound them. + +He awoke in his right mind, lying on his back on a rocky ledge. The sun +was shining bright and warm. Afar off he heard the squawking of caribou +calves. He was aware of vague memories of rain and wind and snow, but +whether he had been beaten by the storm for two days or two weeks he did +not know. + +For some time he lay without movement, the genial sunshine pouring upon +him and saturating his miserable body with its warmth. A fine day, he +thought. Perhaps he could manage to locate himself. By a painful effort +he rolled over on his side. Below him flowed a wide and sluggish river. +Its unfamiliarity puzzled him. Slowly he followed it with his eyes, +winding in wide sweeps among the bleak, bare hills, bleaker and barer and +lower-lying than any hills he had yet encountered. Slowly, deliberately, +without excitement or more than the most casual interest, he followed the +course of the strange stream toward the sky-line and saw it emptying into +a bright and shining sea. He was still unexcited. Most unusual, he +thought, a vision or a mirage--more likely a vision, a trick of his +disordered mind. He was confirmed in this by sight of a ship lying at +anchor in the midst of the shining sea. He closed his eyes for a while, +then opened them. Strange how the vision persisted! Yet not strange. He +knew there were no seas or ships in the heart of the barren lands, just +as he had known there was no cartridge in the empty rifle. + +He heard a snuffle behind him--a half-choking gasp or cough. Very +slowly, because of his exceeding weakness and stiffness, he rolled over +on his other side. He could see nothing near at hand, but he waited +patiently. Again came the snuffle and cough, and outlined between two +jagged rocks not a score of feet away he made out the gray head of a +wolf. The sharp ears were not pricked so sharply as he had seen them on +other wolves; the eyes were bleared and bloodshot, the head seemed to +droop limply and forlornly. The animal blinked continually in the +sunshine. It seemed sick. As he looked it snuffled and coughed again. + +This, at least, was real, he thought, and turned on the other side so +that he might see the reality of the world which had been veiled from him +before by the vision. But the sea still shone in the distance and the +ship was plainly discernible. Was it reality, after all? He closed his +eyes for a long while and thought, and then it came to him. He had been +making north by east, away from the Dease Divide and into the Coppermine +Valley. This wide and sluggish river was the Coppermine. That shining +sea was the Arctic Ocean. That ship was a whaler, strayed east, far +east, from the mouth of the Mackenzie, and it was lying at anchor in +Coronation Gulf. He remembered the Hudson Bay Company chart he had seen +long ago, and it was all clear and reasonable to him. + +He sat up and turned his attention to immediate affairs. He had worn +through the blanket-wrappings, and his feet were shapeless lumps of raw +meat. His last blanket was gone. Rifle and knife were both missing. He +had lost his hat somewhere, with the bunch of matches in the band, but +the matches against his chest were safe and dry inside the tobacco pouch +and oil paper. He looked at his watch. It marked eleven o'clock and was +still running. Evidently he had kept it wound. + +He was calm and collected. Though extremely weak, he had no sensation of +pain. He was not hungry. The thought of food was not even pleasant to +him, and whatever he did was done by his reason alone. He ripped off his +pants' legs to the knees and bound them about his feet. Somehow he had +succeeded in retaining the tin bucket. He would have some hot water +before he began what he foresaw was to be a terrible journey to the ship. + +His movements were slow. He shook as with a palsy. When he started to +collect dry moss, he found he could not rise to his feet. He tried again +and again, then contented himself with crawling about on hands and knees. +Once he crawled near to the sick wolf. The animal dragged itself +reluctantly out of his way, licking its chops with a tongue which seemed +hardly to have the strength to curl. The man noticed that the tongue was +not the customary healthy red. It was a yellowish brown and seemed +coated with a rough and half-dry mucus. + +After he had drunk a quart of hot water the man found he was able to +stand, and even to walk as well as a dying man might be supposed to walk. +Every minute or so he was compelled to rest. His steps were feeble and +uncertain, just as the wolf's that trailed him were feeble and uncertain; +and that night, when the shining sea was blotted out by blackness, he +knew he was nearer to it by no more than four miles. + +Throughout the night he heard the cough of the sick wolf, and now and +then the squawking of the caribou calves. There was life all around him, +but it was strong life, very much alive and well, and he knew the sick +wolf clung to the sick man's trail in the hope that the man would die +first. In the morning, on opening his eyes, he beheld it regarding him +with a wistful and hungry stare. It stood crouched, with tail between +its legs, like a miserable and woe-begone dog. It shivered in the chill +morning wind, and grinned dispiritedly when the man spoke to it in a +voice that achieved no more than a hoarse whisper. + +The sun rose brightly, and all morning the man tottered and fell toward +the ship on the shining sea. The weather was perfect. It was the brief +Indian Summer of the high latitudes. It might last a week. To-morrow or +next day it might he gone. + +In the afternoon the man came upon a trail. It was of another man, who +did not walk, but who dragged himself on all fours. The man thought it +might be Bill, but he thought in a dull, uninterested way. He had no +curiosity. In fact, sensation and emotion had left him. He was no +longer susceptible to pain. Stomach and nerves had gone to sleep. Yet +the life that was in him drove him on. He was very weary, but it refused +to die. It was because it refused to die that he still ate muskeg +berries and minnows, drank his hot water, and kept a wary eye on the sick +wolf. + +He followed the trail of the other man who dragged himself along, and +soon came to the end of it--a few fresh-picked bones where the soggy moss +was marked by the foot-pads of many wolves. He saw a squat moose-hide +sack, mate to his own, which had been torn by sharp teeth. He picked it +up, though its weight was almost too much for his feeble fingers. Bill +had carried it to the last. Ha! ha! He would have the laugh on Bill. He +would survive and carry it to the ship in the shining sea. His mirth was +hoarse and ghastly, like a raven's croak, and the sick wolf joined him, +howling lugubriously. The man ceased suddenly. How could he have the +laugh on Bill if that were Bill; if those bones, so pinky-white and +clean, were Bill? + +He turned away. Well, Bill had deserted him; but he would not take the +gold, nor would he suck Bill's bones. Bill would have, though, had it +been the other way around, he mused as he staggered on. + +He came to a pool of water. Stooping over in quest of minnows, he jerked +his head back as though he had been stung. He had caught sight of his +reflected face. So horrible was it that sensibility awoke long enough to +be shocked. There were three minnows in the pool, which was too large to +drain; and after several ineffectual attempts to catch them in the tin +bucket he forbore. He was afraid, because of his great weakness, that he +might fall in and drown. It was for this reason that he did not trust +himself to the river astride one of the many drift-logs which lined its +sand-spits. + +That day he decreased the distance between him and the ship by three +miles; the next day by two--for he was crawling now as Bill had crawled; +and the end of the fifth day found the ship still seven miles away and +him unable to make even a mile a day. Still the Indian Summer held on, +and he continued to crawl and faint, turn and turn about; and ever the +sick wolf coughed and wheezed at his heels. His knees had become raw +meat like his feet, and though he padded them with the shirt from his +back it was a red track he left behind him on the moss and stones. Once, +glancing back, he saw the wolf licking hungrily his bleeding trail, and +he saw sharply what his own end might be--unless--unless he could get the +wolf. Then began as grim a tragedy of existence as was ever played--a +sick man that crawled, a sick wolf that limped, two creatures dragging +their dying carcasses across the desolation and hunting each other's +lives. + +Had it been a well wolf, it would not have mattered so much to the man; +but the thought of going to feed the maw of that loathsome and all but +dead thing was repugnant to him. He was finicky. His mind had begun to +wander again, and to be perplexed by hallucinations, while his lucid +intervals grew rarer and shorter. + +He was awakened once from a faint by a wheeze close in his ear. The wolf +leaped lamely back, losing its footing and falling in its weakness. It +was ludicrous, but he was not amused. Nor was he even afraid. He was +too far gone for that. But his mind was for the moment clear, and he lay +and considered. The ship was no more than four miles away. He could see +it quite distinctly when he rubbed the mists out of his eyes, and he +could see the white sail of a small boat cutting the water of the shining +sea. But he could never crawl those four miles. He knew that, and was +very calm in the knowledge. He knew that he could not crawl half a mile. +And yet he wanted to live. It was unreasonable that he should die after +all he had undergone. Fate asked too much of him. And, dying, he +declined to die. It was stark madness, perhaps, but in the very grip of +Death he defied Death and refused to die. + +He closed his eyes and composed himself with infinite precaution. He +steeled himself to keep above the suffocating languor that lapped like a +rising tide through all the wells of his being. It was very like a sea, +this deadly languor, that rose and rose and drowned his consciousness bit +by bit. Sometimes he was all but submerged, swimming through oblivion +with a faltering stroke; and again, by some strange alchemy of soul, he +would find another shred of will and strike out more strongly. + +Without movement he lay on his back, and he could hear, slowly drawing +near and nearer, the wheezing intake and output of the sick wolf's +breath. It drew closer, ever closer, through an infinitude of time, and +he did not move. It was at his ear. The harsh dry tongue grated like +sandpaper against his cheek. His hands shot out--or at least he willed +them to shoot out. The fingers were curved like talons, but they closed +on empty air. Swiftness and certitude require strength, and the man had +not this strength. + +The patience of the wolf was terrible. The man's patience was no less +terrible. For half a day he lay motionless, fighting off unconsciousness +and waiting for the thing that was to feed upon him and upon which he +wished to feed. Sometimes the languid sea rose over him and he dreamed +long dreams; but ever through it all, waking and dreaming, he waited for +the wheezing breath and the harsh caress of the tongue. + +He did not hear the breath, and he slipped slowly from some dream to the +feel of the tongue along his hand. He waited. The fangs pressed softly; +the pressure increased; the wolf was exerting its last strength in an +effort to sink teeth in the food for which it had waited so long. But +the man had waited long, and the lacerated hand closed on the jaw. +Slowly, while the wolf struggled feebly and the hand clutched feebly, the +other hand crept across to a grip. Five minutes later the whole weight +of the man's body was on top of the wolf. The hands had not sufficient +strength to choke the wolf, but the face of the man was pressed close to +the throat of the wolf and the mouth of the man was full of hair. At the +end of half an hour the man was aware of a warm trickle in his throat. It +was not pleasant. It was like molten lead being forced into his stomach, +and it was forced by his will alone. Later the man rolled over on his +back and slept. + +* * * * * + +There were some members of a scientific expedition on the whale-ship +_Bedford_. From the deck they remarked a strange object on the shore. It +was moving down the beach toward the water. They were unable to classify +it, and, being scientific men, they climbed into the whale-boat alongside +and went ashore to see. And they saw something that was alive but which +could hardly be called a man. It was blind, unconscious. It squirmed +along the ground like some monstrous worm. Most of its efforts were +ineffectual, but it was persistent, and it writhed and twisted and went +ahead perhaps a score of feet an hour. + +* * * * * + +Three weeks afterward the man lay in a bunk on the whale-ship _Bedford_, +and with tears streaming down his wasted cheeks told who he was and what +he had undergone. He also babbled incoherently of his mother, of sunny +Southern California, and a home among the orange groves and flowers. + +The days were not many after that when he sat at table with the +scientific men and ship's officers. He gloated over the spectacle of so +much food, watching it anxiously as it went into the mouths of others. +With the disappearance of each mouthful an expression of deep regret came +into his eyes. He was quite sane, yet he hated those men at mealtime. He +was haunted by a fear that the food would not last. He inquired of the +cook, the cabin-boy, the captain, concerning the food stores. They +reassured him countless times; but he could not believe them, and pried +cunningly about the lazarette to see with his own eyes. + +It was noticed that the man was getting fat. He grew stouter with each +day. The scientific men shook their heads and theorized. They limited +the man at his meals, but still his girth increased and he swelled +prodigiously under his shirt. + +The sailors grinned. They knew. And when the scientific men set a watch +on the man, they knew too. They saw him slouch for'ard after breakfast, +and, like a mendicant, with outstretched palm, accost a sailor. The +sailor grinned and passed him a fragment of sea biscuit. He clutched it +avariciously, looked at it as a miser looks at gold, and thrust it into +his shirt bosom. Similar were the donations from other grinning sailors. + +The scientific men were discreet. They let him alone. But they privily +examined his bunk. It was lined with hardtack; the mattress was stuffed +with hardtack; every nook and cranny was filled with hardtack. Yet he +was sane. He was taking precautions against another possible famine--that +was all. He would recover from it, the scientific men said; and he did, +ere the _Bedford's_ anchor rumbled down in San Francisco Bay. + + + + +A DAY'S LODGING + + + It was the gosh-dangdest stampede I ever seen. A thousand dog-teams + hittin' the ice. You couldn't see 'm fer smoke. Two white men an' a + Swede froze to death that night, an' there was a dozen busted their + lungs. But didn't I see with my own eyes the bottom of the + water-hole? It was yellow with gold like a mustard-plaster. That's + why I staked the Yukon for a minin' claim. That's what made the + stampede. An' then there was nothin' to it. That's what I + said--NOTHIN' to it. An' I ain't got over guessin' yet.--NARRATIVE OF + SHORTY. + +John Messner clung with mittened hand to the bucking gee-pole and held +the sled in the trail. With the other mittened hand he rubbed his cheeks +and nose. He rubbed his cheeks and nose every little while. In point of +fact, he rarely ceased from rubbing them, and sometimes, as their +numbness increased, he rubbed fiercely. His forehead was covered by the +visor of his fur cap, the flaps of which went over his ears. The rest of +his face was protected by a thick beard, golden-brown under its coating +of frost. + +Behind him churned a heavily loaded Yukon sled, and before him toiled a +string of five dogs. The rope by which they dragged the sled rubbed +against the side of Messner's leg. When the dogs swung on a bend in the +trail, he stepped over the rope. There were many bends, and he was +compelled to step over it often. Sometimes he tripped on the rope, or +stumbled, and at all times he was awkward, betraying a weariness so great +that the sled now and again ran upon his heels. + +When he came to a straight piece of trail, where the sled could get along +for a moment without guidance, he let go the gee-pole and batted his +right hand sharply upon the hard wood. He found it difficult to keep up +the circulation in that hand. But while he pounded the one hand, he +never ceased from rubbing his nose and cheeks with the other. + +"It's too cold to travel, anyway," he said. He spoke aloud, after the +manner of men who are much by themselves. "Only a fool would travel at +such a temperature. If it isn't eighty below, it's because it's seventy- +nine." + +He pulled out his watch, and after some fumbling got it back into the +breast pocket of his thick woollen jacket. Then he surveyed the heavens +and ran his eye along the white sky-line to the south. + +"Twelve o'clock," he mumbled, "A clear sky, and no sun." + +He plodded on silently for ten minutes, and then, as though there had +been no lapse in his speech, he added: + +"And no ground covered, and it's too cold to travel." + +Suddenly he yelled "Whoa!" at the dogs, and stopped. He seemed in a wild +panic over his right hand, and proceeded to hammer it furiously against +the gee-pole. + +"You--poor--devils!" he addressed the dogs, which had dropped down +heavily on the ice to rest. His was a broken, jerky utterance, caused by +the violence with which he hammered his numb hand upon the wood. "What +have you done anyway that a two-legged other animal should come along, +break you to harness, curb all your natural proclivities, and make slave- +beasts out of you?" + +He rubbed his nose, not reflectively, but savagely, in order to drive the +blood into it, and urged the dogs to their work again. He travelled on +the frozen surface of a great river. Behind him it stretched away in a +mighty curve of many miles, losing itself in a fantastic jumble of +mountains, snow-covered and silent. Ahead of him the river split into +many channels to accommodate the freight of islands it carried on its +breast. These islands were silent and white. No animals nor humming +insects broke the silence. No birds flew in the chill air. There was no +sound of man, no mark of the handiwork of man. The world slept, and it +was like the sleep of death. + +John Messner seemed succumbing to the apathy of it all. The frost was +benumbing his spirit. He plodded on with bowed head, unobservant, +mechanically rubbing nose and cheeks, and batting his steering hand +against the gee-pole in the straight trail-stretches. + +But the dogs were observant, and suddenly they stopped, turning their +heads and looking back at their master out of eyes that were wistful and +questioning. Their eyelashes were frosted white, as were their muzzles, +and they had all the seeming of decrepit old age, what of the frost-rime +and exhaustion. + +The man was about to urge them on, when he checked himself, roused up +with an effort, and looked around. The dogs had stopped beside a water- +hole, not a fissure, but a hole man-made, chopped laboriously with an axe +through three and a half feet of ice. A thick skin of new ice showed +that it had not been used for some time. Messner glanced about him. The +dogs were already pointing the way, each wistful and hoary muzzle turned +toward the dim snow-path that left the main river trail and climbed the +bank of the island. + +"All right, you sore-footed brutes," he said. "I'll investigate. You're +not a bit more anxious to quit than I am." + +He climbed the bank and disappeared. The dogs did not lie down, but on +their feet eagerly waited his return. He came back to them, took a +hauling-rope from the front of the sled, and put it around his shoulders. +Then he _gee'd_ the dogs to the right and put them at the bank on the +run. It was a stiff pull, but their weariness fell from them as they +crouched low to the snow, whining with eagerness and gladness as they +struggled upward to the last ounce of effort in their bodies. When a dog +slipped or faltered, the one behind nipped his hind quarters. The man +shouted encouragement and threats, and threw all his weight on the +hauling-rope. + +They cleared the bank with a rush, swung to the left, and dashed up to a +small log cabin. It was a deserted cabin of a single room, eight feet by +ten on the inside. Messner unharnessed the animals, unloaded his sled +and took possession. The last chance wayfarer had left a supply of +firewood. Messner set up his light sheet-iron stove and starred a fire. +He put five sun-cured salmon into the oven to thaw out for the dogs, and +from the water-hole filled his coffee-pot and cooking-pail. + +While waiting for the water to boil, he held his face over the stove. The +moisture from his breath had collected on his beard and frozen into a +great mass of ice, and this he proceeded to thaw out. As it melted and +dropped upon the stove it sizzled and rose about him in steam. He helped +the process with his fingers, working loose small ice-chunks that fell +rattling to the floor. + +A wild outcry from the dogs without did not take him from his task. He +heard the wolfish snarling and yelping of strange dogs and the sound of +voices. A knock came on the door. + +"Come in," Messner called, in a voice muffled because at the moment he +was sucking loose a fragment of ice from its anchorage on his upper lip. + +The door opened, and, gazing out of his cloud of steam, he saw a man and +a woman pausing on the threshold. + +"Come in," he said peremptorily, "and shut the door!" + +Peering through the steam, he could make out but little of their personal +appearance. The nose and cheek strap worn by the woman and the trail- +wrappings about her head allowed only a pair of black eyes to be seen. +The man was dark-eyed and smooth-shaven all except his mustache, which +was so iced up as to hide his mouth. + +"We just wanted to know if there is any other cabin around here," he +said, at the same time glancing over the unfurnished state of the room. +"We thought this cabin was empty." + +"It isn't my cabin," Messner answered. "I just found it a few minutes +ago. Come right in and camp. Plenty of room, and you won't need your +stove. There's room for all." + +At the sound of his voice the woman peered at him with quick curiousness. + +"Get your things off," her companion said to her. "I'll unhitch and get +the water so we can start cooking." + +Messner took the thawed salmon outside and fed his dogs. He had to guard +them against the second team of dogs, and when he had reentered the cabin +the other man had unpacked the sled and fetched water. Messner's pot was +boiling. He threw in the coffee, settled it with half a cup of cold +water, and took the pot from the stove. He thawed some sour-dough +biscuits in the oven, at the same time heating a pot of beans he had +boiled the night before and that had ridden frozen on the sled all +morning. + +Removing his utensils from the stove, so as to give the newcomers a +chance to cook, he proceeded to take his meal from the top of his grub- +box, himself sitting on his bed-roll. Between mouthfuls he talked trail +and dogs with the man, who, with head over the stove, was thawing the ice +from his mustache. There were two bunks in the cabin, and into one of +them, when he had cleared his lip, the stranger tossed his bed-roll. + +"We'll sleep here," he said, "unless you prefer this bunk. You're the +first comer and you have first choice, you know." + +"That's all right," Messner answered. "One bunk's just as good as the +other." + +He spread his own bedding in the second bunk, and sat down on the edge. +The stranger thrust a physician's small travelling case under his +blankets at one end to serve for a pillow. + +"Doctor?" Messner asked. + +"Yes," came the answer, "but I assure you I didn't come into the Klondike +to practise." + +The woman busied herself with cooking, while the man sliced bacon and +fired the stove. The light in the cabin was dim, filtering through in a +small window made of onion-skin writing paper and oiled with bacon +grease, so that John Messner could not make out very well what the woman +looked like. Not that he tried. He seemed to have no interest in her. +But she glanced curiously from time to time into the dark corner where he +sat. + +"Oh, it's a great life," the doctor proclaimed enthusiastically, pausing +from sharpening his knife on the stovepipe. "What I like about it is the +struggle, the endeavor with one's own hands, the primitiveness of it, the +realness." + +"The temperature is real enough," Messner laughed. + +"Do you know how cold it actually is?" the doctor demanded. + +The other shook his head. + +"Well, I'll tell you. Seventy-four below zero by spirit thermometer on +the sled." + +"That's one hundred and six below freezing point--too cold for +travelling, eh?" + +"Practically suicide," was the doctor's verdict. "One exerts himself. He +breathes heavily, taking into his lungs the frost itself. It chills his +lungs, freezes the edges of the tissues. He gets a dry, hacking cough as +the dead tissue sloughs away, and dies the following summer of pneumonia, +wondering what it's all about. I'll stay in this cabin for a week, +unless the thermometer rises at least to fifty below." + +"I say, Tess," he said, the next moment, "don't you think that coffee's +boiled long enough!" + +At the sound of the woman's name, John Messner became suddenly alert. He +looked at her quickly, while across his face shot a haunting expression, +the ghost of some buried misery achieving swift resurrection. But the +next moment, and by an effort of will, the ghost was laid again. His +face was as placid as before, though he was still alert, dissatisfied +with what the feeble light had shown him of the woman's face. + +Automatically, her first act had been to set the coffee-pot back. It was +not until she had done this that she glanced at Messner. But already he +had composed himself. She saw only a man sitting on the edge of the bunk +and incuriously studying the toes of his moccasins. But, as she turned +casually to go about her cooking, he shot another swift look at her, and +she, glancing as swiftly back, caught his look. He shifted on past her +to the doctor, though the slightest smile curled his lip in appreciation +of the way she had trapped him. + +She drew a candle from the grub-box and lighted it. One look at her +illuminated face was enough for Messner. In the small cabin the widest +limit was only a matter of several steps, and the next moment she was +alongside of him. She deliberately held the candle close to his face and +stared at him out of eyes wide with fear and recognition. He smiled +quietly back at her. + +"What are you looking for, Tess?" the doctor called. + +"Hairpins," she replied, passing on and rummaging in a clothes-bag on the +bunk. + +They served their meal on their grub-box, sitting on Messner's grub-box +and facing him. He had stretched out on his bunk to rest, lying on his +side, his head on his arm. In the close quarters it was as though the +three were together at table. + +"What part of the States do you come from?" Messner asked. + +"San Francisco," answered the doctor. "I've been in here two years, +though." + +"I hail from California myself," was Messner's announcement. + +The woman looked at him appealingly, but he smiled and went on: + +"Berkeley, you know." + +The other man was becoming interested. + +"U. C.?" he asked. + +"Yes, Class of '86." + +"I meant faculty," the doctor explained. "You remind me of the type." + +"Sorry to hear you say so," Messner smiled back. "I'd prefer being taken +for a prospector or a dog-musher." + +"I don't think he looks any more like a professor than you do a doctor," +the woman broke in. + +"Thank you," said Messner. Then, turning to her companion, "By the way, +Doctor, what is your name, if I may ask?" + +"Haythorne, if you'll take my word for it. I gave up cards with +civilization." + +"And Mrs. Haythorne," Messner smiled and bowed. + +She flashed a look at him that was more anger than appeal. + +Haythorne was about to ask the other's name. His mouth had opened to +form the question when Messner cut him off. + +"Come to think of it, Doctor, you may possibly be able to satisfy my +curiosity. There was a sort of scandal in faculty circles some two or +three years ago. The wife of one of the English professors--er, if you +will pardon me, Mrs. Haythorne--disappeared with some San Francisco +doctor, I understood, though his name does not just now come to my lips. +Do you remember the incident?" + +Haythorne nodded his head. "Made quite a stir at the time. His name was +Womble--Graham Womble. He had a magnificent practice. I knew him +somewhat." + +"Well, what I was trying to get at was what had become of them. I was +wondering if you had heard. They left no trace, hide nor hair." + +"He covered his tracks cunningly." Haythorne cleared his throat. "There +was rumor that they went to the South Seas--were lost on a trading +schooner in a typhoon, or something like that." + +"I never heard that," Messner said. "You remember the case, Mrs. +Haythorne?" + +"Perfectly," she answered, in a voice the control of which was in amazing +contrast to the anger that blazed in the face she turned aside so that +Haythorne might not see. + +The latter was again on the verge of asking his name, when Messner +remarked: + +"This Dr. Womble, I've heard he was very handsome, and--er--quite a +success, so to say, with the ladies." + +"Well, if he was, he finished himself off by that affair," Haythorne +grumbled. + +"And the woman was a termagant--at least so I've been told. It was +generally accepted in Berkeley that she made life--er--not exactly +paradise for her husband." + +"I never heard that," Haythorne rejoined. "In San Francisco the talk was +all the other way." + +"Woman sort of a martyr, eh?--crucified on the cross of matrimony?" + +The doctor nodded. Messner's gray eyes were mildly curious as he went +on: + +"That was to be expected--two sides to the shield. Living in Berkeley I +only got the one side. She was a great deal in San Francisco, it seems." + +"Some coffee, please," Haythorne said. + +The woman refilled his mug, at the same time breaking into light +laughter. + +"You're gossiping like a pair of beldames," she chided them. + +"It's so interesting," Messner smiled at her, then returned to the +doctor. "The husband seems then to have had a not very savory reputation +in San Francisco?" + +"On the contrary, he was a moral prig," Haythorne blurted out, with +apparently undue warmth. "He was a little scholastic shrimp without a +drop of red blood in his body." + +"Did you know him?" + +"Never laid eyes on him. I never knocked about in university circles." + +"One side of the shield again," Messner said, with an air of weighing the +matter judicially. "While he did not amount to much, it is true--that +is, physically--I'd hardly say he was as bad as all that. He did take an +active interest in student athletics. And he had some talent. He once +wrote a Nativity play that brought him quite a bit of local appreciation. +I have heard, also, that he was slated for the head of the English +department, only the affair happened and he resigned and went away. It +quite broke his career, or so it seemed. At any rate, on our side the +shield, it was considered a knock-out blow to him. It was thought he +cared a great deal for his wife." + +Haythorne, finishing his mug of coffee, grunted uninterestedly and +lighted his pipe. + +"It was fortunate they had no children," Messner continued. + +But Haythorne, with a glance at the stove, pulled on his cap and mittens. + +"I'm going out to get some wood," he said. "Then I can take off my +moccasins and he comfortable." + +The door slammed behind him. For a long minute there was silence. The +man continued in the same position on the bed. The woman sat on the grub- +box, facing him. + +"What are you going to do?" she asked abruptly. + +Messner looked at her with lazy indecision. "What do you think I ought +to do? Nothing scenic, I hope. You see I am stiff and trail-sore, and +this bunk is so restful." + +She gnawed her lower lip and fumed dumbly. + +"But--" she began vehemently, then clenched her hands and stopped. + +"I hope you don't want me to kill Mr.--er--Haythorne," he said gently, +almost pleadingly. "It would be most distressing, and, I assure you, +really it is unnecessary." + +"But you must do something," she cried. + +"On the contrary, it is quite conceivable that I do not have to do +anything." + +"You would stay here?" + +He nodded. + +She glanced desperately around the cabin and at the bed unrolled on the +other bunk. "Night is coming on. You can't stop here. You can't! I +tell you, you simply can't!" + +"Of course I can. I might remind you that I found this cabin first and +that you are my guests." + +Again her eyes travelled around the room, and the terror in them leaped +up at sight of the other bunk. + +"Then we'll have to go," she announced decisively. + +"Impossible. You have a dry, hacking cough--the sort Mr.--er--Haythorne +so aptly described. You've already slightly chilled your lungs. Besides, +he is a physician and knows. He would never permit it." + +"Then what are you going to do?" she demanded again, with a tense, quiet +utterance that boded an outbreak. + +Messner regarded her in a way that was almost paternal, what of the +profundity of pity and patience with which he contrived to suffuse it. + +"My dear Theresa, as I told you before, I don't know. I really haven't +thought about it." + +"Oh! You drive me mad!" She sprang to her feet, wringing her hands in +impotent wrath. "You never used to be this way." + +"I used to be all softness and gentleness," he nodded concurrence. "Was +that why you left me?" + +"You are so different, so dreadfully calm. You frighten me. I feel you +have something terrible planned all the while. But whatever you do, +don't do anything rash. Don't get excited--" + +"I don't get excited any more," he interrupted. "Not since you went +away." + +"You have improved--remarkably," she retorted. + +He smiled acknowledgment. "While I am thinking about what I shall do, +I'll tell you what you will have to do--tell Mr.--er--Haythorne who I am. +It may make our stay in this cabin more--may I say, sociable?" + +"Why have you followed me into this frightful country?" she asked +irrelevantly. + +"Don't think I came here looking for you, Theresa. Your vanity shall not +be tickled by any such misapprehension. Our meeting is wholly +fortuitous. I broke with the life academic and I had to go somewhere. To +be honest, I came into the Klondike because I thought it the place you +were least liable to be in." + +There was a fumbling at the latch, then the door swung in and Haythorne +entered with an armful of firewood. At the first warning, Theresa began +casually to clear away the dishes. Haythorne went out again after more +wood. + +"Why didn't you introduce us?" Messner queried. + +"I'll tell him," she replied, with a toss of her head. "Don't think I'm +afraid." + +"I never knew you to be afraid, very much, of anything." + +"And I'm not afraid of confession, either," she said, with softening face +and voice. + +"In your case, I fear, confession is exploitation by indirection, profit- +making by ruse, self-aggrandizement at the expense of God." + +"Don't be literary," she pouted, with growing tenderness. "I never did +like epigrammatic discussion. Besides, I'm not afraid to ask you to +forgive me." + +"There is nothing to forgive, Theresa. I really should thank you. True, +at first I suffered; and then, with all the graciousness of spring, it +dawned upon me that I was happy, very happy. It was a most amazing +discovery." + +"But what if I should return to you?" she asked. + +"I should" (he looked at her whimsically), "be greatly perturbed." + +"I am your wife. You know you have never got a divorce." + +"I see," he meditated. "I have been careless. It will be one of the +first things I attend to." + +She came over to his side, resting her hand on his arm. "You don't want +me, John?" Her voice was soft and caressing, her hand rested like a +lure. "If I told you I had made a mistake? If I told you that I was +very unhappy?--and I am. And I did make a mistake." + +Fear began to grow on Messner. He felt himself wilting under the lightly +laid hand. The situation was slipping away from him, all his beautiful +calmness was going. She looked at him with melting eyes, and he, too, +seemed all dew and melting. He felt himself on the edge of an abyss, +powerless to withstand the force that was drawing him over. + +"I am coming back to you, John. I am coming back to-day . . . now." + +As in a nightmare, he strove under the hand. While she talked, he seemed +to hear, rippling softly, the song of the Lorelei. It was as though, +somewhere, a piano were playing and the actual notes were impinging on +his ear-drums. + +Suddenly he sprang to his feet, thrust her from him as her arms attempted +to clasp him, and retreated backward to the door. He was in a panic. + +"I'll do something desperate!" he cried. + +"I warned you not to get excited." She laughed mockingly, and went about +washing the dishes. "Nobody wants you. I was just playing with you. I +am happier where I am." + +But Messner did not believe. He remembered her facility in changing +front. She had changed front now. It was exploitation by indirection. +She was not happy with the other man. She had discovered her mistake. +The flame of his ego flared up at the thought. She wanted to come back +to him, which was the one thing he did not want. Unwittingly, his hand +rattled the door-latch. + +"Don't run away," she laughed. "I won't bite you." + +"I am not running away," he replied with child-like defiance, at the same +time pulling on his mittens. "I'm only going to get some water." + +He gathered the empty pails and cooking pots together and opened the +door. He looked back at her. + +"Don't forget you're to tell Mr.--er--Haythorne who I am." + +Messner broke the skin that had formed on the water-hole within the hour, +and filled his pails. But he did not return immediately to the cabin. +Leaving the pails standing in the trail, he walked up and down, rapidly, +to keep from freezing, for the frost bit into the flesh like fire. His +beard was white with his frozen breath when the perplexed and frowning +brows relaxed and decision came into his face. He had made up his mind +to his course of action, and his frigid lips and cheeks crackled into a +chuckle over it. The pails were already skinned over with young ice when +he picked them up and made for the cabin. + +When he entered he found the other man waiting, standing near the stove, +a certain stiff awkwardness and indecision in his manner. Messner set +down his water-pails. + +"Glad to meet you, Graham Womble," he said in conventional tones, as +though acknowledging an introduction. + +Messner did not offer his hand. Womble stirred uneasily, feeling for the +other the hatred one is prone to feel for one he has wronged. + +"And so you're the chap," Messner said in marvelling accents. "Well, +well. You see, I really am glad to meet you. I have been--er--curious +to know what Theresa found in you--where, I may say, the attraction lay. +Well, well." + +And he looked the other up and down as a man would look a horse up and +down. + +"I know how you must feel about me," Womble began. + +"Don't mention it," Messner broke in with exaggerated cordiality of voice +and manner. "Never mind that. What I want to know is how do you find +her? Up to expectations? Has she worn well? Life been all a happy +dream ever since?" + +"Don't be silly," Theresa interjected. + +"I can't help being natural," Messner complained. + +"You can be expedient at the same time, and practical," Womble said +sharply. "What we want to know is what are you going to do?" + +Messner made a well-feigned gesture of helplessness. "I really don't +know. It is one of those impossible situations against which there can +be no provision." + +"All three of us cannot remain the night in this cabin." + +Messner nodded affirmation. + +"Then somebody must get out." + +"That also is incontrovertible," Messner agreed. "When three bodies +cannot occupy the same space at the same time, one must get out." + +"And you're that one," Womble announced grimly. "It's a ten-mile pull to +the next camp, but you can make it all right." + +"And that's the first flaw in your reasoning," the other objected. "Why, +necessarily, should I be the one to get out? I found this cabin first." + +"But Tess can't get out," Womble explained. "Her lungs are already +slightly chilled." + +"I agree with you. She can't venture ten miles of frost. By all means +she must remain." + +"Then it is as I said," Womble announced with finality. + +Messner cleared his throat. "Your lungs are all right, aren't they?" + +"Yes, but what of it?" + +Again the other cleared his throat and spoke with painstaking and +judicial slowness. "Why, I may say, nothing of it, except, ah, according +to your own reasoning, there is nothing to prevent your getting out, +hitting the frost, so to speak, for a matter of ten miles. You can make +it all right." + +Womble looked with quick suspicion at Theresa and caught in her eyes a +glint of pleased surprise. + +"Well?" he demanded of her. + +She hesitated, and a surge of anger darkened his face. He turned upon +Messner. + +"Enough of this. You can't stop here." + +"Yes, I can." + +"I won't let you." Womble squared his shoulders. "I'm running things." + +"I'll stay anyway," the other persisted. + +"I'll put you out." + +"I'll come back." + +Womble stopped a moment to steady his voice and control himself. Then he +spoke slowly, in a low, tense voice. + +"Look here, Messner, if you refuse to get out, I'll thrash you. This +isn't California. I'll beat you to a jelly with my two fists." + +Messner shrugged his shoulders. "If you do, I'll call a miners' meeting +and see you strung up to the nearest tree. As you said, this is not +California. They're a simple folk, these miners, and all I'll have to do +will be to show them the marks of the beating, tell them the truth about +you, and present my claim for my wife." + +The woman attempted to speak, but Womble turned upon her fiercely. + +"You keep out of this," he cried. + +In marked contrast was Messner's "Please don't intrude, Theresa." + +What of her anger and pent feelings, her lungs were irritated into the +dry, hacking cough, and with blood-suffused face and one hand clenched +against her chest, she waited for the paroxysm to pass. + +Womble looked gloomily at her, noting her cough. + +"Something must be done," he said. "Yet her lungs can't stand the +exposure. She can't travel till the temperature rises. And I'm not +going to give her up." + +Messner hemmed, cleared his throat, and hemmed again, +semi-apologetically, and said, "I need some money." + +Contempt showed instantly in Womble's face. At last, beneath him in +vileness, had the other sunk himself. + +"You've got a fat sack of dust," Messner went on. "I saw you unload it +from the sled." + +"How much do you want?" Womble demanded, with a contempt in his voice +equal to that in his face. + +"I made an estimate of the sack, and I--ah--should say it weighed about +twenty pounds. What do you say we call it four thousand?" + +"But it's all I've got, man!" Womble cried out. + +"You've got her," the other said soothingly. "She must be worth it. +Think what I'm giving up. Surely it is a reasonable price." + +"All right." Womble rushed across the floor to the gold-sack. "Can't +put this deal through too quick for me, you--you little worm!" + +"Now, there you err," was the smiling rejoinder. "As a matter of ethics +isn't the man who gives a bribe as bad as the man who takes a bribe? The +receiver is as bad as the thief, you know; and you needn't console +yourself with any fictitious moral superiority concerning this little +deal." + +"To hell with your ethics!" the other burst out. "Come here and watch +the weighing of this dust. I might cheat you." + +And the woman, leaning against the bunk, raging and impotent, watched +herself weighed out in yellow dust and nuggets in the scales erected on +the grub-box. The scales were small, making necessary many weighings, +and Messner with precise care verified each weighing. + +"There's too much silver in it," he remarked as he tied up the gold-sack. +"I don't think it will run quite sixteen to the ounce. You got a trifle +the better of me, Womble." + +He handled the sack lovingly, and with due appreciation of its +preciousness carried it out to his sled. + +Returning, he gathered his pots and pans together, packed his grub-box, +and rolled up his bed. When the sled was lashed and the complaining dogs +harnessed, he returned into the cabin for his mittens. + +"Good-by, Tess," he said, standing at the open door. + +She turned on him, struggling for speech but too frantic to word the +passion that burned in her. + +"Good-by, Tess," he repeated gently. + +"Beast!" she managed to articulate. + +She turned and tottered to the bunk, flinging herself face down upon it, +sobbing: "You beasts! You beasts!" + +John Messner closed the door softly behind him, and, as he started the +dogs, looked back at the cabin with a great relief in his face. At the +bottom of the bank, beside the water-hole, he halted the sled. He worked +the sack of gold out between the lashings and carried it to the water- +hole. Already a new skin of ice had formed. This he broke with his +fist. Untying the knotted mouth with his teeth, he emptied the contents +of the sack into the water. The river was shallow at that point, and two +feet beneath the surface he could see the bottom dull-yellow in the +fading light. At the sight of it, he spat into the hole. + +He started the dogs along the Yukon trail. Whining spiritlessly, they +were reluctant to work. Clinging to the gee-pole with his right band and +with his left rubbing cheeks and nose, he stumbled over the rope as the +dogs swung on a bend. + +"Mush-on, you poor, sore-footed brutes!" he cried. "That's it, mush-on!" + + + + +THE WHITE MAN'S WAY + + +"To cook by your fire and to sleep under your roof for the night," I had +announced on entering old Ebbits's cabin; and he had looked at me blear- +eyed and vacuous, while Zilla had favored me with a sour face and a +contemptuous grunt. Zilla was his wife, and no more bitter-tongued, +implacable old squaw dwelt on the Yukon. Nor would I have stopped there +had my dogs been less tired or had the rest of the village been +inhabited. But this cabin alone had I found occupied, and in this cabin, +perforce, I took my shelter. + +Old Ebbits now and again pulled his tangled wits together, and hints and +sparkles of intelligence came and went in his eyes. Several times during +the preparation of my supper he even essayed hospitable inquiries about +my health, the condition and number of my dogs, and the distance I had +travelled that day. And each time Zilla had looked sourer than ever and +grunted more contemptuously. + +Yet I confess that there was no particular call for cheerfulness on their +part. There they crouched by the fire, the pair of them, at the end of +their days, old and withered and helpless, racked by rheumatism, bitten +by hunger, and tantalized by the frying-odors of my abundance of meat. +They rocked back and forth in a slow and hopeless way, and regularly, +once every five minutes, Ebbits emitted a low groan. It was not so much +a groan of pain, as of pain-weariness. He was oppressed by the weight +and the torment of this thing called life, and still more was he +oppressed by the fear of death. His was that eternal tragedy of the +aged, with whom the joy of life has departed and the instinct for death +has not come. + +When my moose-meat spluttered rowdily in the frying-pan, I noticed old +Ebbits's nostrils twitch and distend as he caught the food-scent. He +ceased rocking for a space and forgot to groan, while a look of +intelligence seemed to come into his face. + +Zilla, on the other hand, rocked more rapidly, and for the first time, in +sharp little yelps, voiced her pain. It came to me that their behavior +was like that of hungry dogs, and in the fitness of things I should not +have been astonished had Zilla suddenly developed a tail and thumped it +on the floor in right doggish fashion. Ebbits drooled a little and +stopped his rocking very frequently to lean forward and thrust his +tremulous nose nearer to the source of gustatory excitement. + +When I passed them each a plate of the fried meat, they ate greedily, +making loud mouth-noises--champings of worn teeth and sucking intakes of +the breath, accompanied by a continuous spluttering and mumbling. After +that, when I gave them each a mug of scalding tea, the noises ceased. +Easement and content came into their faces. Zilla relaxed her sour mouth +long enough to sigh her satisfaction. Neither rocked any more, and they +seemed to have fallen into placid meditation. Then a dampness came into +Ebbits's eyes, and I knew that the sorrow of self-pity was his. The +search required to find their pipes told plainly that they had been +without tobacco a long time, and the old man's eagerness for the narcotic +rendered him helpless, so that I was compelled to light his pipe for him. + +"Why are you all alone in the village?" I asked. "Is everybody dead? Has +there been a great sickness? Are you alone left of the living?" + +Old Ebbits shook his head, saying: "Nay, there has been no great +sickness. The village has gone away to hunt meat. We be too old, our +legs are not strong, nor can our backs carry the burdens of camp and +trail. Wherefore we remain here and wonder when the young men will +return with meat." + +"What if the young men do return with meat?" Zilla demanded harshly. + +"They may return with much meat," he quavered hopefully. + +"Even so, with much meat," she continued, more harshly than before. "But +of what worth to you and me? A few bones to gnaw in our toothless old +age. But the back-fat, the kidneys, and the tongues--these shall go into +other mouths than thine and mine, old man." + +Ebbits nodded his head and wept silently. + +"There be no one to hunt meat for us," she cried, turning fiercely upon +me. + +There was accusation in her manner, and I shrugged my shoulders in token +that I was not guilty of the unknown crime imputed to me. + +"Know, O White Man, that it is because of thy kind, because of all white +men, that my man and I have no meat in our old age and sit without +tobacco in the cold." + +"Nay," Ebbits said gravely, with a stricter sense of justice. "Wrong has +been done us, it be true; but the white men did not mean the wrong." + +"Where be Moklan?" she demanded. "Where be thy strong son, Moklan, and +the fish he was ever willing to bring that you might eat?" + +The old man shook his head. + +"And where be Bidarshik, thy strong son? Ever was he a mighty hunter, +and ever did he bring thee the good back-fat and the sweet dried tongues +of the moose and the caribou. I see no back-fat and no sweet dried +tongues. Your stomach is full with emptiness through the days, and it is +for a man of a very miserable and lying people to give you to eat." + +"Nay," old Ebbits interposed in kindliness, "the white man's is not a +lying people. The white man speaks true. Always does the white man +speak true." He paused, casting about him for words wherewith to temper +the severity of what he was about to say. "But the white man speaks true +in different ways. To-day he speaks true one way, to-morrow he speaks +true another way, and there is no understanding him nor his way." + +"To-day speak true one way, to-morrow speak true another way, which is to +lie," was Zilla's dictum. + +"There is no understanding the white man," Ebbits went on doggedly. + +The meat, and the tea, and the tobacco seemed to have brought him back to +life, and he gripped tighter hold of the idea behind his age-bleared +eyes. He straightened up somewhat. His voice lost its querulous and +whimpering note, and became strong and positive. He turned upon me with +dignity, and addressed me as equal addresses equal. + +"The white man's eyes are not shut," he began. "The white man sees all +things, and thinks greatly, and is very wise. But the white man of one +day is not the white man of next day, and there is no understanding him. +He does not do things always in the same way. And what way his next way +is to be, one cannot know. Always does the Indian do the one thing in +the one way. Always does the moose come down from the high mountains +when the winter is here. Always does the salmon come in the spring when +the ice has gone out of the river. Always does everything do all things +in the same way, and the Indian knows and understands. But the white man +does not do all things in the same way, and the Indian does not know nor +understand. + +"Tobacco be very good. It be food to the hungry man. It makes the +strong man stronger, and the angry man to forget that he is angry. Also +is tobacco of value. It is of very great value. The Indian gives one +large salmon for one leaf of tobacco, and he chews the tobacco for a long +time. It is the juice of the tobacco that is good. When it runs down +his throat it makes him feel good inside. But the white man! When his +mouth is full with the juice, what does he do? That juice, that juice of +great value, he spits it out in the snow and it is lost. Does the white +man like tobacco? I do not know. But if he likes tobacco, why does he +spit out its value and lose it in the snow? It is a great foolishness +and without understanding." + +He ceased, puffed at the pipe, found that it was out, and passed it over +to Zilla, who took the sneer at the white man off her lips in order to +pucker them about the pipe-stem. Ebbits seemed sinking back into his +senility with the tale untold, and I demanded: + +"What of thy sons, Moklan and Bidarshik? And why is it that you and your +old woman are without meat at the end of your years?" + +He roused himself as from sleep, and straightened up with an effort. + +"It is not good to steal," he said. "When the dog takes your meat you +beat the dog with a club. Such is the law. It is the law the man gave +to the dog, and the dog must live to the law, else will it suffer the +pain of the club. When man takes your meat, or your canoe, or your wife, +you kill that man. That is the law, and it is a good law. It is not +good to steal, wherefore it is the law that the man who steals must die. +Whoso breaks the law must suffer hurt. It is a great hurt to die." + +"But if you kill the man, why do you not kill the dog?" I asked. + +Old Ebbits looked at me in childlike wonder, while Zilla sneered openly +at the absurdity of my question. + +"It is the way of the white man," Ebbits mumbled with an air of +resignation. + +"It is the foolishness of the white man," snapped Zilla. + +"Then let old Ebbits teach the white man wisdom," I said softly. + +"The dog is not killed, because it must pull the sled of the man. No man +pulls another man's sled, wherefore the man is killed." + +"Oh," I murmured. + +"That is the law," old Ebbits went on. "Now listen, O White Man, and I +will tell you of a great foolishness. There is an Indian. His name is +Mobits. From white man he steals two pounds of flour. What does the +white man do? Does he beat Mobits? No. Does he kill Mobits? No. What +does he do to Mobits? I will tell you, O White Man. He has a house. He +puts Mobits in that house. The roof is good. The walls are thick. He +makes a fire that Mobits may be warm. He gives Mobits plenty grub to +eat. It is good grub. Never in his all days does Mobits eat so good +grub. There is bacon, and bread, and beans without end. Mobits have +very good time. + +"There is a big lock on door so that Mobits does not run away. This also +is a great foolishness. Mobits will not run away. All the time is there +plenty grub in that place, and warm blankets, and a big fire. Very +foolish to run away. Mobits is not foolish. Three months Mobits stop in +that place. He steal two pounds of flour. For that, white man take +plenty good care of him. Mobits eat many pounds of flour, many pounds of +sugar, of bacon, of beans without end. Also, Mobits drink much tea. +After three months white man open door and tell Mobits he must go. Mobits +does not want to go. He is like dog that is fed long time in one place. +He want to stay in that place, and the white man must drive Mobits away. +So Mobits come back to this village, and he is very fat. That is the +white man's way, and there is no understanding it. It is a foolishness, +a great foolishness." + +"But thy sons?" I insisted. "Thy very strong sons and thine old-age +hunger?" + +"There was Moklan," Ebbits began. + +"A strong man," interrupted the mother. "He could dip paddle all of a +day and night and never stop for the need of rest. He was wise in the +way of the salmon and in the way of the water. He was very wise." + +"There was Moklan," Ebbits repeated, ignoring the interruption. "In the +spring, he went down the Yukon with the young men to trade at Cambell +Fort. There is a post there, filled with the goods of the white man, and +a trader whose name is Jones. Likewise is there a white man's medicine +man, what you call missionary. Also is there bad water at Cambell Fort, +where the Yukon goes slim like a maiden, and the water is fast, and the +currents rush this way and that and come together, and there are whirls +and sucks, and always are the currents changing and the face of the water +changing, so at any two times it is never the same. Moklan is my son, +wherefore he is brave man--" + +"Was not my father brave man?" Zilla demanded. + +"Thy father was brave man," Ebbits acknowledged, with the air of one who +will keep peace in the house at any cost. "Moklan is thy son and mine, +wherefore he is brave. Mayhap, because of thy very brave father, Moklan +is too brave. It is like when too much water is put in the pot it spills +over. So too much bravery is put into Moklan, and the bravery spills +over. + +"The young men are much afraid of the bad water at Cambell Fort. But +Moklan is not afraid. He laughs strong, Ho! ho! and he goes forth into +the bad water. But where the currents come together the canoe is turned +over. A whirl takes Moklan by the legs, and he goes around and around, +and down and down, and is seen no more." + +"Ai! ai!" wailed Zilla. "Crafty and wise was he, and my first-born!" + +"I am the father of Moklan," Ebbits said, having patiently given the +woman space for her noise. "I get into canoe and journey down to Cambell +Fort to collect the debt!" + +"Debt!" interrupted. "What debt?" + +"The debt of Jones, who is chief trader," came the answer. "Such is the +law of travel in a strange country." + +I shook my head in token of my ignorance, and Ebbits looked compassion at +me, while Zilla snorted her customary contempt. + +"Look you, O White Man," he said. "In thy camp is a dog that bites. When +the dog bites a man, you give that man a present because you are sorry +and because it is thy dog. You make payment. Is it not so? Also, if +you have in thy country bad hunting, or bad water, you must make payment. +It is just. It is the law. Did not my father's brother go over into the +Tanana Country and get killed by a bear? And did not the Tanana tribe +pay my father many blankets and fine furs? It was just. It was bad +hunting, and the Tanana people made payment for the bad hunting. + +"So I, Ebbits, journeyed down to Cambell Fort to collect the debt. Jones, +who is chief trader, looked at me, and he laughed. He made great +laughter, and would not give payment. I went to the medicine-man, what +you call missionary, and had large talk about the bad water and the +payment that should be mine. And the missionary made talk about other +things. He talk about where Moklan has gone, now he is dead. There be +large fires in that place, and if missionary make true talk, I know that +Moklan will be cold no more. Also the missionary talk about where I +shall go when I am dead. And he say bad things. He say that I am blind. +Which is a lie. He say that I am in great darkness. Which is a lie. And +I say that the day come and the night come for everybody just the same, +and that in my village it is no more dark than at Cambell Fort. Also, I +say that darkness and light and where we go when we die be different +things from the matter of payment of just debt for bad water. Then the +missionary make large anger, and call me bad names of darkness, and tell +me to go away. And so I come back from Cambell Fort, and no payment has +been made, and Moklan is dead, and in my old age I am without fish and +meat." + +"Because of the white man," said Zilla. + +"Because of the white man," Ebbits concurred. "And other things because +of the white man. There was Bidarshik. One way did the white man deal +with him; and yet another way for the same thing did the white man deal +with Yamikan. And first must I tell you of Yamikan, who was a young man +of this village and who chanced to kill a white man. It is not good to +kill a man of another people. Always is there great trouble. It was not +the fault of Yamikan that he killed the white man. Yamikan spoke always +soft words and ran away from wrath as a dog from a stick. But this white +man drank much whiskey, and in the night-time came to Yamikan's house and +made much fight. Yamikan cannot run away, and the white man tries to +kill him. Yamikan does not like to die, so he kills the white man. + +"Then is all the village in great trouble. We are much afraid that we +must make large payment to the white man's people, and we hide our +blankets, and our furs, and all our wealth, so that it will seem that we +are poor people and can make only small payment. After long time white +men come. They are soldier white men, and they take Yamikan away with +them. His mother make great noise and throw ashes in her hair, for she +knows Yamikan is dead. And all the village knows that Yamikan is dead, +and is glad that no payment is asked. + +"That is in the spring when the ice has gone out of the river. One year +go by, two years go by. It is spring-time again, and the ice has gone +out of the river. And then Yamikan, who is dead, comes back to us, and +he is not dead, but very fat, and we know that he has slept warm and had +plenty grub to eat. He has much fine clothes and is all the same white +man, and he has gathered large wisdom so that he is very quick head man +in the village. + +"And he has strange things to tell of the way of the white man, for he +has seen much of the white man and done a great travel into the white +man's country. First place, soldier white men take him down the river +long way. All the way do they take him down the river to the end, where +it runs into a lake which is larger than all the land and large as the +sky. I do not know the Yukon is so big river, but Yamikan has seen with +his own eyes. I do not think there is a lake larger than all the land +and large as the sky, but Yamikan has seen. Also, he has told me that +the waters of this lake be salt, which is a strange thing and beyond +understanding. + +"But the White Man knows all these marvels for himself, so I shall not +weary him with the telling of them. Only will I tell him what happened +to Yamikan. The white man give Yamikan much fine grub. All the time +does Yamikan eat, and all the time is there plenty more grub. The white +man lives under the sun, so said Yamikan, where there be much warmth, and +animals have only hair and no fur, and the green things grow large and +strong and become flour, and beans, and potatoes. And under the sun +there is never famine. Always is there plenty grub. I do not know. +Yamikan has said. + +"And here is a strange thing that befell Yamikan. Never did the white +man hurt him. Only did they give him warm bed at night and plenty fine +grub. They take him across the salt lake which is big as the sky. He is +on white man's fire-boat, what you call steamboat, only he is on boat +maybe twenty times bigger than steamboat on Yukon. Also, it is made of +iron, this boat, and yet does it not sink. This I do not understand, but +Yamikan has said, 'I have journeyed far on the iron boat; behold! I am +still alive.' It is a white man's soldier-boat with many soldier men +upon it. + +"After many sleeps of travel, a long, long time, Yamikan comes to a land +where there is no snow. I cannot believe this. It is not in the nature +of things that when winter comes there shall be no snow. But Yamikan has +seen. Also have I asked the white men, and they have said yes, there is +no snow in that country. But I cannot believe, and now I ask you if snow +never come in that country. Also, I would hear the name of that country. +I have heard the name before, but I would hear it again, if it be the +same--thus will I know if I have heard lies or true talk." + +Old Ebbits regarded me with a wistful face. He would have the truth at +any cost, though it was his desire to retain his faith in the marvel he +had never seen. + +"Yes," I answered, "it is true talk that you have heard. There is no +snow in that country, and its name is California." + +"Cal-ee-forn-ee-yeh," he mumbled twice and thrice, listening intently to +the sound of the syllables as they fell from his lips. He nodded his +head in confirmation. "Yes, it is the same country of which Yamikan made +talk." + +I recognized the adventure of Yamikan as one likely to occur in the early +days when Alaska first passed into the possession of the United States. +Such a murder case, occurring before the instalment of territorial law +and officials, might well have been taken down to the United States for +trial before a Federal court. + +"When Yamikan is in this country where there is no snow," old Ebbits +continued, "he is taken to large house where many men make much talk. +Long time men talk. Also many questions do they ask Yamikan. By and by +they tell Yamikan he have no more trouble. Yamikan does not understand, +for never has he had any trouble. All the time have they given him warm +place to sleep and plenty grub. + +"But after that they give him much better grub, and they give him money, +and they take him many places in white man's country, and he see many +strange things which are beyond the understanding of Ebbits, who is an +old man and has not journeyed far. After two years, Yamikan comes back +to this village, and he is head man, and very wise until he dies. + +"But before he dies, many times does he sit by my fire and make talk of +the strange things he has seen. And Bidarshik, who is my son, sits by +the fire and listens; and his eyes are very wide and large because of the +things he hears. One night, after Yamikan has gone home, Bidarshik +stands up, so, very tall, and he strikes his chest with his fist, and +says, 'When I am a man, I shall journey in far places, even to the land +where there is no snow, and see things for myself.'" + +"Always did Bidarshik journey in far places," Zilla interrupted proudly. + +"It be true," Ebbits assented gravely. "And always did he return to sit +by the fire and hunger for yet other and unknown far places." + +"And always did he remember the salt lake as big as the sky and the +country under the sun where there is no snow," quoth Zilla. + +"And always did he say, 'When I have the full strength of a man, I will +go and see for myself if the talk of Yamikan be true talk,'" said Ebbits. + +"But there was no way to go to the white man's country," said Zilla. + +"Did he not go down to the salt lake that is big as the sky?" Ebbits +demanded. + +"And there was no way for him across the salt lake," said Zilla. + +"Save in the white man's fire-boat which is of iron and is bigger than +twenty steamboats on the Yukon," said Ebbits. He scowled at Zilla, whose +withered lips were again writhing into speech, and compelled her to +silence. "But the white man would not let him cross the salt lake in the +fire-boat, and he returned to sit by the fire and hunger for the country +under the sun where there is no snow.'" + +"Yet on the salt lake had he seen the fire-boat of iron that did not +sink," cried out Zilla the irrepressible. + +"Ay," said Ebbits, "and he saw that Yamikan had made true talk of the +things he had seen. But there was no way for Bidarshik to journey to the +white man's land under the sun, and he grew sick and weary like an old +man and moved not away from the fire. No longer did he go forth to kill +meat--" + +"And no longer did he eat the meat placed before him," Zilla broke in. +"He would shake his head and say, 'Only do I care to eat the grub of the +white man and grow fat after the manner of Yamikan.'" + +"And he did not eat the meat," Ebbits went on. "And the sickness of +Bidarshik grew into a great sickness until I thought he would die. It +was not a sickness of the body, but of the head. It was a sickness of +desire. I, Ebbits, who am his father, make a great think. I have no +more sons and I do not want Bidarshik to die. It is a head-sickness, and +there is but one way to make it well. Bidarshik must journey across the +lake as large as the sky to the land where there is no snow, else will he +die. I make a very great think, and then I see the way for Bidarshik to +go. + +"So, one night when he sits by the fire, very sick, his head hanging +down, I say, 'My son, I have learned the way for you to go to the white +man's land.' He looks at me, and his face is glad. 'Go,' I say, 'even +as Yamikan went.' But Bidarshik is sick and does not understand. 'Go +forth,' I say, 'and find a white man, and, even as Yamikan, do you kill +that white man. Then will the soldier white men come and get you, and +even as they took Yamikan will they take you across the salt lake to the +white man's land. And then, even as Yamikan, will you return very fat, +your eyes full of the things you have seen, your head filled with +wisdom.' + +"And Bidarshik stands up very quick, and his hand is reaching out for his +gun. 'Where do you go?' I ask. 'To kill the white man,' he says. And I +see that my words have been good in the ears of Bidarshik and that he +will grow well again. Also do I know that my words have been wise. + +"There is a white man come to this village. He does not seek after gold +in the ground, nor after furs in the forest. All the time does he seek +after bugs and flies. He does not eat the bugs and flies, then why does +he seek after them? I do not know. Only do I know that he is a funny +white man. Also does he seek after the eggs of birds. He does not eat +the eggs. All that is inside he takes out, and only does he keep the +shell. Eggshell is not good to eat. Nor does he eat the eggshells, but +puts them away in soft boxes where they will not break. He catch many +small birds. But he does not eat the birds. He takes only the skins and +puts them away in boxes. Also does he like bones. Bones are not good to +eat. And this strange white man likes best the bones of long time ago +which he digs out of the ground. + +"But he is not a fierce white man, and I know he will die very easy; so I +say to Bidarshik, 'My son, there is the white man for you to kill.' And +Bidarshik says that my words be wise. So he goes to a place he knows +where are many bones in the ground. He digs up very many of these bones +and brings them to the strange white man's camp. The white man is made +very glad. His face shines like the sun, and he smiles with much +gladness as he looks at the bones. He bends his head over, so, to look +well at the bones, and then Bidarshik strikes him hard on the head, with +axe, once, so, and the strange white man kicks and is dead. + +"'Now,' I say to Bidarshik, 'will the white soldier men come and take you +away to the land under the sun, where you will eat much and grow fat.' +Bidarshik is happy. Already has his sickness gone from him, and he sits +by the fire and waits for the coming of the white soldier men. + +"How was I to know the way of the white man is never twice the same?" the +old man demanded, whirling upon me fiercely. "How was I to know that +what the white man does yesterday he will not do to-day, and that what he +does to-day he will not do to-morrow?" Ebbits shook his head sadly. +"There is no understanding the white man. Yesterday he takes Yamikan to +the land under the sun and makes him fat with much grub. To-day he takes +Bidarshik and--what does he do with Bidarshik? Let me tell you what he +does with Bidarshik. + +"I, Ebbits, his father, will tell you. He takes Bidarshik to Cambell +Fort, and he ties a rope around his neck, so, and, when his feet are no +more on the ground, he dies." + +"Ai! ai!" wailed Zilla. "And never does he cross the lake large as the +sky, nor see the land under the sun where there is no snow." + +"Wherefore," old Ebbits said with grave dignity, "there be no one to hunt +meat for me in my old age, and I sit hungry by my fire and tell my story +to the White Man who has given me grub, and strong tea, and tobacco for +my pipe." + +"Because of the lying and very miserable white people," Zilla proclaimed +shrilly. + +"Nay," answered the old man with gentle positiveness. "Because of the +way of the white man, which is without understanding and never twice the +same." + + + + +THE STORY OF KEESH + + +Keesh lived long ago on the rim of the polar sea, was head man of his +village through many and prosperous years, and died full of honors with +his name on the lips of men. So long ago did he live that only the old +men remember his name, his name and the tale, which they got from the old +men before them, and which the old men to come will tell to their +children and their children's children down to the end of time. And the +winter darkness, when the north gales make their long sweep across the +ice-pack, and the air is filled with flying white, and no man may venture +forth, is the chosen time for the telling of how Keesh, from the poorest +_igloo_ in the village, rose to power and place over them all. + +He was a bright boy, so the tale runs, healthy and strong, and he had +seen thirteen suns, in their way of reckoning time. For each winter the +sun leaves the land in darkness, and the next year a new sun returns so +that they may be warm again and look upon one another's faces. The +father of Keesh had been a very brave man, but he had met his death in a +time of famine, when he sought to save the lives of his people by taking +the life of a great polar bear. In his eagerness he came to close +grapples with the bear, and his bones were crushed; but the bear had much +meat on him and the people were saved. Keesh was his only son, and after +that Keesh lived alone with his mother. But the people are prone to +forget, and they forgot the deed of his father; and he being but a boy, +and his mother only a woman, they, too, were swiftly forgotten, and ere +long came to live in the meanest of all the _igloos_. + +It was at a council, one night, in the big _igloo_ of Klosh-Kwan, the +chief, that Keesh showed the blood that ran in his veins and the manhood +that stiffened his back. With the dignity of an elder, he rose to his +feet, and waited for silence amid the babble of voices. + +"It is true that meat be apportioned me and mine," he said. "But it is +ofttimes old and tough, this meat, and, moreover, it has an unusual +quantity of bones." + +The hunters, grizzled and gray, and lusty and young, were aghast. The +like had never been known before. A child, that talked like a grown man, +and said harsh things to their very faces! + +But steadily and with seriousness, Keesh went on. "For that I know my +father, Bok, was a great hunter, I speak these words. It is said that +Bok brought home more meat than any of the two best hunters, that with +his own hands he attended to the division of it, that with his own eyes +he saw to it that the least old woman and the last old man received fair +share." + +"Na! Na!" the men cried. "Put the child out!" "Send him off to bed!" +"He is no man that he should talk to men and graybeards!" + +He waited calmly till the uproar died down. + +"Thou hast a wife, Ugh-Gluk," he said, "and for her dost thou speak. And +thou, too, Massuk, a mother also, and for them dost thou speak. My +mother has no one, save me; wherefore I speak. As I say, though Bok be +dead because he hunted over-keenly, it is just that I, who am his son, +and that Ikeega, who is my mother and was his wife, should have meat in +plenty so long as there be meat in plenty in the tribe. I, Keesh, the +son of Bok, have spoken." + +He sat down, his ears keenly alert to the flood of protest and +indignation his words had created. + +"That a boy should speak in council!" old Ugh-Gluk was mumbling. + +"Shall the babes in arms tell us men the things we shall do?" Massuk +demanded in a loud voice. "Am I a man that I should be made a mock by +every child that cries for meat?" + +The anger boiled a white heat. They ordered him to bed, threatened that +he should have no meat at all, and promised him sore beatings for his +presumption. Keesh's eyes began to flash, and the blood to pound darkly +under his skin. In the midst of the abuse he sprang to his feet. + +"Hear me, ye men!" he cried. "Never shall I speak in the council again, +never again till the men come to me and say, 'It is well, Keesh, that +thou shouldst speak, it is well and it is our wish.' Take this now, ye +men, for my last word. Bok, my father, was a great hunter. I, too, his +son, shall go and hunt the meat that I eat. And be it known, now, that +the division of that which I kill shall be fair. And no widow nor weak +one shall cry in the night because there is no meat, when the strong men +are groaning in great pain for that they have eaten overmuch. And in the +days to come there shall be shame upon the strong men who have eaten +overmuch. I, Keesh, have said it!" + +Jeers and scornful laughter followed him out of the _igloo_, but his jaw +was set and he went his way, looking neither to right nor left. + +The next day he went forth along the shore-line where the ice and the +land met together. Those who saw him go noted that he carried his bow, +with a goodly supply of bone-barbed arrows, and that across his shoulder +was his father's big hunting-spear. And there was laughter, and much +talk, at the event. It was an unprecedented occurrence. Never did boys +of his tender age go forth to hunt, much less to hunt alone. Also were +there shaking of heads and prophetic mutterings, and the women looked +pityingly at Ikeega, and her face was grave and sad. + +"He will be back ere long," they said cheeringly. + +"Let him go; it will teach him a lesson," the hunters said. "And he will +come back shortly, and he will be meek and soft of speech in the days to +follow." + +But a day passed, and a second, and on the third a wild gale blew, and +there was no Keesh. Ikeega tore her hair and put soot of the seal-oil on +her face in token of her grief; and the women assailed the men with +bitter words in that they had mistreated the boy and sent him to his +death; and the men made no answer, preparing to go in search of the body +when the storm abated. + +Early next morning, however, Keesh strode into the village. But he came +not shamefacedly. Across his shoulders he bore a burden of fresh-killed +meat. And there was importance in his step and arrogance in his speech. + +"Go, ye men, with the dogs and sledges, and take my trail for the better +part of a day's travel," he said. "There is much meat on the ice--a she- +bear and two half-grown cubs." + +Ikeega was overcome with joy, but he received her demonstrations in +manlike fashion, saying: "Come, Ikeega, let us eat. And after that I +shall sleep, for I am weary." + +And he passed into their _igloo_ and ate profoundly, and after that slept +for twenty running hours. + +There was much doubt at first, much doubt and discussion. The killing of +a polar bear is very dangerous, but thrice dangerous is it, and three +times thrice, to kill a mother bear with her cubs. The men could not +bring themselves to believe that the boy Keesh, single-handed, had +accomplished so great a marvel. But the women spoke of the fresh-killed +meat he had brought on his back, and this was an overwhelming argument +against their unbelief. So they finally departed, grumbling greatly that +in all probability, if the thing were so, he had neglected to cut up the +carcasses. Now in the north it is very necessary that this should be +done as soon as a kill is made. If not, the meat freezes so solidly as +to turn the edge of the sharpest knife, and a three-hundred-pound bear, +frozen stiff, is no easy thing to put upon a sled and haul over the rough +ice. But arrived at the spot, they found not only the kill, which they +had doubted, but that Keesh had quartered the beasts in true hunter +fashion, and removed the entrails. + +Thus began the mystery of Keesh, a mystery that deepened and deepened +with the passing of the days. His very next trip he killed a young bear, +nearly full-grown, and on the trip following, a large male bear and his +mate. He was ordinarily gone from three to four days, though it was +nothing unusual for him to stay away a week at a time on the ice-field. +Always he declined company on these expeditions, and the people +marvelled. "How does he do it?" they demanded of one another. "Never +does he take a dog with him, and dogs are of such great help, too." + +"Why dost thou hunt only bear?" Klosh-Kwan once ventured to ask him. + +And Keesh made fitting answer. "It is well known that there is more meat +on the bear," he said. + +But there was also talk of witchcraft in the village. "He hunts with +evil spirits," some of the people contended, "wherefore his hunting is +rewarded. How else can it be, save that he hunts with evil spirits?" + +"Mayhap they be not evil, but good, these spirits," others said. "It is +known that his father was a mighty hunter. May not his father hunt with +him so that he may attain excellence and patience and understanding? Who +knows?" + +None the less, his success continued, and the less skilful hunters were +often kept busy hauling in his meat. And in the division of it he was +just. As his father had done before him, he saw to it that the least old +woman and the last old man received a fair portion, keeping no more for +himself than his needs required. And because of this, and of his merit +as a hunter, he was looked upon with respect, and even awe; and there was +talk of making him chief after old Klosh-Kwan. Because of the things he +had done, they looked for him to appear again in the council, but he +never came, and they were ashamed to ask. + +"I am minded to build me an _igloo_," he said one day to Klosh-Kwan and a +number of the hunters. "It shall be a large _igloo_, wherein Ikeega and +I can dwell in comfort." + +"Ay," they nodded gravely. + +"But I have no time. My business is hunting, and it takes all my time. +So it is but just that the men and women of the village who eat my meat +should build me my _igloo_." + +And the _igloo_ was built accordingly, on a generous scale which exceeded +even the dwelling of Klosh-Kwan. Keesh and his mother moved into it, and +it was the first prosperity she had enjoyed since the death of Bok. Nor +was material prosperity alone hers, for, because of her wonderful son and +the position he had given her, she came to be looked upon as the first +woman in all the village; and the women were given to visiting her, to +asking her advice, and to quoting her wisdom when arguments arose among +themselves or with the men. + +But it was the mystery of Keesh's marvellous hunting that took chief +place in all their minds. And one day Ugh-Gluk taxed him with witchcraft +to his face. + +"It is charged," Ugh-Gluk said ominously, "that thou dealest with evil +spirits, wherefore thy hunting is rewarded." + +"Is not the meat good?" Keesh made answer. "Has one in the village yet +to fall sick from the eating of it? How dost thou know that witchcraft +be concerned? Or dost thou guess, in the dark, merely because of the +envy that consumes thee?" + +And Ugh-Gluk withdrew discomfited, the women laughing at him as he walked +away. But in the council one night, after long deliberation, it was +determined to put spies on his track when he went forth to hunt, so that +his methods might be learned. So, on his next trip, Bim and Bawn, two +young men, and of hunters the craftiest, followed after him, taking care +not to be seen. After five days they returned, their eyes bulging and +their tongues a-tremble to tell what they had seen. The council was +hastily called in Klosh-Kwan's dwelling, and Bim took up the tale. + +"Brothers! As commanded, we journeyed on the trail of Keesh, and +cunningly we journeyed, so that he might not know. And midway of the +first day he picked up with a great he-bear. It was a very great bear." + +"None greater," Bawn corroborated, and went on himself. "Yet was the +bear not inclined to fight, for he turned away and made off slowly over +the ice. This we saw from the rocks of the shore, and the bear came +toward us, and after him came Keesh, very much unafraid. And he shouted +harsh words after the bear, and waved his arms about, and made much +noise. Then did the bear grow angry, and rise up on his hind legs, and +growl. But Keesh walked right up to the bear." + +"Ay," Bim continued the story. "Right up to the bear Keesh walked. And +the bear took after him, and Keesh ran away. But as he ran he dropped a +little round ball on the ice. And the bear stopped and smelled of it, +then swallowed it up. And Keesh continued to run away and drop little +round balls, and the bear continued to swallow them up." + +Exclamations and cries of doubt were being made, and Ugh-Gluk expressed +open unbelief. + +"With our own eyes we saw it," Bim affirmed. + +And Bawn--"Ay, with our own eyes. And this continued until the bear +stood suddenly upright and cried aloud in pain, and thrashed his fore +paws madly about. And Keesh continued to make off over the ice to a safe +distance. But the bear gave him no notice, being occupied with the +misfortune the little round balls had wrought within him." + +"Ay, within him," Bim interrupted. "For he did claw at himself, and leap +about over the ice like a playful puppy, save from the way he growled and +squealed it was plain it was not play but pain. Never did I see such a +sight!" + +"Nay, never was such a sight seen," Bawn took up the strain. "And +furthermore, it was such a large bear." + +"Witchcraft," Ugh-Gluk suggested. + +"I know not," Bawn replied. "I tell only of what my eyes beheld. And +after a while the bear grew weak and tired, for he was very heavy and he +had jumped about with exceeding violence, and he went off along the shore- +ice, shaking his head slowly from side to side and sitting down ever and +again to squeal and cry. And Keesh followed after the bear, and we +followed after Keesh, and for that day and three days more we followed. +The bear grew weak, and never ceased crying from his pain." + +"It was a charm!" Ugh-Gluk exclaimed. "Surely it was a charm!" + +"It may well be." + +And Bim relieved Bawn. "The bear wandered, now this way and now that, +doubling back and forth and crossing his trail in circles, so that at the +end he was near where Keesh had first come upon him. By this time he was +quite sick, the bear, and could crawl no farther, so Keesh came up close +and speared him to death." + +"And then?" Klosh-Kwan demanded. + +"Then we left Keesh skinning the bear, and came running that the news of +the killing might be told." + +And in the afternoon of that day the women hauled in the meat of the bear +while the men sat in council assembled. When Keesh arrived a messenger +was sent to him, bidding him come to the council. But he sent reply, +saying that he was hungry and tired; also that his _igloo_ was large and +comfortable and could hold many men. + +And curiosity was so strong on the men that the whole council, Klosh-Kwan +to the fore, rose up and went to the _igloo_ of Keesh. He was eating, +but he received them with respect and seated them according to their +rank. Ikeega was proud and embarrassed by turns, but Keesh was quite +composed. + +Klosh-Kwan recited the information brought by Bim and Bawn, and at its +close said in a stern voice: "So explanation is wanted, O Keesh, of thy +manner of hunting. Is there witchcraft in it?" + +Keesh looked up and smiled. "Nay, O Klosh-Kwan. It is not for a boy to +know aught of witches, and of witches I know nothing. I have but devised +a means whereby I may kill the ice-bear with ease, that is all. It be +headcraft, not witchcraft." + +"And may any man?" + +"Any man." + +There was a long silence. The men looked in one another's faces, and +Keesh went on eating. + +"And . . . and . . . and wilt thou tell us, O Keesh?" Klosh-Kwan finally +asked in a tremulous voice. + +"Yea, I will tell thee." Keesh finished sucking a marrow-bone and rose +to his feet. "It is quite simple. Behold!" + +He picked up a thin strip of whalebone and showed it to them. The ends +were sharp as needle-points. The strip he coiled carefully, till it +disappeared in his hand. Then, suddenly releasing it, it sprang straight +again. He picked up a piece of blubber. + +"So," he said, "one takes a small chunk of blubber, thus, and thus makes +it hollow. Then into the hollow goes the whalebone, so, tightly coiled, +and another piece of blubber is fitted over the whale-bone. After that +it is put outside where it freezes into a little round ball. The bear +swallows the little round ball, the blubber melts, the whalebone with its +sharp ends stands out straight, the bear gets sick, and when the bear is +very sick, why, you kill him with a spear. It is quite simple." + +And Ugh-Gluk said "Oh!" and Klosh-Kwan said "Ah!" And each said +something after his own manner, and all understood. + +And this is the story of Keesh, who lived long ago on the rim of the +polar sea. Because he exercised headcraft and not witchcraft, he rose +from the meanest _igloo_ to be head man of his village, and through all +the years that he lived, it is related, his tribe was prosperous, and +neither widow nor weak one cried aloud in the night because there was no +meat. + + + + +THE UNEXPECTED + + +It is a simple matter to see the obvious, to do the expected. The +tendency of the individual life is to be static rather than dynamic, and +this tendency is made into a propulsion by civilization, where the +obvious only is seen, and the unexpected rarely happens. When the +unexpected does happen, however, and when it is of sufficiently grave +import, the unfit perish. They do not see what is not obvious, are +unable to do the unexpected, are incapable of adjusting their +well-grooved lives to other and strange grooves. In short, when they +come to the end of their own groove, they die. + +On the other hand, there are those that make toward survival, the fit +individuals who escape from the rule of the obvious and the expected and +adjust their lives to no matter what strange grooves they may stray into, +or into which they may be forced. Such an individual was Edith +Whittlesey. She was born in a rural district of England, where life +proceeds by rule of thumb and the unexpected is so very unexpected that +when it happens it is looked upon as an immorality. She went into +service early, and while yet a young woman, by rule-of-thumb progression, +she became a lady's maid. + +The effect of civilization is to impose human law upon environment until +it becomes machine-like in its regularity. The objectionable is +eliminated, the inevitable is foreseen. One is not even made wet by the +rain nor cold by the frost; while death, instead of stalking about +grewsome and accidental, becomes a prearranged pageant, moving along a +well-oiled groove to the family vault, where the hinges are kept from +rusting and the dust from the air is swept continually away. + +Such was the environment of Edith Whittlesey. Nothing happened. It +could scarcely be called a happening, when, at the age of twenty-five, +she accompanied her mistress on a bit of travel to the United States. The +groove merely changed its direction. It was still the same groove and +well oiled. It was a groove that bridged the Atlantic with +uneventfulness, so that the ship was not a ship in the midst of the sea, +but a capacious, many-corridored hotel that moved swiftly and placidly, +crushing the waves into submission with its colossal bulk until the sea +was a mill-pond, monotonous with quietude. And at the other side the +groove continued on over the land--a well-disposed, respectable groove +that supplied hotels at every stopping-place, and hotels on wheels +between the stopping-places. + +In Chicago, while her mistress saw one side of social life, Edith +Whittlesey saw another side; and when she left her lady's service and +became Edith Nelson, she betrayed, perhaps faintly, her ability to +grapple with the unexpected and to master it. Hans Nelson, immigrant, +Swede by birth and carpenter by occupation, had in him that Teutonic +unrest that drives the race ever westward on its great adventure. He was +a large-muscled, stolid sort of a man, in whom little imagination was +coupled with immense initiative, and who possessed, withal, loyalty and +affection as sturdy as his own strength. + +"When I have worked hard and saved me some money, I will go to Colorado," +he had told Edith on the day after their wedding. A year later they were +in Colorado, where Hans Nelson saw his first mining and caught the mining- +fever himself. His prospecting led him through the Dakotas, Idaho, and +eastern Oregon, and on into the mountains of British Columbia. In camp +and on trail, Edith Nelson was always with him, sharing his luck, his +hardship, and his toil. The short step of the house-reared woman she +exchanged for the long stride of the mountaineer. She learned to look +upon danger clear-eyed and with understanding, losing forever that panic +fear which is bred of ignorance and which afflicts the city-reared, +making them as silly as silly horses, so that they await fate in frozen +horror instead of grappling with it, or stampede in blind self-destroying +terror which clutters the way with their crushed carcasses. + +Edith Nelson met the unexpected at every turn of the trail, and she +trained her vision so that she saw in the landscape, not the obvious, but +the concealed. She, who had never cooked in her life, learned to make +bread without the mediation of hops, yeast, or baking-powder, and to bake +bread, top and bottom, in a frying-pan before an open fire. And when the +last cup of flour was gone and the last rind of bacon, she was able to +rise to the occasion, and of moccasins and the softer-tanned bits of +leather in the outfit to make a grub-stake substitute that somehow held a +man's soul in his body and enabled him to stagger on. She learned to +pack a horse as well as a man,--a task to break the heart and the pride +of any city-dweller, and she knew how to throw the hitch best suited for +any particular kind of pack. Also, she could build a fire of wet wood in +a downpour of rain and not lose her temper. In short, in all its guises +she mastered the unexpected. But the Great Unexpected was yet to come +into her life and put its test upon her. + +The gold-seeking tide was flooding northward into Alaska, and it was +inevitable that Hans Nelson and his wife should he caught up by the +stream and swept toward the Klondike. The fall of 1897 found them at +Dyea, but without the money to carry an outfit across Chilcoot Pass and +float it down to Dawson. So Hans Nelson worked at his trade that winter +and helped rear the mushroom outfitting-town of Skaguay. + +He was on the edge of things, and throughout the winter he heard all +Alaska calling to him. Latuya Bay called loudest, so that the summer of +1898 found him and his wife threading the mazes of the broken coast-line +in seventy-foot Siwash canoes. With them were Indians, also three other +men. The Indians landed them and their supplies in a lonely bight of +land a hundred miles or so beyond Latuya Bay, and returned to Skaguay; +but the three other men remained, for they were members of the organized +party. Each had put an equal share of capital into the outfitting, and +the profits were to be divided equally. In that Edith Nelson undertook +to cook for the outfit, a man's share was to be her portion. + +First, spruce trees were cut down and a three-room cabin constructed. To +keep this cabin was Edith Nelson's task. The task of the men was to +search for gold, which they did; and to find gold, which they likewise +did. It was not a startling find, merely a low-pay placer where long +hours of severe toil earned each man between fifteen and twenty dollars a +day. The brief Alaskan summer protracted itself beyond its usual length, +and they took advantage of the opportunity, delaying their return to +Skaguay to the last moment. And then it was too late. Arrangements had +been made to accompany the several dozen local Indians on their fall +trading trip down the coast. The Siwashes had waited on the white people +until the eleventh hour, and then departed. There was no course left the +party but to wait for chance transportation. In the meantime the claim +was cleaned up and firewood stocked in. + +The Indian summer had dreamed on and on, and then, suddenly, with the +sharpness of bugles, winter came. It came in a single night, and the +miners awoke to howling wind, driving snow, and freezing water. Storm +followed storm, and between the storms there was the silence, broken only +by the boom of the surf on the desolate shore, where the salt spray +rimmed the beach with frozen white. + +All went well in the cabin. Their gold-dust had weighed up something +like eight thousand dollars, and they could not but be contented. The +men made snowshoes, hunted fresh meat for the larder, and in the long +evenings played endless games of whist and pedro. Now that the mining +had ceased, Edith Nelson turned over the fire-building and the +dish-washing to the men, while she darned their socks and mended their +clothes. + +There was no grumbling, no bickering, nor petty quarrelling in the little +cabin, and they often congratulated one another on the general happiness +of the party. Hans Nelson was stolid and easy-going, while Edith had +long before won his unbounded admiration by her capacity for getting on +with people. Harkey, a long, lank Texan, was unusually friendly for one +with a saturnine disposition, and, as long as his theory that gold grew +was not challenged, was quite companionable. The fourth member of the +party, Michael Dennin, contributed his Irish wit to the gayety of the +cabin. He was a large, powerful man, prone to sudden rushes of anger +over little things, and of unfailing good-humor under the stress and +strain of big things. The fifth and last member, Dutchy, was the willing +butt of the party. He even went out of his way to raise a laugh at his +own expense in order to keep things cheerful. His deliberate aim in life +seemed to be that of a maker of laughter. No serious quarrel had ever +vexed the serenity of the party; and, now that each had sixteen hundred +dollars to show for a short summer's work, there reigned the well-fed, +contented spirit of prosperity. + +And then the unexpected happened. They had just sat down to the +breakfast table. Though it was already eight o'clock (late breakfasts +had followed naturally upon cessation of the steady work at mining) a +candle in the neck of a bottle lighted the meal. Edith and Hans sat at +each end of the table. On one side, with their backs to the door, sat +Harkey and Dutchy. The place on the other side was vacant. Dennin had +not yet come in. + +Hans Nelson looked at the empty chair, shook his head slowly, and, with a +ponderous attempt at humor, said: "Always is he first at the grub. It +is very strange. Maybe he is sick." + +"Where is Michael?" Edith asked. + +"Got up a little ahead of us and went outside," Harkey answered. + +Dutchy's face beamed mischievously. He pretended knowledge of Dennin's +absence, and affected a mysterious air, while they clamored for +information. Edith, after a peep into the men's bunk-room, returned to +the table. Hans looked at her, and she shook her head. + +"He was never late at meal-time before," she remarked. + +"I cannot understand," said Hans. "Always has he the great appetite like +the horse." + +"It is too bad," Dutchy said, with a sad shake of his head. + +They were beginning to make merry over their comrade's absence. + +"It is a great pity!" Dutchy volunteered. + +"What?" they demanded in chorus. + +"Poor Michael," was the mournful reply. + +"Well, what's wrong with Michael?" Harkey asked. + +"He is not hungry no more," wailed Dutchy. "He has lost der appetite. He +do not like der grub." + +"Not from the way he pitches into it up to his ears," remarked Harkey. + +"He does dot shust to be politeful to Mrs. Nelson," was Dutchy's quick +retort. "I know, I know, and it is too pad. Why is he not here? Pecause +he haf gone out. Why haf he gone out? For der defelopment of der +appetite. How does he defelop der appetite? He walks barefoots in der +snow. Ach! don't I know? It is der way der rich peoples chases after +der appetite when it is no more and is running away. Michael haf sixteen +hundred dollars. He is rich peoples. He haf no appetite. Derefore, +pecause, he is chasing der appetite. Shust you open der door und you +will see his barefoots in der snow. No, you will not see der appetite. +Dot is shust his trouble. When he sees der appetite he will catch it und +come to preak-fast." + +They burst into loud laughter at Dutchy's nonsense. The sound had +scarcely died away when the door opened and Dennin came in. All turned +to look at him. He was carrying a shot-gun. Even as they looked, he +lifted it to his shoulder and fired twice. At the first shot Dutchy sank +upon the table, overturning his mug of coffee, his yellow mop of hair +dabbling in his plate of mush. His forehead, which pressed upon the near +edge of the plate, tilted the plate up against his hair at an angle of +forty-five degrees. Harkey was in the air, in his spring to his feet, at +the second shot, and he pitched face down upon the floor, his "My God!" +gurgling and dying in his throat. + +It was the unexpected. Hans and Edith were stunned. They sat at the +table with bodies tense, their eyes fixed in a fascinated gaze upon the +murderer. Dimly they saw him through the smoke of the powder, and in the +silence nothing was to be heard save the drip-drip of Dutchy's spilled +coffee on the floor. Dennin threw open the breech of the shot-gun, +ejecting the empty shells. Holding the gun with one hand, he reached +with the other into his pocket for fresh shells. + +He was thrusting the shells into the gun when Edith Nelson was aroused to +action. It was patent that he intended to kill Hans and her. For a +space of possibly three seconds of time she had been dazed and paralysed +by the horrible and inconceivable form in which the unexpected had made +its appearance. Then she rose to it and grappled with it. She grappled +with it concretely, making a cat-like leap for the murderer and gripping +his neck-cloth with both her hands. The impact of her body sent him +stumbling backward several steps. He tried to shake her loose and still +retain his hold on the gun. This was awkward, for her firm-fleshed body +had become a cat's. She threw herself to one side, and with her grip at +his throat nearly jerked him to the floor. He straightened himself and +whirled swiftly. Still faithful to her hold, her body followed the +circle of his whirl so that her feet left the floor, and she swung +through the air fastened to his throat by her hands. The whirl +culminated in a collision with a chair, and the man and woman crashed to +the floor in a wild struggling fall that extended itself across half the +length of the room. + +Hans Nelson was half a second behind his wife in rising to the +unexpected. His nerve processed and mental processes were slower than +hers. His was the grosser organism, and it had taken him half a second +longer to perceive, and determine, and proceed to do. She had already +flown at Dennin and gripped his throat, when Hans sprang to his feet. But +her coolness was not his. He was in a blind fury, a Berserker rage. At +the instant he sprang from his chair his mouth opened and there issued +forth a sound that was half roar, half bellow. The whirl of the two +bodies had already started, and still roaring, or bellowing, he pursued +this whirl down the room, overtaking it when it fell to the floor. + +Hans hurled himself upon the prostrate man, striking madly with his +fists. They were sledge-like blows, and when Edith felt Dennin's body +relax she loosed her grip and rolled clear. She lay on the floor, +panting and watching. The fury of blows continued to rain down. Dennin +did not seem to mind the blows. He did not even move. Then it dawned +upon her that he was unconscious. She cried out to Hans to stop. She +cried out again. But he paid no heed to her voice. She caught him by +the arm, but her clinging to it merely impeded his effort. + +It was no reasoned impulse that stirred her to do what she then did. Nor +was it a sense of pity, nor obedience to the "Thou shalt not" of +religion. Rather was it some sense of law, an ethic of her race and +early environment, that compelled her to interpose her body between her +husband and the helpless murderer. It was not until Hans knew he was +striking his wife that he ceased. He allowed himself to be shoved away +by her in much the same way that a ferocious but obedient dog allows +itself to be shoved away by its master. The analogy went even farther. +Deep in his throat, in an animal-like way, Hans's rage still rumbled, and +several times he made as though to spring back upon his prey and was only +prevented by the woman's swiftly interposed body. + +Back and farther back Edith shoved her husband. She had never seen him +in such a condition, and she was more frightened of him than she had been +of Dennin in the thick of the struggle. She could not believe that this +raging beast was her Hans, and with a shock she became suddenly aware of +a shrinking, instinctive fear that he might snap her hand in his teeth +like any wild animal. For some seconds, unwilling to hurt her, yet +dogged in his desire to return to the attack, Hans dodged back and forth. +But she resolutely dodged with him, until the first glimmerings of reason +returned and he gave over. + +Both crawled to their feet. Hans staggered back against the wall, where +he leaned, his face working, in his throat the deep and continuous rumble +that died away with the seconds and at last ceased. The time for the +reaction had come. Edith stood in the middle of the floor, wringing her +hands, panting and gasping, her whole body trembling violently. + +Hans looked at nothing, but Edith's eyes wandered wildly from detail to +detail of what had taken place. Dennin lay without movement. The +overturned chair, hurled onward in the mad whirl, lay near him. Partly +under him lay the shot-gun, still broken open at the breech. Spilling +out of his right hand were the two cartridges which he had failed to put +into the gun and which he had clutched until consciousness left him. +Harkey lay on the floor, face downward, where he had fallen; while Dutchy +rested forward on the table, his yellow mop of hair buried in his mush- +plate, the plate itself still tilted at an angle of forty-five degrees. +This tilted plate fascinated her. Why did it not fall down? It was +ridiculous. It was not in the nature of things for a mush-plate to up- +end itself on the table, even if a man or so had been killed. + +She glanced back at Dennin, but her eyes returned to the tilted plate. It +was so ridiculous! She felt a hysterical impulse to laugh. Then she +noticed the silence, and forgot the plate in a desire for something to +happen. The monotonous drip of the coffee from the table to the floor +merely emphasized the silence. Why did not Hans do something? say +something? She looked at him and was about to speak, when she discovered +that her tongue refused its wonted duty. There was a peculiar ache in +her throat, and her mouth was dry and furry. She could only look at +Hans, who, in turn, looked at her. + +Suddenly the silence was broken by a sharp, metallic clang. She +screamed, jerking her eyes back to the table. The plate had fallen down. +Hans sighed as though awakening from sleep. The clang of the plate had +aroused them to life in a new world. The cabin epitomized the new world +in which they must thenceforth live and move. The old cabin was gone +forever. The horizon of life was totally new and unfamiliar. The +unexpected had swept its wizardry over the face of things, changing the +perspective, juggling values, and shuffling the real and the unreal into +perplexing confusion. + +"My God, Hans!" was Edith's first speech. + +He did not answer, but stared at her with horror. Slowly his eyes +wandered over the room, for the first time taking in its details. Then +he put on his cap and started for the door. + +"Where are you going?" Edith demanded, in an agony of apprehension. + +His hand was on the door-knob, and he half turned as he answered, "To dig +some graves." + +"Don't leave me, Hans, with--" her eyes swept the room--"with this." + +"The graves must be dug sometime," he said. + +"But you do not know how many," she objected desperately. She noted his +indecision, and added, "Besides, I'll go with you and help." + +Hans stepped back to the table and mechanically snuffed the candle. Then +between them they made the examination. Both Harkey and Dutchy were +dead--frightfully dead, because of the close range of the shot-gun. Hans +refused to go near Dennin, and Edith was forced to conduct this portion +of the investigation by herself. + +"He isn't dead," she called to Hans. + +He walked over and looked down at the murderer. + +"What did you say?" Edith demanded, having caught the rumble of +inarticulate speech in her husband's throat. + +"I said it was a damn shame that he isn't dead," came the reply. + +Edith was bending over the body. + +"Leave him alone," Hans commanded harshly, in a strange voice. + +She looked at him in sudden alarm. He had picked up the shot-gun dropped +by Dennin and was thrusting in the shells. + +"What are you going to do?" she cried, rising swiftly from her bending +position. + +Hans did not answer, but she saw the shot-gun going to his shoulder. She +grasped the muzzle with her hand and threw it up. + +"Leave me alone!" he cried hoarsely. + +He tried to jerk the weapon away from her, but she came in closer and +clung to him. + +"Hans! Hans! Wake up!" she cried. "Don't be crazy!" + +"He killed Dutchy and Harkey!" was her husband's reply; "and I am going +to kill him." + +"But that is wrong," she objected. "There is the law." + +He sneered his incredulity of the law's potency in such a region, but he +merely iterated, dispassionately, doggedly, "He killed Dutchy and +Harkey." + +Long she argued it with him, but the argument was one-sided, for he +contented himself with repeating again and again, "He killed Dutchy and +Harkey." But she could not escape from her childhood training nor from +the blood that was in her. The heritage of law was hers, and right +conduct, to her, was the fulfilment of the law. She could see no other +righteous course to pursue. Hans's taking the law in his own hands was +no more justifiable than Dennin's deed. Two wrongs did not make a right, +she contended, and there was only one way to punish Dennin, and that was +the legal way arranged by society. At last Hans gave in to her. + +"All right," he said. "Have it your own way. And to-morrow or next day +look to see him kill you and me." + +She shook her head and held out her hand for the shot-gun. He started to +hand it to her, then hesitated. + +"Better let me shoot him," he pleaded. + +Again she shook her head, and again he started to pass her the gun, when +the door opened, and an Indian, without knocking, came in. A blast of +wind and flurry of snow came in with him. They turned and faced him, +Hans still holding the shot-gun. The intruder took in the scene without +a quiver. His eyes embraced the dead and wounded in a sweeping glance. +No surprise showed in his face, not even curiosity. Harkey lay at his +feet, but he took no notice of him. So far as he was concerned, Harkey's +body did not exist. + +"Much wind," the Indian remarked by way of salutation. "All well? Very +well?" + +Hans, still grasping the gun, felt sure that the Indian attributed to him +the mangled corpses. He glanced appealingly at his wife. + +"Good morning, Negook," she said, her voice betraying her effort. "No, +not very well. Much trouble." + +"Good-by, I go now, much hurry," the Indian said, and without semblance +of haste, with great deliberation stepping clear of a red pool on the +floor, he opened the door and went out. + +The man and woman looked at each other. + +"He thinks we did it," Hans gasped, "that I did it." + +Edith was silent for a space. Then she said, briefly, in a businesslike +way: + +"Never mind what he thinks. That will come after. At present we have +two graves to dig. But first of all, we've got to tie up Dennin so he +can't escape." + +Hans refused to touch Dennin, but Edith lashed him securely, hand and +foot. Then she and Hans went out into the snow. The ground was frozen. +It was impervious to a blow of the pick. They first gathered wood, then +scraped the snow away and on the frozen surface built a fire. When the +fire had burned for an hour, several inches of dirt had thawed. This +they shovelled out, and then built a fresh fire. Their descent into the +earth progressed at the rate of two or three inches an hour. + +It was hard and bitter work. The flurrying snow did not permit the fire +to burn any too well, while the wind cut through their clothes and +chilled their bodies. They held but little conversation. The wind +interfered with speech. Beyond wondering at what could have been +Dennin's motive, they remained silent, oppressed by the horror of the +tragedy. At one o'clock, looking toward the cabin, Hans announced that +he was hungry. + +"No, not now, Hans," Edith answered. "I couldn't go back alone into that +cabin the way it is, and cook a meal." + +At two o'clock Hans volunteered to go with her; but she held him to his +work, and four o'clock found the two graves completed. They were +shallow, not more than two feet deep, but they would serve the purpose. +Night had fallen. Hans got the sled, and the two dead men were dragged +through the darkness and storm to their frozen sepulchre. The funeral +procession was anything but a pageant. The sled sank deep into the +drifted snow and pulled hard. The man and the woman had eaten nothing +since the previous day, and were weak from hunger and exhaustion. They +had not the strength to resist the wind, and at times its buffets hurled +them off their feet. On several occasions the sled was overturned, and +they were compelled to reload it with its sombre freight. The last +hundred feet to the graves was up a steep slope, and this they took on +all fours, like sled-dogs, making legs of their arms and thrusting their +hands into the snow. Even so, they were twice dragged backward by the +weight of the sled, and slid and fell down the hill, the living and the +dead, the haul-ropes and the sled, in ghastly entanglement. + +"To-morrow I will put up head-boards with their names," Hans said, when +the graves were filled in. + +Edith was sobbing. A few broken sentences had been all she was capable +of in the way of a funeral service, and now her husband was compelled to +half-carry her back to the cabin. + +Dennin was conscious. He had rolled over and over on the floor in vain +efforts to free himself. He watched Hans and Edith with glittering eyes, +but made no attempt to speak. Hans still refused to touch the murderer, +and sullenly watched Edith drag him across the floor to the men's bunk- +room. But try as she would, she could not lift him from the floor into +his bunk. + +"Better let me shoot him, and we'll have no more trouble," Hans said in +final appeal. + +Edith shook her head and bent again to her task. To her surprise the +body rose easily, and she knew Hans had relented and was helping her. +Then came the cleansing of the kitchen. But the floor still shrieked the +tragedy, until Hans planed the surface of the stained wood away and with +the shavings made a fire in the stove. + +The days came and went. There was much of darkness and silence, broken +only by the storms and the thunder on the beach of the freezing surf. +Hans was obedient to Edith's slightest order. All his splendid +initiative had vanished. She had elected to deal with Dennin in her way, +and so he left the whole matter in her hands. + +The murderer was a constant menace. At all times there was the chance +that he might free himself from his bonds, and they were compelled to +guard him day and night. The man or the woman sat always beside him, +holding the loaded shot-gun. At first, Edith tried eight-hour watches, +but the continuous strain was too great, and afterwards she and Hans +relieved each other every four hours. As they had to sleep, and as the +watches extended through the night, their whole waking time was expended +in guarding Dennin. They had barely time left over for the preparation +of meals and the getting of firewood. + +Since Negook's inopportune visit, the Indians had avoided the cabin. +Edith sent Hans to their cabins to get them to take Dennin down the coast +in a canoe to the nearest white settlement or trading post, but the +errand was fruitless. Then Edith went herself and interviewed Negook. He +was head man of the little village, keenly aware of his responsibility, +and he elucidated his policy thoroughly in few words. + +"It is white man's trouble," he said, "not Siwash trouble. My people +help you, then will it be Siwash trouble too. When white man's trouble +and Siwash trouble come together and make a trouble, it is a great +trouble, beyond understanding and without end. Trouble no good. My +people do no wrong. What for they help you and have trouble?" + +So Edith Nelson went back to the terrible cabin with its endless +alternating four-hour watches. Sometimes, when it was her turn and she +sat by the prisoner, the loaded shot-gun in her lap, her eyes would close +and she would doze. Always she aroused with a start, snatching up the +gun and swiftly looking at him. These were distinct nervous shocks, and +their effect was not good on her. Such was her fear of the man, that +even though she were wide awake, if he moved under the bedclothes she +could not repress the start and the quick reach for the gun. + +She was preparing herself for a nervous break-down, and she knew it. +First came a fluttering of the eyeballs, so that she was compelled to +close her eyes for relief. A little later the eyelids were afflicted by +a nervous twitching that she could not control. To add to the strain, +she could not forget the tragedy. She remained as close to the horror as +on the first morning when the unexpected stalked into the cabin and took +possession. In her daily ministrations upon the prisoner she was forced +to grit her teeth and steel herself, body and spirit. + +Hans was affected differently. He became obsessed by the idea that it +was his duty to kill Dennin; and whenever he waited upon the bound man or +watched by him, Edith was troubled by the fear that Hans would add +another red entry to the cabin's record. Always he cursed Dennin +savagely and handled him roughly. Hans tried to conceal his homicidal +mania, and he would say to his wife: "By and by you will want me to kill +him, and then I will not kill him. It would make me sick." But more +than once, stealing into the room, when it was her watch off, she would +catch the two men glaring ferociously at each other, wild animals the +pair of them, in Hans's face the lust to kill, in Dennin's the fierceness +and savagery of the cornered rat. "Hans!" she would cry, "wake up!" and +he would come to a recollection of himself, startled and shamefaced and +unrepentant. + +So Hans became another factor in the problem the unexpected had given +Edith Nelson to solve. At first it had been merely a question of right +conduct in dealing with Dennin, and right conduct, as she conceived it, +lay in keeping him a prisoner until he could be turned over for trial +before a proper tribunal. But now entered Hans, and she saw that his +sanity and his salvation were involved. Nor was she long in discovering +that her own strength and endurance had become part of the problem. She +was breaking down under the strain. Her left arm had developed +involuntary jerkings and twitchings. She spilled her food from her +spoon, and could place no reliance in her afflicted arm. She judged it +to be a form of St. Vitus's dance, and she feared the extent to which its +ravages might go. What if she broke down? And the vision she had of the +possible future, when the cabin might contain only Dennin and Hans, was +an added horror. + +After the third day, Dennin had begun to talk. His first question had +been, "What are you going to do with me?" And this question he repeated +daily and many times a day. And always Edith replied that he would +assuredly be dealt with according to law. In turn, she put a daily +question to him,--"Why did you do it?" To this he never replied. Also, +he received the question with out-bursts of anger, raging and straining +at the rawhide that bound him and threatening her with what he would do +when he got loose, which he said he was sure to do sooner or later. At +such times she cocked both triggers of the gun, prepared to meet him with +leaden death if he should burst loose, herself trembling and palpitating +and dizzy from the tension and shock. + +But in time Dennin grew more tractable. It seemed to her that he was +growing weary of his unchanging recumbent position. He began to beg and +plead to be released. He made wild promises. He would do them no harm. +He would himself go down the coast and give himself up to the officers of +the law. He would give them his share of the gold. He would go away +into the heart of the wilderness, and never again appear in civilization. +He would take his own life if she would only free him. His pleadings +usually culminated in involuntary raving, until it seemed to her that he +was passing into a fit; but always she shook her head and denied him the +freedom for which he worked himself into a passion. + +But the weeks went by, and he continued to grow more tractable. And +through it all the weariness was asserting itself more and more. "I am +so tired, so tired," he would murmur, rolling his head back and forth on +the pillow like a peevish child. At a little later period he began to +make impassioned pleas for death, to beg her to kill him, to beg Hans to +put him our of his misery so that he might at least rest comfortably. + +The situation was fast becoming impossible. Edith's nervousness was +increasing, and she knew her break-down might come any time. She could +not even get her proper rest, for she was haunted by the fear that Hans +would yield to his mania and kill Dennin while she slept. Though January +had already come, months would have to elapse before any trading schooner +was even likely to put into the bay. Also, they had not expected to +winter in the cabin, and the food was running low; nor could Hans add to +the supply by hunting. They were chained to the cabin by the necessity +of guarding their prisoner. + +Something must be done, and she knew it. She forced herself to go back +into a reconsideration of the problem. She could not shake off the +legacy of her race, the law that was of her blood and that had been +trained into her. She knew that whatever she did she must do according +to the law, and in the long hours of watching, the shot-gun on her knees, +the murderer restless beside her and the storms thundering without, she +made original sociological researches and worked out for herself the +evolution of the law. It came to her that the law was nothing more than +the judgment and the will of any group of people. It mattered not how +large was the group of people. There were little groups, she reasoned, +like Switzerland, and there were big groups like the United States. Also, +she reasoned, it did not matter how small was the group of people. There +might be only ten thousand people in a country, yet their collective +judgment and will would be the law of that country. Why, then, could not +one thousand people constitute such a group? she asked herself. And if +one thousand, why not one hundred? Why not fifty? Why not five? Why +not--two? + +She was frightened at her own conclusion, and she talked it over with +Hans. At first he could not comprehend, and then, when he did, he added +convincing evidence. He spoke of miners' meetings, where all the men of +a locality came together and made the law and executed the law. There +might be only ten or fifteen men altogether, he said, but the will of the +majority became the law for the whole ten or fifteen, and whoever +violated that will was punished. + +Edith saw her way clear at last. Dennin must hang. Hans agreed with +her. Between them they constituted the majority of this particular +group. It was the group-will that Dennin should be hanged. In the +execution of this will Edith strove earnestly to observe the customary +forms, but the group was so small that Hans and she had to serve as +witnesses, as jury, and as judges--also as executioners. She formally +charged Michael Dennin with the murder of Dutchy and Harkey, and the +prisoner lay in his bunk and listened to the testimony, first of Hans, +and then of Edith. He refused to plead guilty or not guilty, and +remained silent when she asked him if he had anything to say in his own +defence. She and Hans, without leaving their seats, brought in the +jury's verdict of guilty. Then, as judge, she imposed the sentence. Her +voice shook, her eyelids twitched, her left arm jerked, but she carried +it out. + +"Michael Dennin, in three days' time you are to be hanged by the neck +until you are dead." + +Such was the sentence. The man breathed an unconscious sigh of relief, +then laughed defiantly, and said, "Thin I'm thinkin' the damn bunk won't +be achin' me back anny more, an' that's a consolation." + +With the passing of the sentence a feeling of relief seemed to +communicate itself to all of them. Especially was it noticeable in +Dennin. All sullenness and defiance disappeared, and he talked sociably +with his captors, and even with flashes of his old-time wit. Also, he +found great satisfaction in Edith's reading to him from the Bible. She +read from the New Testament, and he took keen interest in the prodigal +son and the thief on the cross. + +On the day preceding that set for the execution, when Edith asked her +usual question, "Why did you do it?" Dennin answered, "'Tis very simple. +I was thinkin'--" + +But she hushed him abruptly, asked him to wait, and hurried to Hans's +bedside. It was his watch off, and he came out of his sleep, rubbing his +eyes and grumbling. + +"Go," she told him, "and bring up Negook and one other Indian. Michael's +going to confess. Make them come. Take the rifle along and bring them +up at the point of it if you have to." + +Half an hour later Negook and his uncle, Hadikwan, were ushered into the +death chamber. They came unwillingly, Hans with his rifle herding them +along. + +"Negook," Edith said, "there is to be no trouble for you and your people. +Only is it for you to sit and do nothing but listen and understand." + +Thus did Michael Dennin, under sentence of death, make public confession +of his crime. As he talked, Edith wrote his story down, while the +Indians listened, and Hans guarded the door for fear the witnesses might +bolt. + +He had not been home to the old country for fifteen years, Dennin +explained, and it had always been his intention to return with plenty of +money and make his old mother comfortable for the rest of her days. + +"An' how was I to be doin' it on sixteen hundred?" he demanded. "What I +was after wantin' was all the goold, the whole eight thousan'. Thin I +cud go back in style. What ud be aisier, thinks I to myself, than to +kill all iv yez, report it at Skaguay for an Indian-killin', an' thin +pull out for Ireland? An' so I started in to kill all iv yez, but, as +Harkey was fond of sayin', I cut out too large a chunk an' fell down on +the swallowin' iv it. An' that's me confession. I did me duty to the +devil, an' now, God willin', I'll do me duty to God." + +"Negook and Hadikwan, you have heard the white man's words," Edith said +to the Indians. "His words are here on this paper, and it is for you to +make a sign, thus, on the paper, so that white men to come after will +know that you have heard." + +The two Siwashes put crosses opposite their signatures, received a +summons to appear on the morrow with all their tribe for a further +witnessing of things, and were allowed to go. + +Dennin's hands were released long enough for him to sign the document. +Then a silence fell in the room. Hans was restless, and Edith felt +uncomfortable. Dennin lay on his back, staring straight up at the moss- +chinked roof. + +"An' now I'll do me duty to God," he murmured. He turned his head toward +Edith. "Read to me," he said, "from the book;" then added, with a glint +of playfulness, "Mayhap 'twill help me to forget the bunk." + +The day of the execution broke clear and cold. The thermometer was down +to twenty-five below zero, and a chill wind was blowing which drove the +frost through clothes and flesh to the bones. For the first time in many +weeks Dennin stood upon his feet. His muscles had remained inactive so +long, and he was so out of practice in maintaining an erect position, +that he could scarcely stand. + +He reeled back and forth, staggered, and clutched hold of Edith with his +bound hands for support. + +"Sure, an' it's dizzy I am," he laughed weakly. + +A moment later he said, "An' it's glad I am that it's over with. That +damn bunk would iv been the death iv me, I know." + +When Edith put his fur cap on his head and proceeded to pull the flaps +down over his ears, he laughed and said: + +"What are you doin' that for?" + +"It's freezing cold outside," she answered. + +"An' in tin minutes' time what'll matter a frozen ear or so to poor +Michael Dennin?" he asked. + +She had nerved herself for the last culminating ordeal, and his remark +was like a blow to her self-possession. So far, everything had seemed +phantom-like, as in a dream, but the brutal truth of what he had said +shocked her eyes wide open to the reality of what was taking place. Nor +was her distress unnoticed by the Irishman. + +"I'm sorry to be troublin' you with me foolish spache," he said +regretfully. "I mint nothin' by it. 'Tis a great day for Michael +Dennin, an' he's as gay as a lark." + +He broke out in a merry whistle, which quickly became lugubrious and +ceased. + +"I'm wishin' there was a priest," he said wistfully; then added swiftly, +"But Michael Dennin's too old a campaigner to miss the luxuries when he +hits the trail." + +He was so very weak and unused to walking that when the door opened and +he passed outside, the wind nearly carried him off his feet. Edith and +Hans walked on either side of him and supported him, the while he cracked +jokes and tried to keep them cheerful, breaking off, once, long enough to +arrange the forwarding of his share of the gold to his mother in Ireland. + +They climbed a slight hill and came out into an open space among the +trees. Here, circled solemnly about a barrel that stood on end in the +snow, were Negook and Hadikwan, and all the Siwashes down to the babies +and the dogs, come to see the way of the white man's law. Near by was an +open grave which Hans had burned into the frozen earth. + +Dennin cast a practical eye over the preparations, noting the grave, the +barrel, the thickness of the rope, and the diameter of the limb over +which the rope was passed. + +"Sure, an' I couldn't iv done better meself, Hans, if it'd been for you." + +He laughed loudly at his own sally, but Hans's face was frozen into a +sullen ghastliness that nothing less than the trump of doom could have +broken. Also, Hans was feeling very sick. He had not realized the +enormousness of the task of putting a fellow-man out of the world. Edith, +on the other hand, had realized; but the realization did not make the +task any easier. She was filled with doubt as to whether she could hold +herself together long enough to finish it. She felt incessant impulses +to scream, to shriek, to collapse into the snow, to put her hands over +her eyes and turn and run blindly away, into the forest, anywhere, away. +It was only by a supreme effort of soul that she was able to keep upright +and go on and do what she had to do. And in the midst of it all she was +grateful to Dennin for the way he helped her. + +"Lind me a hand," he said to Hans, with whose assistance he managed to +mount the barrel. + +He bent over so that Edith could adjust the rope about his neck. Then he +stood upright while Hans drew the rope taut across the overhead branch. + +"Michael Dennin, have you anything to say?" Edith asked in a clear voice +that shook in spite of her. + +Dennin shuffled his feet on the barrel, looked down bashfully like a man +making his maiden speech, and cleared his throat. + +"I'm glad it's over with," he said. "You've treated me like a Christian, +an' I'm thankin' you hearty for your kindness." + +"Then may God receive you, a repentant sinner," she said. + +"Ay," he answered, his deep voice as a response to her thin one, "may God +receive me, a repentant sinner." + +"Good-by, Michael," she cried, and her voice sounded desperate. + +She threw her weight against the barrel, but it did not overturn. + +"Hans! Quick! Help me!" she cried faintly. + +She could feel her last strength going, and the barrel resisted her. Hans +hurried to her, and the barrel went out from under Michael Dennin. + +She turned her back, thrusting her fingers into her ears. Then she began +to laugh, harshly, sharply, metallically; and Hans was shocked as he had +not been shocked through the whole tragedy. Edith Nelson's break-down +had come. Even in her hysteria she knew it, and she was glad that she +had been able to hold up under the strain until everything had been +accomplished. She reeled toward Hans. + +"Take me to the cabin, Hans," she managed to articulate. + +"And let me rest," she added. "Just let me rest, and rest, and rest." + +With Hans's arm around her, supporting her weight and directing her +helpless steps, she went off across the snow. But the Indians remained +solemnly to watch the working of the white man's law that compelled a man +to dance upon the air. + + + + +BROWN WOLF + + +She had delayed, because of the dew-wet grass, in order to put on her +overshoes, and when she emerged from the house found her waiting husband +absorbed in the wonder of a bursting almond-bud. She sent a questing +glance across the tall grass and in and out among the orchard trees. + +"Where's Wolf?" she asked. + +"He was here a moment ago." Walt Irvine drew himself away with a jerk +from the metaphysics and poetry of the organic miracle of blossom, and +surveyed the landscape. "He was running a rabbit the last I saw of him." + +"Wolf! Wolf! Here Wolf!" she called, as they left the clearing and took +the trail that led down through the waxen-belled manzanita jungle to the +county road. + +Irvine thrust between his lips the little finger of each hand and lent to +her efforts a shrill whistling. + +She covered her ears hastily and made a wry grimace. + +"My! for a poet, delicately attuned and all the rest of it, you can make +unlovely noises. My ear-drums are pierced. You outwhistle--" + +"Orpheus." + +"I was about to say a street-arab," she concluded severely. + +"Poesy does not prevent one from being practical--at least it doesn't +prevent _me_. Mine is no futility of genius that can't sell gems to the +magazines." + +He assumed a mock extravagance, and went on: + +"I am no attic singer, no ballroom warbler. And why? Because I am +practical. Mine is no squalor of song that cannot transmute itself, with +proper exchange value, into a flower-crowned cottage, a sweet mountain- +meadow, a grove of redwoods, an orchard of thirty-seven trees, one long +row of blackberries and two short rows of strawberries, to say nothing of +a quarter of a mile of gurgling brook. I am a beauty-merchant, a trader +in song, and I pursue utility, dear Madge. I sing a song, and thanks to +the magazine editors I transmute my song into a waft of the west wind +sighing through our redwoods, into a murmur of waters over mossy stones +that sings back to me another song than the one I sang and yet the same +song wonderfully--er--transmuted." + +"O that all your song-transmutations were as successful!" she laughed. + +"Name one that wasn't." + +"Those two beautiful sonnets that you transmuted into the cow that was +accounted the worst milker in the township." + +"She was beautiful--" he began, + +"But she didn't give milk," Madge interrupted. + +"But she _was_ beautiful, now, wasn't she?" he insisted. + +"And here's where beauty and utility fall out," was her reply. "And +there's the Wolf!" + +From the thicket-covered hillside came a crashing of underbrush, and +then, forty feet above them, on the edge of the sheer wall of rock, +appeared a wolf's head and shoulders. His braced fore paws dislodged a +pebble, and with sharp-pricked ears and peering eyes he watched the fall +of the pebble till it struck at their feet. Then he transferred his gaze +and with open mouth laughed down at them. + +"You Wolf, you!" and "You blessed Wolf!" the man and woman called out to +him. + +The ears flattened back and down at the sound, and the head seemed to +snuggle under the caress of an invisible hand. + +They watched him scramble backward into the thicket, then proceeded on +their way. Several minutes later, rounding a turn in the trail where the +descent was less precipitous, he joined them in the midst of a miniature +avalanche of pebbles and loose soil. He was not demonstrative. A pat +and a rub around the ears from the man, and a more prolonged caressing +from the woman, and he was away down the trail in front of them, gliding +effortlessly over the ground in true wolf fashion. + +In build and coat and brush he was a huge timber-wolf; but the lie was +given to his wolfhood by his color and marking. There the dog +unmistakably advertised itself. No wolf was ever colored like him. He +was brown, deep brown, red-brown, an orgy of browns. Back and shoulders +were a warm brown that paled on the sides and underneath to a yellow that +was dingy because of the brown that lingered in it. The white of the +throat and paws and the spots over the eyes was dirty because of the +persistent and ineradicable brown, while the eyes themselves were twin +topazes, golden and brown. + +The man and woman loved the dog very much; perhaps this was because it +had been such a task to win his love. It had been no easy matter when he +first drifted in mysteriously out of nowhere to their little mountain +cottage. Footsore and famished, he had killed a rabbit under their very +noses and under their very windows, and then crawled away and slept by +the spring at the foot of the blackberry bushes. When Walt Irvine went +down to inspect the intruder, he was snarled at for his pains, and Madge +likewise was snarled at when she went down to present, as a +peace-offering, a large pan of bread and milk. + +A most unsociable dog he proved to be, resenting all their advances, +refusing to let them lay hands on him, menacing them with bared fangs and +bristling hair. Nevertheless he remained, sleeping and resting by the +spring, and eating the food they gave him after they set it down at a +safe distance and retreated. His wretched physical condition explained +why he lingered; and when he had recuperated, after several days' +sojourn, he disappeared. + +And this would have been the end of him, so far as Irvine and his wife +were concerned, had not Irvine at that particular time been called away +into the northern part of the state. Riding along on the train, near to +the line between California and Oregon, he chanced to look out of the +window and saw his unsociable guest sliding along the wagon road, brown +and wolfish, tired yet tireless, dust-covered and soiled with two hundred +miles of travel. + +Now Irvine was a man of impulse, a poet. He got off the train at the +next station, bought a piece of meat at a butcher shop, and captured the +vagrant on the outskirts of the town. The return trip was made in the +baggage car, and so Wolf came a second time to the mountain cottage. Here +he was tied up for a week and made love to by the man and woman. But it +was very circumspect love-making. Remote and alien as a traveller from +another planet, he snarled down their soft-spoken love-words. He never +barked. In all the time they had him he was never known to bark. + +To win him became a problem. Irvine liked problems. He had a metal +plate made, on which was stamped: RETURN TO WALT IRVINE, GLEN ELLEN, +SONOMA COUNTY, CALIFORNIA. This was riveted to a collar and strapped +about the dog's neck. Then he was turned loose, and promptly he +disappeared. A day later came a telegram from Mendocino County. In +twenty hours he had made over a hundred miles to the north, and was still +going when captured. + +He came back by Wells Fargo Express, was tied up three days, and was +loosed on the fourth and lost. This time he gained southern Oregon +before he was caught and returned. Always, as soon as he received his +liberty, he fled away, and always he fled north. He was possessed of an +obsession that drove him north. The homing instinct, Irvine called it, +after he had expended the selling price of a sonnet in getting the animal +back from northern Oregon. + +Another time the brown wanderer succeeded in traversing half the length +of California, all of Oregon, and most of Washington, before he was +picked up and returned "Collect." A remarkable thing was the speed with +which he travelled. Fed up and rested, as soon as he was loosed he +devoted all his energy to getting over the ground. On the first day's +run he was known to cover as high as a hundred and fifty miles, and after +that he would average a hundred miles a day until caught. He always +arrived back lean and hungry and savage, and always departed fresh and +vigorous, cleaving his way northward in response to some prompting of his +being that no one could understand. + +But at last, after a futile year of flight, he accepted the inevitable +and elected to remain at the cottage where first he had killed the rabbit +and slept by the spring. Even after that, a long time elapsed before the +man and woman succeeded in patting him. It was a great victory, for they +alone were allowed to put hands on him. He was fastidiously exclusive, +and no guest at the cottage ever succeeded in making up to him. A low +growl greeted such approach; if any one had the hardihood to come nearer, +the lips lifted, the naked fangs appeared, and the growl became a snarl--a +snarl so terrible and malignant that it awed the stoutest of them, as it +likewise awed the farmers' dogs that knew ordinary dog-snarling, but had +never seen wolf-snarling before. + +He was without antecedents. His history began with Walt and Madge. He +had come up from the south, but never a clew did they get of the owner +from whom he had evidently fled. Mrs. Johnson, their nearest neighbor +and the one who supplied them with milk, proclaimed him a Klondike dog. +Her brother was burrowing for frozen pay-streaks in that far country, and +so she constituted herself an authority on the subject. + +But they did not dispute her. There were the tips of Wolf's ears, +obviously so severely frozen at some time that they would never quite +heal again. Besides, he looked like the photographs of the Alaskan dogs +they saw published in magazines and newspapers. They often speculated +over his past, and tried to conjure up (from what they had read and +heard) what his northland life had been. That the northland still drew +him, they knew; for at night they sometimes heard him crying softly; and +when the north wind blew and the bite of frost was in the air, a great +restlessness would come upon him and he would lift a mournful lament +which they knew to be the long wolf-howl. Yet he never barked. No +provocation was great enough to draw from him that canine cry. + +Long discussion they had, during the time of winning him, as to whose dog +he was. Each claimed him, and each proclaimed loudly any expression of +affection made by him. But the man had the better of it at first, +chiefly because he was a man. It was patent that Wolf had had no +experience with women. He did not understand women. Madge's skirts were +something he never quite accepted. The swish of them was enough to set +him a-bristle with suspicion, and on a windy day she could not approach +him at all. + +On the other hand, it was Madge who fed him; also it was she who ruled +the kitchen, and it was by her favor, and her favor alone, that he was +permitted to come within that sacred precinct. It was because of these +things that she bade fair to overcome the handicap of her garments. Then +it was that Walt put forth special effort, making it a practice to have +Wolf lie at his feet while he wrote, and, between petting and talking, +losing much time from his work. Walt won in the end, and his victory was +most probably due to the fact that he was a man, though Madge averred +that they would have had another quarter of a mile of gurgling brook, and +at least two west winds sighing through their redwoods, had Wait properly +devoted his energies to song-transmutation and left Wolf alone to +exercise a natural taste and an unbiassed judgment. + +"It's about time I heard from those triolets," Walt said, after a silence +of five minutes, during which they had swung steadily down the trail. +"There'll be a check at the post-office, I know, and we'll transmute it +into beautiful buckwheat flour, a gallon of maple syrup, and a new pair +of overshoes for you." + +"And into beautiful milk from Mrs. Johnson's beautiful cow," Madge added. +"To-morrow's the first of the month, you know." + +Walt scowled unconsciously; then his face brightened, and he clapped his +hand to his breast pocket. + +"Never mind. I have here a nice beautiful new cow, the best milker in +California." + +"When did you write it?" she demanded eagerly. Then, reproachfully, "And +you never showed it to me." + +"I saved it to read to you on the way to the post-office, in a spot +remarkably like this one," he answered, indicating, with a wave of his +hand, a dry log on which to sit. + +A tiny stream flowed out of a dense fern-brake, slipped down a +mossy-lipped stone, and ran across the path at their feet. From the +valley arose the mellow song of meadow-larks, while about them, in and +out, through sunshine and shadow, fluttered great yellow butterflies. + +Up from below came another sound that broke in upon Walt reading softly +from his manuscript. It was a crunching of heavy feet, punctuated now +and again by the clattering of a displaced stone. As Walt finished and +looked to his wife for approval, a man came into view around the turn of +the trail. He was bare-headed and sweaty. With a handkerchief in one +hand he mopped his face, while in the other hand he carried a new hat and +a wilted starched collar which he had removed from his neck. He was a +well-built man, and his muscles seemed on the point of bursting out of +the painfully new and ready-made black clothes he wore. + +"Warm day," Walt greeted him. Walt believed in country democracy, and +never missed an opportunity to practise it. + +The man paused and nodded. + +"I guess I ain't used much to the warm," he vouchsafed half +apologetically. "I'm more accustomed to zero weather." + +"You don't find any of that in this country," Walt laughed. + +"Should say not," the man answered. "An' I ain't here a-lookin' for it +neither. I'm tryin' to find my sister. Mebbe you know where she lives. +Her name's Johnson, Mrs. William Johnson." + +"You're not her Klondike brother!" Madge cried, her eyes bright with +interest, "about whom we've heard so much?" + +"Yes'm, that's me," he answered modestly. "My name's Miller, Skiff +Miller. I just thought I'd s'prise her." + +"You are on the right track then. Only you've come by the foot-path." +Madge stood up to direct him, pointing up the canyon a quarter of a mile. +"You see that blasted redwood? Take the little trail turning off to the +right. It's the short cut to her house. You can't miss it." + +"Yes'm, thank you, ma'am," he said. He made tentative efforts to go, but +seemed awkwardly rooted to the spot. He was gazing at her with an open +admiration of which he was quite unconscious, and which was drowning, +along with him, in the rising sea of embarrassment in which he +floundered. + +"We'd like to hear you tell about the Klondike," Madge said. "Mayn't we +come over some day while you are at your sister's? Or, better yet, won't +you come over and have dinner with us?" + +"Yes'm, thank you, ma'am," he mumbled mechanically. Then he caught +himself up and added: "I ain't stoppin' long. I got to be pullin' north +again. I go out on to-night's train. You see, I've got a mail contract +with the government." + +When Madge had said that it was too bad, he made another futile effort to +go. But he could not take his eyes from her face. He forgot his +embarrassment in his admiration, and it was her turn to flush and feel +uncomfortable. + +It was at this juncture, when Walt had just decided it was time for him +to be saying something to relieve the strain, that Wolf, who had been +away nosing through the brush, trotted wolf-like into view. + +Skiff Miller's abstraction disappeared. The pretty woman before him +passed out of his field of vision. He had eyes only for the dog, and a +great wonder came into his face. + +"Well, I'll be damned!" he enunciated slowly and solemnly. + +He sat down ponderingly on the log, leaving Madge standing. At the sound +of his voice, Wolf's ears had flattened down, then his mouth had opened +in a laugh. He trotted slowly up to the stranger and first smelled his +hands, then licked them with his tongue. + +Skiff Miller patted the dog's head, and slowly and solemnly repeated, +"Well, I'll be damned!" + +"Excuse me, ma'am," he said the next moment "I was just s'prised some, +that was all." + +"We're surprised, too," she answered lightly. "We never saw Wolf make up +to a stranger before." + +"Is that what you call him--Wolf?" the man asked. + +Madge nodded. "But I can't understand his friendliness toward you--unless +it's because you're from the Klondike. He's a Klondike dog, you know." + +"Yes'm," Miller said absently. He lifted one of Wolf's fore legs and +examined the foot-pads, pressing them and denting them with his thumb. +"Kind of soft," he remarked. "He ain't been on trail for a long time." + +"I say," Walt broke in, "it is remarkable the way he lets you handle +him." + +Skiff Miller arose, no longer awkward with admiration of Madge, and in a +sharp, businesslike manner asked, "How long have you had him?" + +But just then the dog, squirming and rubbing against the newcomer's legs, +opened his mouth and barked. It was an explosive bark, brief and joyous, +but a bark. + +"That's a new one on me," Skiff Miller remarked. + +Walt and Madge stared at each other. The miracle had happened. Wolf had +barked. + +"It's the first time he ever barked," Madge said. + +"First time I ever heard him, too," Miller volunteered. + +Madge smiled at him. The man was evidently a humorist. + +"Of course," she said, "since you have only seen him for five minutes." + +Skiff Miller looked at her sharply, seeking in her face the guile her +words had led him to suspect. + +"I thought you understood," he said slowly. "I thought you'd tumbled to +it from his makin' up to me. He's my dog. His name ain't Wolf. It's +Brown." + +"Oh, Walt!" was Madge's instinctive cry to her husband. + +Walt was on the defensive at once. + +"How do you know he's your dog?" he demanded. + +"Because he is," was the reply. + +"Mere assertion," Walt said sharply. + +In his slow and pondering way, Skiff Miller looked at him, then asked, +with a nod of his head toward Madge: + +"How d'you know she's your wife? You just say, 'Because she is,' and +I'll say it's mere assertion. The dog's mine. I bred 'm an' raised 'm, +an' I guess I ought to know. Look here. I'll prove it to you." + +Skiff Miller turned to the dog. "Brown!" His voice rang out sharply, +and at the sound the dog's ears flattened down as to a caress. "Gee!" +The dog made a swinging turn to the right. "Now mush-on!" And the dog +ceased his swing abruptly and started straight ahead, halting obediently +at command. + +"I can do it with whistles," Skiff Miller said proudly. "He was my lead +dog." + +"But you are not going to take him away with you?" Madge asked +tremulously. + +The man nodded. + +"Back into that awful Klondike world of suffering?" + +He nodded and added: "Oh, it ain't so bad as all that. Look at me. +Pretty healthy specimen, ain't I?" + +"But the dogs! The terrible hardship, the heart-breaking toil, the +starvation, the frost! Oh, I've read about it and I know." + +"I nearly ate him once, over on Little Fish River," Miller volunteered +grimly. "If I hadn't got a moose that day was all that saved 'm." + +"I'd have died first!" Madge cried. + +"Things is different down here," Miller explained. "You don't have to +eat dogs. You think different just about the time you're all in. You've +never ben all in, so you don't know anything about it." + +"That's the very point," she argued warmly. "Dogs are not eaten in +California. Why not leave him here? He is happy. He'll never want for +food--you know that. He'll never suffer from cold and hardship. Here +all is softness and gentleness. Neither the human nor nature is savage. +He will never know a whip-lash again. And as for the weather--why, it +never snows here." + +"But it's all-fired hot in summer, beggin' your pardon," Skiff Miller +laughed. + +"But you do not answer," Madge continued passionately. "What have you to +offer him in that northland life?" + +"Grub, when I've got it, and that's most of the time," came the answer. + +"And the rest of the time?" + +"No grub." + +"And the work?" + +"Yes, plenty of work," Miller blurted out impatiently. "Work without +end, an' famine, an' frost, an all the rest of the miseries--that's what +he'll get when he comes with me. But he likes it. He is used to it. He +knows that life. He was born to it an' brought up to it. An' you don't +know anything about it. You don't know what you're talking about. That's +where the dog belongs, and that's where he'll be happiest." + +"The dog doesn't go," Walt announced in a determined voice. "So there is +no need of further discussion." + +"What's that?" Skiff Miller demanded, his brows lowering and an obstinate +flush of blood reddening his forehead. + +"I said the dog doesn't go, and that settles it. I don't believe he's +your dog. You may have seen him sometime. You may even sometime have +driven him for his owner. But his obeying the ordinary driving commands +of the Alaskan trail is no demonstration that he is yours. Any dog in +Alaska would obey you as he obeyed. Besides, he is undoubtedly a +valuable dog, as dogs go in Alaska, and that is sufficient explanation of +your desire to get possession of him. Anyway, you've got to prove +property." + +Skiff Miller, cool and collected, the obstinate flush a trifle deeper on +his forehead, his huge muscles bulging under the black cloth of his coat, +carefully looked the poet up and down as though measuring the strength of +his slenderness. + +The Klondiker's face took on a contemptuous expression as he said +finally, "I reckon there's nothin' in sight to prevent me takin' the dog +right here an' now." + +Walt's face reddened, and the striking-muscles of his arms and shoulders +seemed to stiffen and grow tense. His wife fluttered apprehensively into +the breach. + +"Maybe Mr. Miller is right," she said. "I am afraid that he is. Wolf +does seem to know him, and certainly he answers to the name of 'Brown.' +He made friends with him instantly, and you know that's something he +never did with anybody before. Besides, look at the way he barked. He +was just bursting with joy. Joy over what? Without doubt at finding Mr. +Miller." + +Walt's striking-muscles relaxed, and his shoulders seemed to droop with +hopelessness. + +"I guess you're right, Madge," he said. "Wolf isn't Wolf, but Brown, and +he must belong to Mr. Miller." + +"Perhaps Mr. Miller will sell him," she suggested. "We can buy him." + +Skiff Miller shook his head, no longer belligerent, but kindly, quick to +be generous in response to generousness. + +"I had five dogs," he said, casting about for the easiest way to temper +his refusal. "He was the leader. They was the crack team of Alaska. +Nothin' could touch 'em. In 1898 I refused five thousand dollars for the +bunch. Dogs was high, then, anyway; but that wasn't what made the fancy +price. It was the team itself. Brown was the best in the team. That +winter I refused twelve hundred for 'm. I didn't sell 'm then, an' I +ain't a-sellin' 'm now. Besides, I think a mighty lot of that dog. I've +ben lookin' for 'm for three years. It made me fair sick when I found +he'd ben stole--not the value of him, but the--well, I liked 'm like +hell, that's all, beggin' your pardon. I couldn't believe my eyes when I +seen 'm just now. I thought I was dreamin'. It was too good to be true. +Why, I was his wet-nurse. I put 'm to bed, snug every night. His mother +died, and I brought 'm up on condensed milk at two dollars a can when I +couldn't afford it in my own coffee. He never knew any mother but me. He +used to suck my finger regular, the darn little cuss--that finger right +there!" + +And Skiff Miller, too overwrought for speech, held up a fore finger for +them to see. + +"That very finger," he managed to articulate, as though it somehow +clinched the proof of ownership and the bond of affection. + +He was still gazing at his extended finger when Madge began to speak. + +"But the dog," she said. "You haven't considered the dog." + +Skiff Miller looked puzzled. + +"Have you thought about him?" she asked. + +"Don't know what you're drivin' at," was the response. + +"Maybe the dog has some choice in the matter," Madge went on. "Maybe he +has his likes and desires. You have not considered him. You give him no +choice. It has never entered your mind that possibly he might prefer +California to Alaska. You consider only what you like. You do with him +as you would with a sack of potatoes or a bale of hay." + +This was a new way of looking at it, and Miller was visibly impressed as +he debated it in his mind. Madge took advantage of his indecision. + +"If you really love him, what would be happiness to him would be your +happiness also," she urged. + +Skiff Miller continued to debate with himself, and Madge stole a glance +of exultation to her husband, who looked back warm approval. + +"What do you think?" the Klondiker suddenly demanded. + +It was her turn to be puzzled. "What do you mean?" she asked. + +"D'ye think he'd sooner stay in California?" + +She nodded her head with positiveness. "I am sure of it." + +Skiff Miller again debated with himself, though this time aloud, at the +same time running his gaze in a judicial way over the mooted animal. + +"He was a good worker. He's done a heap of work for me. He never loafed +on me, an' he was a joe-dandy at hammerin' a raw team into shape. He's +got a head on him. He can do everything but talk. He knows what you say +to him. Look at 'm now. He knows we're talkin' about him." + +The dog was lying at Skiff Miller's feet, head close down on paws, ears +erect and listening, and eyes that were quick and eager to follow the +sound of speech as it fell from the lips of first one and then the other. + +"An' there's a lot of work in 'm yet. He's good for years to come. An' +I do like him. I like him like hell." + +Once or twice after that Skiff Miller opened his mouth and closed it +again without speaking. Finally he said: + +"I'll tell you what I'll do. Your remarks, ma'am, has some weight in +them. The dog's worked hard, and maybe he's earned a soft berth an' has +got a right to choose. Anyway, we'll leave it up to him. Whatever he +says, goes. You people stay right here settin' down. I'll say good-by +and walk off casual-like. If he wants to stay, he can stay. If he wants +to come with me, let 'm come. I won't call 'm to come an' don't you call +'m to come back." + +He looked with sudden suspicion at Madge, and added, "Only you must play +fair. No persuadin' after my back is turned." + +"We'll play fair," Madge began, but Skiff Miller broke in on her +assurances. + +"I know the ways of women," he announced. "Their hearts is soft. When +their hearts is touched they're likely to stack the cards, look at the +bottom of the deck, an' lie like the devil--beggin' your pardon, ma'am. +I'm only discoursin' about women in general." + +"I don't know how to thank you," Madge quavered. + +"I don't see as you've got any call to thank me," he replied. "Brown +ain't decided yet. Now you won't mind if I go away slow? It's no more'n +fair, seein' I'll be out of sight inside a hundred yards."--Madge agreed, +and added, "And I promise you faithfully that we won't do anything to +influence him." + +"Well, then, I might as well be gettin' along," Skiff Miller said in the +ordinary tones of one departing. + +At this change in his voice, Wolf lifted his head quickly, and still more +quickly got to his feet when the man and woman shook hands. He sprang up +on his hind legs, resting his fore paws on her hip and at the same time +licking Skiff Miller's hand. When the latter shook hands with Walt, Wolf +repeated his act, resting his weight on Walt and licking both men's +hands. + +"It ain't no picnic, I can tell you that," were the Klondiker's last +words, as he turned and went slowly up the trail. + +For the distance of twenty feet Wolf watched him go, himself all +eagerness and expectancy, as though waiting for the man to turn and +retrace his steps. Then, with a quick low whine, Wolf sprang after him, +overtook him, caught his hand between his teeth with reluctant +tenderness, and strove gently to make him pause. + +Failing in this, Wolf raced back to where Walt Irvine sat, catching his +coat-sleeve in his teeth and trying vainly to drag him after the +retreating man. + +Wolf's perturbation began to wax. He desired ubiquity. He wanted to be +in two places at the same time, with the old master and the new, and +steadily the distance between them was increasing. He sprang about +excitedly, making short nervous leaps and twists, now toward one, now +toward the other, in painful indecision, not knowing his own mind, +desiring both and unable to choose, uttering quick sharp whines and +beginning to pant. + +He sat down abruptly on his haunches, thrusting his nose upward, the +mouth opening and closing with jerking movements, each time opening +wider. These jerking movements were in unison with the recurrent spasms +that attacked the throat, each spasm severer and more intense than the +preceding one. And in accord with jerks and spasms the larynx began to +vibrate, at first silently, accompanied by the rush of air expelled from +the lungs, then sounding a low, deep note, the lowest in the register of +the human ear. All this was the nervous and muscular preliminary to +howling. + +But just as the howl was on the verge of bursting from the full throat, +the wide-opened mouth was closed, the paroxysms ceased, and he looked +long and steadily at the retreating man. Suddenly Wolf turned his head, +and over his shoulder just as steadily regarded Walt. The appeal was +unanswered. Not a word nor a sign did the dog receive, no suggestion and +no clew as to what his conduct should be. + +A glance ahead to where the old master was nearing the curve of the trail +excited him again. He sprang to his feet with a whine, and then, struck +by a new idea, turned his attention to Madge. Hitherto he had ignored +her, but now, both masters failing him, she alone was left. He went over +to her and snuggled his head in her lap, nudging her arm with his nose--an +old trick of his when begging for favors. He backed away from her and +began writhing and twisting playfully, curvetting and prancing, half +rearing and striking his fore paws to the earth, struggling with all his +body, from the wheedling eyes and flattening ears to the wagging tail, to +express the thought that was in him and that was denied him utterance. + +This, too, he soon abandoned. He was depressed by the coldness of these +humans who had never been cold before. No response could he draw from +them, no help could he get. They did not consider him. They were as +dead. + +He turned and silently gazed after the old master. Skiff Miller was +rounding the curve. In a moment he would be gone from view. Yet he +never turned his head, plodding straight onward, slowly and methodically, +as though possessed of no interest in what was occurring behind his back. + +And in this fashion he went out of view. Wolf waited for him to +reappear. He waited a long minute, silently, quietly, without movement, +as though turned to stone--withal stone quick with eagerness and desire. +He barked once, and waited. Then he turned and trotted back to Walt +Irvine. He sniffed his hand and dropped down heavily at his feet, +watching the trail where it curved emptily from view. + +The tiny stream slipping down the mossy-lipped stone seemed suddenly to +increase the volume of its gurgling noise. Save for the meadow-larks, +there was no other sound. The great yellow butterflies drifted silently +through the sunshine and lost themselves in the drowsy shadows. Madge +gazed triumphantly at her husband. + +A few minutes later Wolf got upon his feet. Decision and deliberation +marked his movements. He did not glance at the man and woman. His eyes +were fixed up the trail. He had made up his mind. They knew it. And +they knew, so far as they were concerned, that the ordeal had just begun. + +He broke into a trot, and Madge's lips pursed, forming an avenue for the +caressing sound that it was the will of her to send forth. But the +caressing sound was not made. She was impelled to look at her husband, +and she saw the sternness with which he watched her. The pursed lips +relaxed, and she sighed inaudibly. + +Wolf's trot broke into a run. Wider and wider were the leaps he made. +Not once did he turn his head, his wolf's brush standing out straight +behind him. He cut sharply across the curve of the trail and was gone. + + + + +THE SUN-DOG TRAIL + + +Sitka Charley smoked his pipe and gazed thoughtfully at the _Police +Gazette_ illustration on the wall. For half an hour he had been steadily +regarding it, and for half an hour I had been slyly watching him. +Something was going on in that mind of his, and, whatever it was, I knew +it was well worth knowing. He had lived life, and seen things, and +performed that prodigy of prodigies, namely, the turning of his back upon +his own people, and, in so far as it was possible for an Indian, becoming +a white man even in his mental processes. As he phrased it himself, he +had come into the warm, sat among us, by our fires, and become one of us. +He had never learned to read nor write, but his vocabulary was +remarkable, and more remarkable still was the completeness with which he +had assumed the white man's point of view, the white man's attitude +toward things. + +We had struck this deserted cabin after a hard day on trail. The dogs +had been fed, the supper dishes washed, the beds made, and we were now +enjoying that most delicious hour that comes each day, and but once each +day, on the Alaskan trail, the hour when nothing intervenes between the +tired body and bed save the smoking of the evening pipe. Some former +denizen of the cabin had decorated its walls with illustrations torn from +magazines and newspapers, and it was these illustrations that had held +Sitka Charley's attention from the moment of our arrival two hours +before. He had studied them intently, ranging from one to another and +back again, and I could see that there was uncertainty in his mind, and +bepuzzlement. + +"Well?" I finally broke the silence. + +He took the pipe from his mouth and said simply, "I do not understand." + +He smoked on again, and again removed the pipe, using it to point at the +_Police Gazette_ illustration. + +"That picture--what does it mean? I do not understand." + +I looked at the picture. A man, with a preposterously wicked face, his +right hand pressed dramatically to his heart, was falling backward to the +floor. Confronting him, with a face that was a composite of destroying +angel and Adonis, was a man holding a smoking revolver. + +"One man is killing the other man," I said, aware of a distinct +bepuzzlement of my own and of failure to explain. + +"Why?" asked Sitka Charley. + +"I do not know," I confessed. + +"That picture is all end," he said. "It has no beginning." + +"It is life," I said. + +"Life has beginning," he objected. + +I was silenced for the moment, while his eyes wandered on to an adjoining +decoration, a photographic reproduction of somebody's "Leda and the +Swan." + +"That picture," he said, "has no beginning. It has no end. I do not +understand pictures." + +"Look at that picture," I commanded, pointing to a third decoration. "It +means something. Tell me what it means to you." + +He studied it for several minutes. + +"The little girl is sick," he said finally. "That is the doctor looking +at her. They have been up all night--see, the oil is low in the lamp, +the first morning light is coming in at the window. It is a great +sickness; maybe she will die, that is why the doctor looks so hard. That +is the mother. It is a great sickness, because the mother's head is on +the table and she is crying." + +"How do you know she is crying?" I interrupted. "You cannot see her +face. Perhaps she is asleep." + +Sitka Charley looked at me in swift surprise, then back at the picture. +It was evident that he had not reasoned the impression. + +"Perhaps she is asleep," he repeated. He studied it closely. "No, she +is not asleep. The shoulders show that she is not asleep. I have seen +the shoulders of a woman who cried. The mother is crying. It is a very +great sickness." + +"And now you understand the picture," I cried. + +He shook his head, and asked, "The little girl--does it die?" + +It was my turn for silence. + +"Does it die?" he reiterated. "You are a painter-man. Maybe you know." + +"No, I do not know," I confessed. + +"It is not life," he delivered himself dogmatically. "In life little +girl die or get well. Something happen in life. In picture nothing +happen. No, I do not understand pictures." + +His disappointment was patent. It was his desire to understand all +things that white men understand, and here, in this matter, he failed. I +felt, also, that there was challenge in his attitude. He was bent upon +compelling me to show him the wisdom of pictures. Besides, he had +remarkable powers of visualization. I had long since learned this. He +visualized everything. He saw life in pictures, felt life in pictures, +generalized life in pictures; and yet he did not understand pictures when +seen through other men's eyes and expressed by those men with color and +line upon canvas. + +"Pictures are bits of life," I said. "We paint life as we see it. For +instance, Charley, you are coming along the trail. It is night. You see +a cabin. The window is lighted. You look through the window for one +second, or for two seconds, you see something, and you go on your way. +You saw maybe a man writing a letter. You saw something without +beginning or end. Nothing happened. Yet it was a bit of life you saw. +You remember it afterward. It is like a picture in your memory. The +window is the frame of the picture." + +I could see that he was interested, and I knew that as I spoke he had +looked through the window and seen the man writing the letter. + +"There is a picture you have painted that I understand," he said. "It is +a true picture. It has much meaning. It is in your cabin at Dawson. It +is a faro table. There are men playing. It is a large game. The limit +is off." + +"How do you know the limit is off?" I broke in excitedly, for here was +where my work could be tried out on an unbiassed judge who knew life +only, and not art, and who was a sheer master of reality. Also, I was +very proud of that particular piece of work. I had named it "The Last +Turn," and I believed it to be one of the best things I had ever done. + +"There are no chips on the table," Sitka Charley explained. "The men are +playing with markers. That means the roof is the limit. One man play +yellow markers--maybe one yellow marker worth one thousand dollars, maybe +two thousand dollars. One man play red markers. Maybe they are worth +five hundred dollars, maybe one thousand dollars. It is a very big game. +Everybody play very high, up to the roof. How do I know? You make the +dealer with blood little bit warm in face." (I was delighted.) "The +lookout, you make him lean forward in his chair. Why he lean forward? +Why his face very much quiet? Why his eyes very much bright? Why dealer +warm with blood a little bit in the face? Why all men very quiet?--the +man with yellow markers? the man with white markers? the man with red +markers? Why nobody talk? Because very much money. Because last turn." + +"How do you know it is the last turn?" I asked. + +"The king is coppered, the seven is played open," he answered. "Nobody +bet on other cards. Other cards all gone. Everybody one mind. Everybody +play king to lose, seven to win. Maybe bank lose twenty thousand +dollars, maybe bank win. Yes, that picture I understand." + +"Yet you do not know the end!" I cried triumphantly. "It is the last +turn, but the cards are not yet turned. In the picture they will never +be turned. Nobody will ever know who wins nor who loses." + +"And the men will sit there and never talk," he said, wonder and awe +growing in his face. "And the lookout will lean forward, and the blood +will be warm in the face of the dealer. It is a strange thing. Always +will they sit there, always; and the cards will never be turned." + +"It is a picture," I said. "It is life. You have seen things like it +yourself." + +He looked at me and pondered, then said, very slowly: "No, as you say, +there is no end to it. Nobody will ever know the end. Yet is it a true +thing. I have seen it. It is life." + +For a long time he smoked on in silence, weighing the pictorial wisdom of +the white man and verifying it by the facts of life. He nodded his head +several times, and grunted once or twice. Then he knocked the ashes from +his pipe, carefully refilled it, and after a thoughtful pause, lighted it +again. + +"Then have I, too, seen many pictures of life," he began; "pictures not +painted, but seen with the eyes. I have looked at them like through the +window at the man writing the letter. I have seen many pieces of life, +without beginning, without end, without understanding." + +With a sudden change of position he turned his eyes full upon me and +regarded me thoughtfully. + +"Look you," he said; "you are a painter-man. How would you paint this +which I saw, a picture without beginning, the ending of which I do not +understand, a piece of life with the northern lights for a candle and +Alaska for a frame." + +"It is a large canvas," I murmured. + +But he ignored me, for the picture he had in mind was before his eyes and +he was seeing it. + +"There are many names for this picture," he said. "But in the picture +there are many sun-dogs, and it comes into my mind to call it 'The Sun- +Dog Trail.' It was a long time ago, seven years ago, the fall of '97, +when I saw the woman first time. At Lake Linderman I had one canoe, very +good Peterborough canoe. I came over Chilcoot Pass with two thousand +letters for Dawson. I was letter carrier. Everybody rush to Klondike at +that time. Many people on trail. Many people chop down trees and make +boats. Last water, snow in the air, snow on the ground, ice on the lake, +on the river ice in the eddies. Every day more snow, more ice. Maybe +one day, maybe three days, maybe six days, any day maybe freeze-up come, +then no more water, all ice, everybody walk, Dawson six hundred miles, +long time walk. Boat go very quick. Everybody want to go boat. +Everybody say, 'Charley, two hundred dollars you take me in canoe,' +'Charley, three hundred dollars,' 'Charley, four hundred dollars.' I say +no, all the time I say no. I am letter carrier. + +"In morning I get to Lake Linderman. I walk all night and am much tired. +I cook breakfast, I eat, then I sleep on the beach three hours. I wake +up. It is ten o'clock. Snow is falling. There is wind, much wind that +blows fair. Also, there is a woman who sits in the snow alongside. She +is white woman, she is young, very pretty, maybe she is twenty years old, +maybe twenty-five years old. She look at me. I look at her. She is +very tired. She is no dance-woman. I see that right away. She is good +woman, and she is very tired. + +"'You are Sitka Charley,' she says. I get up quick and roll blankets so +snow does not get inside. 'I go to Dawson,' she says. 'I go in your +canoe--how much?' + +"I do not want anybody in my canoe. I do not like to say no. So I say, +'One thousand dollars.' Just for fun I say it, so woman cannot come with +me, much better than say no. She look at me very hard, then she says, +'When you start?' I say right away. Then she says all right, she will +give me one thousand dollars. + +"What can I say? I do not want the woman, yet have I given my word that +for one thousand dollars she can come. I am surprised. Maybe she make +fun, too, so I say, 'Let me see thousand dollars.' And that woman, that +young woman, all alone on the trail, there in the snow, she take out one +thousand dollars, in greenbacks, and she put them in my hand. I look at +money, I look at her. What can I say? I say, 'No, my canoe very small. +There is no room for outfit.' She laugh. She says, 'I am great +traveller. This is my outfit.' She kick one small pack in the snow. It +is two fur robes, canvas outside, some woman's clothes inside. I pick it +up. Maybe thirty-five pounds. I am surprised. She take it away from +me. She says, 'Come, let us start.' She carries pack into canoe. What +can I say? I put my blankets into canoe. We start. + +"And that is the way I saw the woman first time. The wind was fair. I +put up small sail. The canoe went very fast, it flew like a bird over +the high waves. The woman was much afraid. 'What for you come Klondike +much afraid?' I ask. She laugh at me, a hard laugh, but she is still +much afraid. Also is she very tired. I run canoe through rapids to Lake +Bennett. Water very bad, and woman cry out because she is afraid. We go +down Lake Bennett, snow, ice, wind like a gale, but woman is very tired +and go to sleep. + +"That night we make camp at Windy Arm. Woman sit by fire and eat supper. +I look at her. She is pretty. She fix hair. There is much hair, and it +is brown, also sometimes it is like gold in the firelight, when she turn +her head, so, and flashes come from it like golden fire. The eyes are +large and brown, sometimes warm like a candle behind a curtain, sometimes +very hard and bright like broken ice when sun shines upon it. When she +smile--how can I say?--when she smile I know white man like to kiss her, +just like that, when she smile. She never do hard work. Her hands are +soft, like baby's hand. She is soft all over, like baby. She is not +thin, but round like baby; her arm, her leg, her muscles, all soft and +round like baby. Her waist is small, and when she stand up, when she +walk, or move her head or arm, it is--I do not know the word--but it is +nice to look at, like--maybe I say she is built on lines like the lines +of a good canoe, just like that, and when she move she is like the +movement of the good canoe sliding through still water or leaping through +water when it is white and fast and angry. It is very good to see. + +"Why does she come into Klondike, all alone, with plenty of money? I do +not know. Next day I ask her. She laugh and says: 'Sitka Charley, that +is none of your business. I give you one thousand dollars take me to +Dawson. That only is your business.' Next day after that I ask her what +is her name. She laugh, then she says, 'Mary Jones, that is my name.' I +do not know her name, but I know all the time that Mary Jones is not her +name. + +"It is very cold in canoe, and because of cold sometimes she not feel +good. Sometimes she feel good and she sing. Her voice is like a silver +bell, and I feel good all over like when I go into church at Holy Cross +Mission, and when she sing I feel strong and paddle like hell. Then she +laugh and says, 'You think we get to Dawson before freeze-up, Charley?' +Sometimes she sit in canoe and is thinking far away, her eyes like that, +all empty. She does not see Sitka Charley, nor the ice, nor the snow. +She is far away. Very often she is like that, thinking far away. +Sometimes, when she is thinking far away, her face is not good to see. It +looks like a face that is angry, like the face of one man when he want to +kill another man. + +"Last day to Dawson very bad. Shore-ice in all the eddies, mush-ice in +the stream. I cannot paddle. The canoe freeze to ice. I cannot get to +shore. There is much danger. All the time we go down Yukon in the ice. +That night there is much noise of ice. Then ice stop, canoe stop, +everything stop. 'Let us go to shore,' the woman says. I say no, better +wait. By and by, everything start down-stream again. There is much +snow. I cannot see. At eleven o'clock at night, everything stop. At +one o'clock everything start again. At three o'clock everything stop. +Canoe is smashed like eggshell, but is on top of ice and cannot sink. I +hear dogs howling. We wait. We sleep. By and by morning come. There +is no more snow. It is the freeze-up, and there is Dawson. Canoe smash +and stop right at Dawson. Sitka Charley has come in with two thousand +letters on very last water. + +"The woman rent a cabin on the hill, and for one week I see her no more. +Then, one day, she come to me. 'Charley,' she says, 'how do you like to +work for me? You drive dogs, make camp, travel with me.' I say that I +make too much money carrying letters. She says, 'Charley, I will pay you +more money.' I tell her that pick-and-shovel man get fifteen dollars a +day in the mines. She says, 'That is four hundred and fifty dollars a +month.' And I say, 'Sitka Charley is no pick-and-shovel man.' Then she +says, 'I understand, Charley. I will give you seven hundred and fifty +dollars each month.' It is a good price, and I go to work for her. I +buy for her dogs and sled. We travel up Klondike, up Bonanza and +Eldorado, over to Indian River, to Sulphur Creek, to Dominion, back +across divide to Gold Bottom and to Too Much Gold, and back to Dawson. +All the time she look for something, I do not know what. I am puzzled. +'What thing you look for?' I ask. She laugh. 'You look for gold?' I +ask. She laugh. Then she says, 'That is none of your business, +Charley.' And after that I never ask any more. + +"She has a small revolver which she carries in her belt. Sometimes, on +trail, she makes practice with revolver. I laugh. 'What for you laugh, +Charley?' she ask. 'What for you play with that?' I say. 'It is no +good. It is too small. It is for a child, a little plaything.' When we +get back to Dawson she ask me to buy good revolver for her. I buy a +Colt's 44. It is very heavy, but she carry it in her belt all the time. + +"At Dawson comes the man. Which way he come I do not know. Only do I +know he is _checha-quo_--what you call tenderfoot. His hands are soft, +just like hers. He never do hard work. He is soft all over. At first I +think maybe he is her husband. But he is too young. Also, they make two +beds at night. He is maybe twenty years old. His eyes blue, his hair +yellow, he has a little mustache which is yellow. His name is John +Jones. Maybe he is her brother. I do not know. I ask questions no +more. Only I think his name not John Jones. Other people call him Mr. +Girvan. I do not think that is his name. I do not think her name is +Miss Girvan, which other people call her. I think nobody know their +names. + +"One night I am asleep at Dawson. He wake me up. He says, 'Get the dogs +ready; we start.' No more do I ask questions, so I get the dogs ready +and we start. We go down the Yukon. It is night-time, it is November, +and it is very cold--sixty-five below. She is soft. He is soft. The +cold bites. They get tired. They cry under their breaths to themselves. +By and by I say better we stop and make camp. But they say that they +will go on. Three times I say better to make camp and rest, but each +time they say they will go on. After that I say nothing. All the time, +day after day, is it that way. They are very soft. They get stiff and +sore. They do not understand moccasins, and their feet hurt very much. +They limp, they stagger like drunken people, they cry under their +breaths; and all the time they say, 'On! on! We will go on!' + +"They are like crazy people. All the time do they go on, and on. Why do +they go on? I do not know. Only do they go on. What are they after? I +do not know. They are not after gold. There is no stampede. Besides, +they spend plenty of money. But I ask questions no more. I, too, go on +and on, because I am strong on the trail and because I am greatly paid. + +"We make Circle City. That for which they look is not there. I think +now that we will rest, and rest the dogs. But we do not rest, not for +one day do we rest. 'Come,' says the woman to the man, 'let us go on.' +And we go on. We leave the Yukon. We cross the divide to the west and +swing down into the Tanana Country. There are new diggings there. But +that for which they look is not there, and we take the back trail to +Circle City. + +"It is a hard journey. December is most gone. The days are short. It +is very cold. One morning it is seventy below zero. 'Better that we +don't travel to-day,' I say, 'else will the frost be unwarmed in the +breathing and bite all the edges of our lungs. After that we will have +bad cough, and maybe next spring will come pneumonia.' But they are +_checha-quo_. They do not understand the trail. They are like dead +people they are so tired, but they say, 'Let us go on.' We go on. The +frost bites their lungs, and they get the dry cough. They cough till the +tears run down their cheeks. When bacon is frying they must run away +from the fire and cough half an hour in the snow. They freeze their +cheeks a little bit, so that the skin turns black and is very sore. Also, +the man freezes his thumb till the end is like to come off, and he must +wear a large thumb on his mitten to keep it warm. And sometimes, when +the frost bites hard and the thumb is very cold, he must take off the +mitten and put the hand between his legs next to the skin, so that the +thumb may get warm again. + +"We limp into Circle City, and even I, Sitka Charley, am tired. It is +Christmas Eve. I dance, drink, make a good time, for to-morrow is +Christmas Day and we will rest. But no. It is five o'clock in the +morning--Christmas morning. I am two hours asleep. The man stand by my +bed. 'Come, Charley,' he says, 'harness the dogs. We start.' + +"Have I not said that I ask questions no more? They pay me seven hundred +and fifty dollars each month. They are my masters. I am their man. If +they say, 'Charley, come, let us start for hell,' I will harness the +dogs, and snap the whip, and start for hell. So I harness the dogs, and +we start down the Yukon. Where do we go? They do not say. Only do they +say, 'On! on! We will go on!' + +"They are very weary. They have travelled many hundreds of miles, and +they do not understand the way of the trail. Besides, their cough is +very bad--the dry cough that makes strong men swear and weak men cry. But +they go on. Every day they go on. Never do they rest the dogs. Always +do they buy new dogs. At every camp, at every post, at every Indian +village, do they cut out the tired dogs and put in fresh dogs. They have +much money, money without end, and like water they spend it. They are +crazy? Sometimes I think so, for there is a devil in them that drives +them on and on, always on. What is it that they try to find? It is not +gold. Never do they dig in the ground. I think a long time. Then I +think it is a man they try to find. But what man? Never do we see the +man. Yet are they like wolves on the trail of the kill. But they are +funny wolves, soft wolves, baby wolves who do not understand the way of +the trail. They cry aloud in their sleep at night. In their sleep they +moan and groan with the pain of their weariness. And in the day, as they +stagger along the trail, they cry under their breaths. They are funny +wolves. + +"We pass Fort Yukon. We pass Fort Hamilton. We pass Minook. January +has come and nearly gone. The days are very short. At nine o'clock +comes daylight. At three o'clock comes night. And it is cold. And even +I, Sitka Charley, am tired. Will we go on forever this way without end? +I do not know. But always do I look along the trail for that which they +try to find. There are few people on the trail. Sometimes we travel one +hundred miles and never see a sign of life. It is very quiet. There is +no sound. Sometimes it snows, and we are like wandering ghosts. +Sometimes it is clear, and at midday the sun looks at us for a moment +over the hills to the south. The northern lights flame in the sky, and +the sun-dogs dance, and the air is filled with frost-dust. + +"I am Sitka Charley, a strong man. I was born on the trail, and all my +days have I lived on the trail. And yet have these two baby wolves made +me very tired. I am lean, like a starved cat, and I am glad of my bed at +night, and in the morning am I greatly weary. Yet ever are we hitting +the trail in the dark before daylight, and still on the trail does the +dark after nightfall find us. These two baby wolves! If I am lean like +a starved cat, they are lean like cats that have never eaten and have +died. Their eyes are sunk deep in their heads, bright sometimes as with +fever, dim and cloudy sometimes like the eyes of the dead. Their cheeks +are hollow like caves in a cliff. Also are their cheeks black and raw +from many freezings. Sometimes it is the woman in the morning who says, +'I cannot get up. I cannot move. Let me die.' And it is the man who +stands beside her and says, 'Come, let us go on.' And they go on. And +sometimes it is the man who cannot get up, and the woman says, 'Come, let +us go on.' But the one thing they do, and always do, is to go on. Always +do they go on. + +"Sometimes, at the trading posts, the man and woman get letters. I do +not know what is in the letters. But it is the scent that they follow, +these letters themselves are the scent. One time an Indian gives them a +letter. I talk with him privately. He says it is a man with one eye who +gives him the letter, a man who travels fast down the Yukon. That is +all. But I know that the baby wolves are after the man with the one eye. + +"It is February, and we have travelled fifteen hundred miles. We are +getting near Bering Sea, and there are storms and blizzards. The going +is hard. We come to Anvig. I do not know, but I think sure they get a +letter at Anvig, for they are much excited, and they say, 'Come, hurry, +let us go on.' But I say we must buy grub, and they say we must travel +light and fast. Also, they say that we can get grub at Charley McKeon's +cabin. Then do I know that they take the big cut-off, for it is there +that Charley McKeon lives where the Black Rock stands by the trail. + +"Before we start, I talk maybe two minutes with the priest at Anvig. Yes, +there is a man with one eye who has gone by and who travels fast. And I +know that for which they look is the man with the one eye. We leave +Anvig with little grub, and travel light and fast. There are three fresh +dogs bought in Anvig, and we travel very fast. The man and woman are +like mad. We start earlier in the morning, we travel later at night. I +look sometimes to see them die, these two baby wolves, but they will not +die. They go on and on. When the dry cough take hold of them hard, they +hold their hands against their stomach and double up in the snow, and +cough, and cough, and cough. They cannot walk, they cannot talk. Maybe +for ten minutes they cough, maybe for half an hour, and then they +straighten up, the tears from the coughing frozen on their faces, and the +words they say are, 'Come, let us go on.' + +"Even I, Sitka Charley, am greatly weary, and I think seven hundred and +fifty dollars is a cheap price for the labor I do. We take the big cut- +off, and the trail is fresh. The baby wolves have their noses down to +the trail, and they say, 'Hurry!' All the time do they say, 'Hurry! +Faster! Faster!' It is hard on the dogs. We have not much food and we +cannot give them enough to eat, and they grow weak. Also, they must work +hard. The woman has true sorrow for them, and often, because of them, +the tears are in her eyes. But the devil in her that drives her on will +not let her stop and rest the dogs. + +"And then we come upon the man with the one eye. He is in the snow by +the trail, and his leg is broken. Because of the leg he has made a poor +camp, and has been lying on his blankets for three days and keeping a +fire going. When we find him he is swearing. He swears like hell. Never +have I heard a man swear like that man. I am glad. Now that they have +found that for which they look, we will have rest. But the woman says, +'Let us start. Hurry!' + +"I am surprised. But the man with the one eye says, 'Never mind me. Give +me your grub. You will get more grub at McKeon's cabin to-morrow. Send +McKeon back for me. But do you go on.' Here is another wolf, an old +wolf, and he, too, thinks but the one thought, to go on. So we give him +our grub, which is not much, and we chop wood for his fire, and we take +his strongest dogs and go on. We left the man with one eye there in the +snow, and he died there in the snow, for McKeon never went back for him. +And who that man was, and why he came to be there, I do not know. But I +think he was greatly paid by the man and the woman, like me, to do their +work for them. + +"That day and that night we had nothing to eat, and all next day we +travelled fast, and we were weak with hunger. Then we came to the Black +Rock, which rose five hundred feet above the trail. It was at the end of +the day. Darkness was coming, and we could not find the cabin of McKeon. +We slept hungry, and in the morning looked for the cabin. It was not +there, which was a strange thing, for everybody knew that McKeon lived in +a cabin at Black Rock. We were near to the coast, where the wind blows +hard and there is much snow. Everywhere there were small hills of snow +where the wind had piled it up. I have a thought, and I dig in one and +another of the hills of snow. Soon I find the walls of the cabin, and I +dig down to the door. I go inside. McKeon is dead. Maybe two or three +weeks he is dead. A sickness had come upon him so that he could not +leave the cabin. The wind and the snow had covered the cabin. He had +eaten his grub and died. I looked for his cache, but there was no grub +in it. + +"'Let us go on,' said the woman. Her eyes were hungry, and her hand was +upon her heart, as with the hurt of something inside. She bent back and +forth like a tree in the wind as she stood there. 'Yes, let us go on,' +said the man. His voice was hollow, like the _klonk_ of an old raven, +and he was hunger-mad. His eyes were like live coals of fire, and as his +body rocked to and fro, so rocked his soul inside. And I, too, said, +'Let us go on.' For that one thought, laid upon me like a lash for every +mile of fifteen hundred miles, had burned itself into my soul, and I +think that I, too, was mad. Besides, we could only go on, for there was +no grub. And we went on, giving no thought to the man with the one eye +in the snow. + +"There is little travel on the big cut-off. Sometimes two or three +months and nobody goes by. The snow had covered the trail, and there was +no sign that men had ever come or gone that way. All day the wind blew +and the snow fell, and all day we travelled, while our stomachs gnawed +their desire and our bodies grew weaker with every step they took. Then +the woman began to fall. Then the man. I did not fall, but my feet were +heavy and I caught my toes and stumbled many times. + +"That night is the end of February. I kill three ptarmigan with the +woman's revolver, and we are made somewhat strong again. But the dogs +have nothing to eat. They try to eat their harness, which is of leather +and walrus-hide, and I must fight them off with a club and hang all the +harness in a tree. And all night they howl and fight around that tree. +But we do not mind. We sleep like dead people, and in the morning get up +like dead people out of their graves and go on along the trail. + +"That morning is the 1st of March, and on that morning I see the first +sign of that after which the baby wolves are in search. It is clear +weather, and cold. The sun stay longer in the sky, and there are sun- +dogs flashing on either side, and the air is bright with frost-dust. The +snow falls no more upon the trail, and I see the fresh sign of dogs and +sled. There is one man with that outfit, and I see in the snow that he +is not strong. He, too, has not enough to eat. The young wolves see the +fresh sign, too, and they are much excited. 'Hurry!' they say. All the +time they say, 'Hurry! Faster, Charley, faster!' + +"We make hurry very slow. All the time the man and the woman fall down. +When they try to ride on sled the dogs are too weak, and the dogs fall +down. Besides, it is so cold that if they ride on the sled they will +freeze. It is very easy for a hungry man to freeze. When the woman fall +down, the man help her up. Sometimes the woman help the man up. By and +by both fall down and cannot get up, and I must help them up all the +time, else they will not get up and will die there in the snow. This is +very hard work, for I am greatly weary, and as well I must drive the +dogs, and the man and woman are very heavy with no strength in their +bodies. So, by and by, I, too, fall down in the snow, and there is no +one to help me up. I must get up by myself. And always do I get up by +myself, and help them up, and make the dogs go on. + +"That night I get one ptarmigan, and we are very hungry. And that night +the man says to me, 'What time start to-morrow, Charley?' It is like the +voice of a ghost. I say, 'All the time you make start at five o'clock.' +'To-morrow,' he says, 'we will start at three o'clock.' I laugh in great +bitterness, and I say, 'You are dead man.' And he says, 'To-morrow we +will start at three o'clock.' + +"And we start at three o'clock, for I am their man, and that which they +say is to be done, I do. It is clear and cold, and there is no wind. +When daylight comes we can see a long way off. And it is very quiet. We +can hear no sound but the beat of our hearts, and in the silence that is +a very loud sound. We are like sleep-walkers, and we walk in dreams +until we fall down; and then we know we must get up, and we see the trail +once more and bear the beating of our hearts. Sometimes, when I am +walking in dreams this way, I have strange thoughts. Why does Sitka +Charley live? I ask myself. Why does Sitka Charley work hard, and go +hungry, and have all this pain? For seven hundred and fifty dollars a +month, I make the answer, and I know it is a foolish answer. Also is it +a true answer. And after that never again do I care for money. For that +day a large wisdom came to me. There was a great light, and I saw clear, +and I knew that it was not for money that a man must live, but for a +happiness that no man can give, or buy, or sell, and that is beyond all +value of all money in the world. + +"In the morning we come upon the last-night camp of the man who is before +us. It is a poor camp, the kind a man makes who is hungry and without +strength. On the snow there are pieces of blanket and of canvas, and I +know what has happened. His dogs have eaten their harness, and he has +made new harness out of his blankets. The man and woman stare hard at +what is to be seen, and as I look at them my back feels the chill as of a +cold wind against the skin. Their eyes are toil-mad and hunger-mad, and +burn like fire deep in their heads. Their faces are like the faces of +people who have died of hunger, and their cheeks are black with the dead +flesh of many freezings. 'Let us go on,' says the man. But the woman +coughs and falls in the snow. It is the dry cough where the frost has +bitten the lungs. For a long time she coughs, then like a woman crawling +out of her grave she crawls to her feet. The tears are ice upon her +cheeks, and her breath makes a noise as it comes and goes, and she says, +'Let us go on.' + +"We go on. And we walk in dreams through the silence. And every time we +walk is a dream and we are without pain; and every time we fall down is +an awakening, and we see the snow and the mountains and the fresh trail +of the man who is before us, and we know all our pain again. We come to +where we can see a long way over the snow, and that for which they look +is before them. A mile away there are black spots upon the snow. The +black spots move. My eyes are dim, and I must stiffen my soul to see. +And I see one man with dogs and a sled. The baby wolves see, too. They +can no longer talk, but they whisper, 'On, on. Let us hurry!' + +"And they fall down, but they go on. The man who is before us, his +blanket harness breaks often, and he must stop and mend it. Our harness +is good, for I have hung it in trees each night. At eleven o'clock the +man is half a mile away. At one o'clock he is a quarter of a mile away. +He is very weak. We see him fall down many times in the snow. One of +his dogs can no longer travel, and he cuts it out of the harness. But he +does not kill it. I kill it with the axe as I go by, as I kill one of my +dogs which loses its legs and can travel no more. + +"Now we are three hundred yards away. We go very slow. Maybe in two, +three hours we go one mile. We do not walk. All the time we fall down. +We stand up and stagger two steps, maybe three steps, then we fall down +again. And all the time I must help up the man and woman. Sometimes +they rise to their knees and fall forward, maybe four or five times +before they can get to their feet again and stagger two or three steps +and fall. But always do they fall forward. Standing or kneeling, always +do they fall forward, gaining on the trail each time by the length of +their bodies. + +"Sometimes they crawl on hands and knees like animals that live in the +forest. We go like snails, like snails that are dying we go so slow. And +yet we go faster than the man who is before us. For he, too, falls all +the time, and there is no Sitka Charley to lift him up. Now he is two +hundred yards away. After a long time he is one hundred yards away. + +"It is a funny sight. I want to laugh out loud, Ha! ha! just like that, +it is so funny. It is a race of dead men and dead dogs. It is like in a +dream when you have a nightmare and run away very fast for your life and +go very slow. The man who is with me is mad. The woman is mad. I am +mad. All the world is mad, and I want to laugh, it is so funny. + +"The stranger-man who is before us leaves his dogs behind and goes on +alone across the snow. After a long time we come to the dogs. They lie +helpless in the snow, their harness of blanket and canvas on them, the +sled behind them, and as we pass them they whine to us and cry like +babies that are hungry. + +"Then we, too, leave our dogs and go on alone across the snow. The man +and the woman are nearly gone, and they moan and groan and sob, but they +go on. I, too, go on. I have but one thought. It is to come up to the +stranger-man. Then it is that I shall rest, and not until then shall I +rest, and it seems that I must lie down and sleep for a thousand years, I +am so tired. + +"The stranger-man is fifty yards away, all alone in the white snow. He +falls and crawls, staggers, and falls and crawls again. He is like an +animal that is sore wounded and trying to run from the hunter. By and by +he crawls on hands and knees. He no longer stands up. And the man and +woman no longer stand up. They, too, crawl after him on hands and knees. +But I stand up. Sometimes I fall, but always do I stand up again. + +"It is a strange thing to see. All about is the snow and the silence, +and through it crawl the man and the woman, and the stranger-man who goes +before. On either side the sun are sun-dogs, so that there are three +suns in the sky. The frost-dust is like the dust of diamonds, and all +the air is filled with it. Now the woman coughs, and lies still in the +snow until the fit has passed, when she crawls on again. Now the man +looks ahead, and he is blear-eyed as with old age and must rub his eyes +so that he can see the stranger-man. And now the stranger-man looks back +over his shoulder. And Sitka Charley, standing upright, maybe falls down +and stands upright again. + +"After a long time the stranger-man crawls no more. He stands slowly +upon his feet and rocks back and forth. Also does he take off one mitten +and wait with revolver in his hand, rocking back and forth as he waits. +His face is skin and bones and frozen black. It is a hungry face. The +eyes are deep-sunk in his head, and the lips are snarling. The man and +woman, too, get upon their feet and they go toward him very slowly. And +all about is the snow and the silence. And in the sky are three suns, +and all the air is flashing with the dust of diamonds. + +"And thus it was that I, Sitka Charley, saw the baby wolves make their +kill. No word is spoken. Only does the stranger-man snarl with his +hungry face. Also does he rock to and fro, his shoulders drooping, his +knees bent, and his legs wide apart so that he does not fall down. The +man and the woman stop maybe fifty feet away. Their legs, too, are wide +apart so that they do not fall down, and their bodies rock to and fro. +The stranger-man is very weak. His arm shakes, so that when he shoots at +the man his bullet strikes in the snow. The man cannot take off his +mitten. The stranger-man shoots at him again, and this time the bullet +goes by in the air. Then the man takes the mitten in his teeth and pulls +it off. But his hand is frozen and he cannot hold the revolver, and it +fails in the snow. I look at the woman. Her mitten is off, and the big +Colt's revolver is in her hand. Three times she shoot, quick, just like +that. The hungry face of the stranger-man is still snarling as he falls +forward into the snow. + +"They do not look at the dead man. 'Let us go on,' they say. And we go +on. But now that they have found that for which they look, they are like +dead. The last strength has gone out of them. They can stand no more +upon their feet. They will not crawl, but desire only to close their +eyes and sleep. I see not far away a place for camp. I kick them. I +have my dog-whip, and I give them the lash of it. They cry aloud, but +they must crawl. And they do crawl to the place for camp. I build fire +so that they will not freeze. Then I go back for sled. Also, I kill the +dogs of the stranger-man so that we may have food and not die. I put the +man and woman in blankets and they sleep. Sometimes I wake them and give +them little bit of food. They are not awake, but they take the food. The +woman sleep one day and a half. Then she wake up and go to sleep again. +The man sleep two days and wake up and go to sleep again. After that we +go down to the coast at St. Michaels. And when the ice goes out of +Bering Sea, the man and woman go away on a steamship. But first they pay +me my seven hundred and fifty dollars a month. Also, they make me a +present of one thousand dollars. And that was the year that Sitka +Charley gave much money to the Mission at Holy Cross." + +"But why did they kill the man?" I asked. + +Sitka Charley delayed reply until he had lighted his pipe. He glanced at +the _Police Gazette_ illustration and nodded his head at it familiarly. +Then he said, speaking slowly and ponderingly: + +"I have thought much. I do not know. It is something that happened. It +is a picture I remember. It is like looking in at the window and seeing +the man writing a letter. They came into my life and they went out of my +life, and the picture is as I have said, without beginning, the end +without understanding." + +"You have painted many pictures in the telling," I said. + +"Ay," he nodded his head. "But they were without beginning and without +end." + +"The last picture of all had an end," I said. + +"Ay," he answered. "But what end?" + +"It was a piece of life," I said. + +"Ay," he answered. "It was a piece of life." + + + + +NEGORE, THE COWARD + + +He had followed the trail of his fleeing people for eleven days, and his +pursuit had been in itself a flight; for behind him he knew full well +were the dreaded Russians, toiling through the swampy lowlands and over +the steep divides, bent on no less than the extermination of all his +people. He was travelling light. A rabbit-skin sleeping-robe, a muzzle- +loading rifle, and a few pounds of sun-dried salmon constituted his +outfit. He would have marvelled that a whole people--women and children +and aged--could travel so swiftly, had he not known the terror that drove +them on. + +It was in the old days of the Russian occupancy of Alaska, when the +nineteenth century had run but half its course, that Negore fled after +his fleeing tribe and came upon it this summer night by the head waters +of the Pee-lat. Though near the midnight hour, it was bright day as he +passed through the weary camp. Many saw him, all knew him, but few and +cold were the greetings he received. + +"Negore, the Coward," he heard Illiha, a young woman, laugh, and Sun-ne, +his sister's daughter, laughed with her. + +Black anger ate at his heart; but he gave no sign, threading his way +among the camp-fires until he came to one where sat an old man. A young +woman was kneading with skilful fingers the tired muscles of his legs. He +raised a sightless face and listened intently as Negore's foot crackled a +dead twig. + +"Who comes?" he queried in a thin, tremulous voice. + +"Negore," said the young woman, scarcely looking up from her task. + +Negore's face was expressionless. For many minutes he stood and waited. +The old man's head had sunk back upon his chest. The young woman pressed +and prodded the wasted muscles, resting her body on her knees, her bowed +head hidden as in a cloud by her black wealth of hair. Negore watched +the supple body, bending at the hips as a lynx's body might bend, pliant +as a young willow stalk, and, withal, strong as only youth is strong. He +looked, and was aware of a great yearning, akin in sensation to physical +hunger. At last he spoke, saying: + +"Is there no greeting for Negore, who has been long gone and has but now +come back?" + +She looked up at him with cold eyes. The old man chuckled to himself +after the manner of the old. + +"Thou art my woman, Oona," Negore said, his tones dominant and conveying +a hint of menace. + +She arose with catlike ease and suddenness to her full height, her eyes +flashing, her nostrils quivering like a deer's. + +"I was thy woman to be, Negore, but thou art a coward; the daughter of +Old Kinoos mates not with a coward!" + +She silenced him with an imperious gesture as he strove to speak. + +"Old Kinoos and I came among you from a strange land. Thy people took us +in by their fires and made us warm, nor asked whence or why we wandered. +It was their thought that Old Kinoos had lost the sight of his eyes from +age; nor did Old Kinoos say otherwise, nor did I, his daughter. Old +Kinoos is a brave man, but Old Kinoos was never a boaster. And now, when +I tell thee of how his blindness came to be, thou wilt know, beyond +question, that the daughter of Kinoos cannot mother the children of a +coward such as thou art, Negore." + +Again she silenced the speech that rushed up to his tongue. + +"Know, Negore, if journey be added unto journey of all thy journeyings +through this land, thou wouldst not come to the unknown Sitka on the +Great Salt Sea. In that place there be many Russian folk, and their rule +is harsh. And from Sitka, Old Kinoos, who was Young Kinoos in those +days, fled away with me, a babe in his arms, along the islands in the +midst of the sea. My mother dead tells the tale of his wrong; a Russian, +dead with a spear through breast and back, tells the tale of the +vengeance of Kinoos. + +"But wherever we fled, and however far we fled, always did we find the +hated Russian folk. Kinoos was unafraid, but the sight of them was a +hurt to his eyes; so we fled on and on, through the seas and years, till +we came to the Great Fog Sea, Negore, of which thou hast heard, but which +thou hast never seen. We lived among many peoples, and I grew to be a +woman; but Kinoos, growing old, took to him no other woman, nor did I +take a man. + +"At last we came to Pastolik, which is where the Yukon drowns itself in +the Great Fog Sea. Here we lived long, on the rim of the sea, among a +people by whom the Russians were well hated. But sometimes they came, +these Russians, in great ships, and made the people of Pastolik show them +the way through the islands uncountable of the many-mouthed Yukon. And +sometimes the men they took to show them the way never came back, till +the people became angry and planned a great plan. + +"So, when there came a ship, Old Kinoos stepped forward and said he would +show the way. He was an old man then, and his hair was white; but he was +unafraid. And he was cunning, for he took the ship to where the sea +sucks in to the land and the waves beat white on the mountain called +Romanoff. The sea sucked the ship in to where the waves beat white, and +it ground upon the rocks and broke open its sides. Then came all the +people of Pastolik, (for this was the plan), with their war-spears, and +arrows, and some few guns. But first the Russians put out the eyes of +Old Kinoos that he might never show the way again, and then they fought, +where the waves beat white, with the people of Pastolik. + +"Now the head-man of these Russians was Ivan. He it was, with his two +thumbs, who drove out the eyes of Kinoos. He it was who fought his way +through the white water, with two men left of all his men, and went away +along the rim of the Great Fog Sea into the north. Kinoos was wise. He +could see no more and was helpless as a child. So he fled away from the +sea, up the great, strange Yukon, even to Nulato, and I fled with him. + +"This was the deed my father did, Kinoos, an old man. But how did the +young man, Negore?" + +Once again she silenced him. + +"With my own eyes I saw, at Nulato, before the gates of the great fort, +and but few days gone. I saw the Russian, Ivan, who thrust out my +father's eyes, lay the lash of his dog-whip upon thee and beat thee like +a dog. This I saw, and knew thee for a coward. But I saw thee not, that +night, when all thy people--yea, even the boys not yet hunters--fell upon +the Russians and slew them all." + +"Not Ivan," said Negore, quietly. "Even now is he on our heels, and with +him many Russians fresh up from the sea." + +Oona made no effort to hide her surprise and chagrin that Ivan was not +dead, but went on: + +"In the day I saw thee a coward; in the night, when all men fought, even +the boys not yet hunters, I saw thee not and knew thee doubly a coward." + +"Thou art done? All done?" Negore asked. + +She nodded her head and looked at him askance, as though astonished that +he should have aught to say. + +"Know then that Negore is no coward," he said; and his speech was very +low and quiet. "Know that when I was yet a boy I journeyed alone down to +the place where the Yukon drowns itself in the Great Fog Sea. Even to +Pastolik I journeyed, and even beyond, into the north, along the rim of +the sea. This I did when I was a boy, and I was no coward. Nor was I +coward when I journeyed, a young man and alone, up the Yukon farther than +man had ever been, so far that I came to another folk, with white faces, +who live in a great fort and talk speech other than that the Russians +talk. Also have I killed the great bear of the Tanana country, where no +one of my people hath ever been. And I have fought with the Nuklukyets, +and the Kaltags, and the Sticks in far regions, even I, and alone. These +deeds, whereof no man knows, I speak for myself. Let my people speak for +me of things I have done which they know. They will not say Negore is a +coward." + +He finished proudly, and proudly waited. + +"These be things which happened before I came into the land," she said, +"and I know not of them. Only do I know what I know, and I know I saw +thee lashed like a dog in the day; and in the night, when the great fort +flamed red and the men killed and were killed, I saw thee not. Also, thy +people do call thee Negore, the Coward. It is thy name now, Negore, the +Coward." + +"It is not a good name," Old Kinoos chuckled. + +"Thou dost not understand, Kinoos," Negore said gently. "But I shall +make thee understand. Know that I was away on the hunt of the bear, with +Kamo-tah, my mother's son. And Kamo-tah fought with a great bear. We +had no meat for three days, and Kamo-tah was not strong of arm nor swift +of foot. And the great bear crushed him, so, till his bones cracked like +dry sticks. Thus I found him, very sick and groaning upon the ground. +And there was no meat, nor could I kill aught that the sick man might +eat. + +"So I said, 'I will go to Nulato and bring thee food, also strong men to +carry thee to camp.' And Kamo-tah said, 'Go thou to Nulato and get food, +but say no word of what has befallen me. And when I have eaten, and am +grown well and strong, I will kill this bear. Then will I return in +honor to Nulato, and no man may laugh and say Kamo-tah was undone by a +bear.' + +"So I gave heed to my brother's words; and when I was come to Nulato, and +the Russian, Ivan, laid the lash of his dog-whip upon me, I knew I must +not fight. For no man knew of Kamo-tah, sick and groaning and hungry; +and did I fight with Ivan, and die, then would my brother die, too. So +it was, Oona, that thou sawest me beaten like a dog. + +"Then I heard the talk of the shamans and chiefs that the Russians had +brought strange sicknesses upon the people, and killed our men, and +stolen our women, and that the land must be made clean. As I say, I +heard the talk, and I knew it for good talk, and I knew that in the night +the Russians were to be killed. But there was my brother, Kamo-tah, sick +and groaning and with no meat; so I could not stay and fight with the men +and the boys not yet hunters. + +"And I took with me meat and fish, and the lash-marks of Ivan, and I +found Kamo-tah no longer groaning, but dead. Then I went back to Nulato, +and, behold, there was no Nulato--only ashes where the great fort had +stood, and the bodies of many men. And I saw the Russians come up the +Yukon in boats, fresh from the sea, many Russians; and I saw Ivan creep +forth from where he lay hid and make talk with them. And the next day I +saw Ivan lead them upon the trail of the tribe. Even now are they upon +the trail, and I am here, Negore, but no coward." + +"This is a tale I hear," said Oona, though her voice was gentler than +before. "Kamo-tah is dead and cannot speak for thee, and I know only +what I know, and I must know thee of my own eyes for no coward." + +Negore made an impatient gesture. + +"There be ways and ways," she added. "Art thou willing to do no less +than what Old Kinoos hath done?" + +He nodded his head, and waited. + +"As thou hast said, they seek for us even now, these Russians. Show them +the way, Negore, even as Old Kinoos showed them the way, so that they +come, unprepared, to where we wait for them, in a passage up the rocks. +Thou knowest the place, where the wall is broken and high. Then will we +destroy them, even Ivan. When they cling like flies to the wall, and top +is no less near than bottom, our men shall fall upon them from above and +either side, with spears, and arrows, and guns. And the women and +children, from above, shall loosen the great rocks and hurl them down +upon them. It will be a great day, for the Russians will be killed, the +land will be made clean, and Ivan, even Ivan who thrust out my father's +eyes and laid the lash of his dog-whip upon thee, will be killed. Like a +dog gone mad will he die, his breath crushed out of him beneath the +rocks. And when the fighting begins, it is for thee, Negore, to crawl +secretly away so that thou be not slain." + +"Even so," he answered. "Negore will show them the way. And then?" + +"And then I shall be thy woman, Negore's woman, the brave man's woman. +And thou shalt hunt meat for me and Old Kinoos, and I shall cook thy +food, and sew thee warm parkas and strong, and make thee moccasins after +the way of my people, which is a better way than thy people's way. And +as I say, I shall be thy woman, Negore, always thy woman. And I shall +make thy life glad for thee, so that all thy days will be a song and +laughter, and thou wilt know the woman Oona as unlike all other women, +for she has journeyed far, and lived in strange places, and is wise in +the ways of men and in the ways they may be made glad. And in thine old +age will she still make thee glad, and thy memory of her in the days of +thy strength will be sweet, for thou wilt know always that she was ease +to thee, and peace, and rest, and that beyond all women to other men has +she been woman to thee." + +"Even so," said Negore, and the hunger for her ate at his heart, and his +arms went out for her as a hungry man's arms might go out for food. + +"When thou hast shown the way, Negore," she chided him; but her eyes were +soft, and warm, and he knew she looked upon him as woman had never looked +before. + +"It is well," he said, turning resolutely on his heel. "I go now to make +talk with the chiefs, so that they may know I am gone to show the +Russians the way." + +"Oh, Negore, my man! my man!" she said to herself, as she watched him go, +but she said it so softly that even Old Kinoos did not hear, and his ears +were over keen, what of his blindness. + +* * * * * + +Three days later, having with craft ill-concealed his hiding-place, +Negore was dragged forth like a rat and brought before Ivan--"Ivan the +Terrible" he was known by the men who marched at his back. Negore was +armed with a miserable bone-barbed spear, and he kept his rabbit-skin +robe wrapped closely about him, and though the day was warm he shivered +as with an ague. He shook his head that he did not understand the speech +Ivan put at him, and made that he was very weary and sick, and wished +only to sit down and rest, pointing the while to his stomach in sign of +his sickness, and shivering fiercely. But Ivan had with him a man from +Pastolik who talked the speech of Negore, and many and vain were the +questions they asked him concerning his tribe, till the man from +Pastolik, who was called Karduk, said: + +"It is the word of Ivan that thou shalt be lashed till thou diest if thou +dost not speak. And know, strange brother, when I tell thee the word of +Ivan is the law, that I am thy friend and no friend of Ivan. For I come +not willingly from my country by the sea, and I desire greatly to live; +wherefore I obey the will of my master--as thou wilt obey, strange +brother, if thou art wise, and wouldst live." + +"Nay, strange brother," Negore answered, "I know not the way my people +are gone, for I was sick, and they fled so fast my legs gave out from +under me, and I fell behind." + +Negore waited while Karduk talked with Ivan. Then Negore saw the +Russian's face go dark, and he saw the men step to either side of him, +snapping the lashes of their whips. Whereupon he betrayed a great +fright, and cried aloud that he was a sick man and knew nothing, but +would tell what he knew. And to such purpose did he tell, that Ivan gave +the word to his men to march, and on either side of Negore marched the +men with the whips, that he might not run away. And when he made that he +was weak of his sickness, and stumbled and walked not so fast as they +walked, they laid their lashes upon him till he screamed with pain and +discovered new strength. And when Karduk told him all would he well with +him when they had overtaken his tribe, he asked, "And then may I rest and +move not?" + +Continually he asked, "And then may I rest and move not?" + +And while he appeared very sick and looked about him with dull eyes, he +noted the fighting strength of Ivan's men, and noted with satisfaction +that Ivan did not recognize him as the man he had beaten before the gates +of the fort. It was a strange following his dull eyes saw. There were +Slavonian hunters, fair-skinned and mighty-muscled; short, squat Finns, +with flat noses and round faces; Siberian half-breeds, whose noses were +more like eagle-beaks; and lean, slant-eyed men, who bore in their veins +the Mongol and Tartar blood as well as the blood of the Slav. Wild +adventurers they were, forayers and destroyers from the far lands beyond +the Sea of Bering, who blasted the new and unknown world with fire and +sword and clutched greedily for its wealth of fur and hide. Negore +looked upon them with satisfaction, and in his mind's eye he saw them +crushed and lifeless at the passage up the rocks. And ever he saw, +waiting for him at the passage up the rocks, the face and the form of +Oona, and ever he heard her voice in his ears and felt the soft, warm +glow of her eyes. But never did he forget to shiver, nor to stumble +where the footing was rough, nor to cry aloud at the bite of the lash. +Also, he was afraid of Karduk, for he knew him for no true man. His was +a false eye, and an easy tongue--a tongue too easy, he judged, for the +awkwardness of honest speech. + +All that day they marched. And on the next, when Karduk asked him at +command of Ivan, he said he doubted they would meet with his tribe till +the morrow. But Ivan, who had once been shown the way by Old Kinoos, and +had found that way to lead through the white water and a deadly fight, +believed no more in anything. So when they came to a passage up the +rocks, he halted his forty men, and through Karduk demanded if the way +were clear. + +Negore looked at it shortly and carelessly. It was a vast slide that +broke the straight wall of a cliff, and was overrun with brush and +creeping plants, where a score of tribes could have lain well hidden. + +He shook his head. "Nay, there be nothing there," he said. "The way is +clear." + +Again Ivan spoke to Karduk, and Karduk said: + +"Know, strange brother, if thy talk be not straight, and if thy people +block the way and fall upon Ivan and his men, that thou shalt die, and at +once." + +"My talk is straight," Negore said. "The way is clear." + +Still Ivan doubted, and ordered two of his Slavonian hunters to go up +alone. Two other men he ordered to the side of Negore. They placed +their guns against his breast and waited. All waited. And Negore knew, +should one arrow fly, or one spear be flung, that his death would come +upon him. The two Slavonian hunters toiled upward till they grew small +and smaller, and when they reached the top and waved their hats that all +was well, they were like black specks against the sky. + +The guns were lowered from Negore's breast and Ivan gave the order for +his men to go forward. Ivan was silent, lost in thought. For an hour he +marched, as though puzzled, and then, through Karduk's mouth, he said to +Negore: + +"How didst thou know the way was clear when thou didst look so briefly +upon it?" + +Negore thought of the little birds he had seen perched among the rocks +and upon the bushes, and smiled, it was so simple; but he shrugged his +shoulders and made no answer. For he was thinking, likewise, of another +passage up the rocks, to which they would soon come, and where the little +birds would all be gone. And he was glad that Karduk came from the Great +Fog Sea, where there were no trees or bushes, and where men learned water- +craft instead of land-craft and wood-craft. + +Three hours later, when the sun rode overhead, they came to another +passage up the rocks, and Karduk said: + +"Look with all thine eyes, strange brother, and see if the way be clear, +for Ivan is not minded this time to wait while men go up before." + +Negore looked, and he looked with two men by his side, their guns resting +against his breast. He saw that the little birds were all gone, and once +he saw the glint of sunlight on a rifle-barrel. And he thought of Oona, +and of her words: "And when the fighting begins, it is for thee, Negore, +to crawl secretly away so that thou be not slain." + +He felt the two guns pressing on his breast. This was not the way she +had planned. There would be no crawling secretly away. He would be the +first to die when the fighting began. But he said, and his voice was +steady, and he still feigned to see with dull eyes and to shiver from his +sickness: + +"The way is clear." + +And they started up, Ivan and his forty men from the far lands beyond the +Sea of Bering. And there was Karduk, the man from Pastolik, and Negore, +with the two guns always upon him. It was a long climb, and they could +not go fast; but very fast to Negore they seemed to approach the midway +point where top was no less near than bottom. + +A gun cracked among the rocks to the right, and Negore heard the war-yell +of all his tribe, and for an instant saw the rocks and bushes bristle +alive with his kinfolk. Then he felt torn asunder by a burst of flame +hot through his being, and as he fell he knew the sharp pangs of life as +it wrenches at the flesh to be free. + +But he gripped his life with a miser's clutch and would not let it go. He +still breathed the air, which bit his lungs with a painful sweetness; and +dimly he saw and heard, with passing spells of blindness and deafness, +the flashes of sight and sound again wherein he saw the hunters of Ivan +falling to their deaths, and his own brothers fringing the carnage and +filling the air with the tumult of their cries and weapons, and, far +above, the women and children loosing the great rocks that leaped like +things alive and thundered down. + +The sun danced above him in the sky, the huge walls reeled and swung, and +still he heard and saw dimly. And when the great Ivan fell across his +legs, hurled there lifeless and crushed by a down-rushing rock, he +remembered the blind eyes of Old Kinoos and was glad. + +Then the sounds died down, and the rocks no longer thundered past, and he +saw his tribespeople creeping close and closer, spearing the wounded as +they came. And near to him he heard the scuffle of a mighty Slavonian +hunter, loath to die, and, half uprisen, borne back and down by the +thirsty spears. + +Then he saw above him the face of Oona, and felt about him the arms of +Oona; and for a moment the sun steadied and stood still, and the great +walls were upright and moved not. + +"Thou art a brave man, Negore," he heard her say in his ear; "thou art my +man, Negore." + +And in that moment he lived all the life of gladness of which she had +told him, and the laughter and the song, and as the sun went out of the +sky above him, as in his old age, he knew the memory of her was sweet. +And as even the memories dimmed and died in the darkness that fell upon +him, he knew in her arms the fulfilment of all the ease and rest she had +promised him. And as black night wrapped around him, his head upon her +breast, he felt a great peace steal about him, and he was aware of the +hush of many twilights and the mystery of silence. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOVE OF LIFE*** + + +******* This file should be named 710.txt or 710.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/7/1/710 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + +Love of Life and other stories by Jack London +Scanned and proofed by David Price +ccx074@coventry.ac.uk + + + + + +Love of Life and other Stories + + + + +LOVE OF LIFE + + + +"This out of all will remain - +They have lived and have tossed: +So much of the game will be gain, +Though the gold of the dice has been lost." + + + +THEY limped painfully down the bank, and once the foremost of the +two men staggered among the rough-strewn rocks. They were tired +and weak, and their faces had the drawn expression of patience +which comes of hardship long endured. They were heavily burdened +with blanket packs which were strapped to their shoulders. Head- +straps, passing across the forehead, helped support these packs. +Each man carried a rifle. They walked in a stooped posture, the +shoulders well forward, the head still farther forward, the eyes +bent upon the ground. + +"I wish we had just about two of them cartridges that's layin' in +that cache of ourn," said the second man. + +His voice was utterly and drearily expressionless. He spoke +without enthusiasm; and the first man, limping into the milky +stream that foamed over the rocks, vouchsafed no reply. + +The other man followed at his heels. They did not remove their +foot-gear, though the water was icy cold - so cold that their +ankles ached and their feet went numb. In places the water dashed +against their knees, and both men staggered for footing. + +The man who followed slipped on a smooth boulder, nearly fell, but +recovered himself with a violent effort, at the same time uttering +a sharp exclamation of pain. He seemed faint and dizzy and put out +his free hand while he reeled, as though seeking support against +the air. When he had steadied himself he stepped forward, but +reeled again and nearly fell. Then he stood still and looked at +the other man, who had never turned his head. + +The man stood still for fully a minute, as though debating with +himself. Then he called out: + +"I say, Bill, I've sprained my ankle." + +Bill staggered on through the milky water. He did not look around. +The man watched him go, and though his face was expressionless as +ever, his eyes were like the eyes of a wounded deer. + +The other man limped up the farther bank and continued straight on +without looking back. The man in the stream watched him. His lips +trembled a little, so that the rough thatch of brown hair which +covered them was visibly agitated. His tongue even strayed out to +moisten them. + +"Bill!" he cried out. + +It was the pleading cry of a strong man in distress, but Bill's +head did not turn. The man watched him go, limping grotesquely and +lurching forward with stammering gait up the slow slope toward the +soft sky-line of the low-lying hill. He watched him go till he +passed over the crest and disappeared. Then he turned his gaze and +slowly took in the circle of the world that remained to him now +that Bill was gone. + +Near the horizon the sun was smouldering dimly, almost obscured by +formless mists and vapors, which gave an impression of mass and +density without outline or tangibility. The man pulled out his +watch, the while resting his weight on one leg. It was four +o'clock, and as the season was near the last of July or first of +August, - he did not know the precise date within a week or two, - +he knew that the sun roughly marked the northwest. He looked to +the south and knew that somewhere beyond those bleak hills lay the +Great Bear Lake; also, he knew that in that direction the Arctic +Circle cut its forbidding way across the Canadian Barrens. This +stream in which he stood was a feeder to the Coppermine River, +which in turn flowed north and emptied into Coronation Gulf and the +Arctic Ocean. He had never been there, but he had seen it, once, +on a Hudson Bay Company chart. + +Again his gaze completed the circle of the world about him. It was +not a heartening spectacle. Everywhere was soft sky-line. The +hills were all low-lying. There were no trees, no shrubs, no +grasses - naught but a tremendous and terrible desolation that sent +fear swiftly dawning into his eyes. + +"Bill!" he whispered, once and twice; "Bill!" + +He cowered in the midst of the milky water, as though the vastness +were pressing in upon him with overwhelming force, brutally +crushing him with its complacent awfulness. He began to shake as +with an ague-fit, till the gun fell from his hand with a splash. +This served to rouse him. He fought with his fear and pulled +himself together, groping in the water and recovering the weapon. +He hitched his pack farther over on his left shoulder, so as to +take a portion of its weight from off the injured ankle. Then he +proceeded, slowly and carefully, wincing with pain, to the bank. + +He did not stop. With a desperation that was madness, unmindful of +the pain, he hurried up the slope to the crest of the hill over +which his comrade had disappeared - more grotesque and comical by +far than that limping, jerking comrade. But at the crest he saw a +shallow valley, empty of life. He fought with his fear again, +overcame it, hitched the pack still farther over on his left +shoulder, and lurched on down the slope. + +The bottom of the valley was soggy with water, which the thick moss +held, spongelike, close to the surface. This water squirted out +from under his feet at every step, and each time he lifted a foot +the action culminated in a sucking sound as the wet moss +reluctantly released its grip. He picked his way from muskeg to +muskeg, and followed the other man's footsteps along and across the +rocky ledges which thrust like islets through the sea of moss. + +Though alone, he was not lost. Farther on he knew he would come to +where dead spruce and fir, very small and weazened, bordered the +shore of a little lake, the TITCHIN-NICHILIE, in the tongue of the +country, the "land of little sticks." And into that lake flowed a +small stream, the water of which was not milky. There was rush- +grass on that stream - this he remembered well - but no timber, and +he would follow it till its first trickle ceased at a divide. He +would cross this divide to the first trickle of another stream, +flowing to the west, which he would follow until it emptied into +the river Dease, and here he would find a cache under an upturned +canoe and piled over with many rocks. And in this cache would be +ammunition for his empty gun, fish-hooks and lines, a small net - +all the utilities for the killing and snaring of food. Also, he +would find flour, - not much, - a piece of bacon, and some beans. + +Bill would be waiting for him there, and they would paddle away +south down the Dease to the Great Bear Lake. And south across the +lake they would go, ever south, till they gained the Mackenzie. +And south, still south, they would go, while the winter raced +vainly after them, and the ice formed in the eddies, and the days +grew chill and crisp, south to some warm Hudson Bay Company post, +where timber grew tall and generous and there was grub without end. + +These were the thoughts of the man as he strove onward. But hard +as he strove with his body, he strove equally hard with his mind, +trying to think that Bill had not deserted him, that Bill would +surely wait for him at the cache. He was compelled to think this +thought, or else there would not be any use to strive, and he would +have lain down and died. And as the dim ball of the sun sank +slowly into the northwest he covered every inch - and many times - +of his and Bill's flight south before the downcoming winter. And +he conned the grub of the cache and the grub of the Hudson Bay +Company post over and over again. He had not eaten for two days; +for a far longer time he had not had all he wanted to eat. Often +he stooped and picked pale muskeg berries, put them into his mouth, +and chewed and swallowed them. A muskeg berry is a bit of seed +enclosed in a bit of water. In the mouth the water melts away and +the seed chews sharp and bitter. The man knew there was no +nourishment in the berries, but he chewed them patiently with a +hope greater than knowledge and defying experience. + +At nine o'clock he stubbed his toe on a rocky ledge, and from sheer +weariness and weakness staggered and fell. He lay for some time, +without movement, on his side. Then he slipped out of the pack- +straps and clumsily dragged himself into a sitting posture. It was +not yet dark, and in the lingering twilight he groped about among +the rocks for shreds of dry moss. When he had gathered a heap he +built a fire, - a smouldering, smudgy fire, - and put a tin pot of +water on to boil. + +He unwrapped his pack and the first thing he did was to count his +matches. There were sixty-seven. He counted them three times to +make sure. He divided them into several portions, wrapping them in +oil paper, disposing of one bunch in his empty tobacco pouch, of +another bunch in the inside band of his battered hat, of a third +bunch under his shirt on the chest. This accomplished, a panic +came upon him, and he unwrapped them all and counted them again. +There were still sixty-seven. + +He dried his wet foot-gear by the fire. The moccasins were in +soggy shreds. The blanket socks were worn through in places, and +his feet were raw and bleeding. His ankle was throbbing, and he +gave it an examination. It had swollen to the size of his knee. +He tore a long strip from one of his two blankets and bound the +ankle tightly. He tore other strips and bound them about his feet +to serve for both moccasins and socks. Then he drank the pot of +water, steaming hot, wound his watch, and crawled between his +blankets. + +He slept like a dead man. The brief darkness around midnight came +and went. The sun arose in the northeast - at least the day dawned +in that quarter, for the sun was hidden by gray clouds. + +At six o'clock he awoke, quietly lying on his back. He gazed +straight up into the gray sky and knew that he was hungry. As he +rolled over on his elbow he was startled by a loud snort, and saw a +bull caribou regarding him with alert curiosity. The animal was +not mere than fifty feet away, and instantly into the man's mind +leaped the vision and the savor of a caribou steak sizzling and +frying over a fire. Mechanically he reached for the empty gun, +drew a bead, and pulled the trigger. The bull snorted and leaped +away, his hoofs rattling and clattering as he fled across the +ledges. + +The man cursed and flung the empty gun from him. He groaned aloud +as he started to drag himself to his feet. It was a slow and +arduous task. + +His joints were like rusty hinges. They worked harshly in their +sockets, with much friction, and each bending or unbending was +accomplished only through a sheer exertion of will. When he +finally gained his feet, another minute or so was consumed in +straightening up, so that he could stand erect as a man should +stand. + +He crawled up a small knoll and surveyed the prospect. There were +no trees, no bushes, nothing but a gray sea of moss scarcely +diversified by gray rocks, gray lakelets, and gray streamlets. The +sky was gray. There was no sun nor hint of sun. He had no idea of +north, and he had forgotten the way he had come to this spot the +night before. But he was not lost. He knew that. Soon he would +come to the land of the little sticks. He felt that it lay off to +the left somewhere, not far - possibly just over the next low hill. + +He went back to put his pack into shape for travelling. He assured +himself of the existence of his three separate parcels of matches, +though he did not stop to count them. But he did linger, debating, +over a squat moose-hide sack. It was not large. He could hide it +under his two hands. He knew that it weighed fifteen pounds, - as +much as all the rest of the pack, - and it worried him. He finally +set it to one side and proceeded to roll the pack. He paused to +gaze at the squat moose-hide sack. He picked it up hastily with a +defiant glance about him, as though the desolation were trying to +rob him of it; and when he rose to his feet to stagger on into the +day, it was included in the pack on his back. + +He bore away to the left, stopping now and again to eat muskeg +berries. His ankle had stiffened, his limp was more pronounced, +but the pain of it was as nothing compared with the pain of his +stomach. The hunger pangs were sharp. They gnawed and gnawed +until he could not keep his mind steady on the course he must +pursue to gain the land of little sticks. The muskeg berries did +not allay this gnawing, while they made his tongue and the roof of +his mouth sore with their irritating bite. + +He came upon a valley where rock ptarmigan rose on whirring wings +from the ledges and muskegs. Ker - ker - ker was the cry they +made. He threw stones at them, but could not hit them. He placed +his pack on the ground and stalked them as a cat stalks a sparrow. +The sharp rocks cut through his pants' legs till his knees left a +trail of blood; but the hurt was lost in the hurt of his hunger. +He squirmed over the wet moss, saturating his clothes and chilling +his body; but he was not aware of it, so great was his fever for +food. And always the ptarmigan rose, whirring, before him, till +their ker - ker - ker became a mock to him, and he cursed them and +cried aloud at them with their own cry. + +Once he crawled upon one that must have been asleep. He did not +see it till it shot up in his face from its rocky nook. He made a +clutch as startled as was the rise of the ptarmigan, and there +remained in his hand three tail-feathers. As he watched its flight +he hated it, as though it had done him some terrible wrong. Then +he returned and shouldered his pack. + +As the day wore along he came into valleys or swales where game was +more plentiful. A band of caribou passed by, twenty and odd +animals, tantalizingly within rifle range. He felt a wild desire +to run after them, a certitude that he could run them down. A +black fox came toward him, carrying a ptarmigan in his mouth. The +man shouted. It was a fearful cry, but the fox, leaping away in +fright, did not drop the ptarmigan. + +Late in the afternoon he followed a stream, milky with lime, which +ran through sparse patches of rush-grass. Grasping these rushes +firmly near the root, he pulled up what resembled a young onion- +sprout no larger than a shingle-nail. It was tender, and his teeth +sank into it with a crunch that promised deliciously of food. But +its fibers were tough. It was composed of stringy filaments +saturated with water, like the berries, and devoid of nourishment. +He threw off his pack and went into the rush-grass on hands and +knees, crunching and munching, like some bovine creature. + +He was very weary and often wished to rest - to lie down and sleep; +but he was continually driven on - not so much by his desire to +gain the land of little sticks as by his hunger. He searched +little ponds for frogs and dug up the earth with his nails for +worms, though he knew in spite that neither frogs nor worms existed +so far north. + +He looked into every pool of water vainly, until, as the long +twilight came on, he discovered a solitary fish, the size of a +minnow, in such a pool. He plunged his arm in up to the shoulder, +but it eluded him. He reached for it with both hands and stirred +up the milky mud at the bottom. In his excitement he fell in, +wetting himself to the waist. Then the water was too muddy to +admit of his seeing the fish, and he was compelled to wait until +the sediment had settled. + +The pursuit was renewed, till the water was again muddied. But he +could not wait. He unstrapped the tin bucket and began to bale the +pool. He baled wildly at first, splashing himself and flinging the +water so short a distance that it ran back into the pool. He +worked more carefully, striving to be cool, though his heart was +pounding against his chest and his hands were trembling. At the +end of half an hour the pool was nearly dry. Not a cupful of water +remained. And there was no fish. He found a hidden crevice among +the stones through which it had escaped to the adjoining and larger +pool - a pool which he could not empty in a night and a day. Had +he known of the crevice, he could have closed it with a rock at the +beginning and the fish would have been his. + +Thus he thought, and crumpled up and sank down upon the wet earth. +At first he cried softly to himself, then he cried loudly to the +pitiless desolation that ringed him around; and for a long time +after he was shaken by great dry sobs. + +He built a fire and warmed himself by drinking quarts of hot water, +and made camp on a rocky ledge in the same fashion he had the night +before. The last thing he did was to see that his matches were dry +and to wind his watch. The blankets were wet and clammy. His +ankle pulsed with pain. But he knew only that he was hungry, and +through his restless sleep he dreamed of feasts and banquets and of +food served and spread in all imaginable ways. + +He awoke chilled and sick. There was no sun. The gray of earth +and sky had become deeper, more profound. A raw wind was blowing, +and the first flurries of snow were whitening the hilltops. The +air about him thickened and grew white while he made a fire and +boiled more water. It was wet snow, half rain, and the flakes were +large and soggy. At first they melted as soon as they came in +contact with the earth, but ever more fell, covering the ground, +putting out the fire, spoiling his supply of moss-fuel. + +This was a signal for him to strap on his pack and stumble onward, +he knew not where. He was not concerned with the land of little +sticks, nor with Bill and the cache under the upturned canoe by the +river Dease. He was mastered by the verb "to eat." He was hunger- +mad. He took no heed of the course he pursued, so long as that +course led him through the swale bottoms. He felt his way through +the wet snow to the watery muskeg berries, and went by feel as he +pulled up the rush-grass by the roots. But it was tasteless stuff +and did not satisfy. He found a weed that tasted sour and he ate +all he could find of it, which was not much, for it was a creeping +growth, easily hidden under the several inches of snow. + +He had no fire that night, nor hot water, and crawled under his +blanket to sleep the broken hunger-sleep. The snow turned into a +cold rain. He awakened many times to feel it falling on his +upturned face. Day came - a gray day and no sun. It had ceased +raining. The keenness of his hunger had departed. Sensibility, as +far as concerned the yearning for food, had been exhausted. There +was a dull, heavy ache in his stomach, but it did not bother him so +much. He was more rational, and once more he was chiefly +interested in the land of little sticks and the cache by the river +Dease. + +He ripped the remnant of one of his blankets into strips and bound +his bleeding feet. Also, he recinched the injured ankle and +prepared himself for a day of travel. When he came to his pack, he +paused long over the squat moose-hide sack, but in the end it went +with him. + +The snow had melted under the rain, and only the hilltops showed +white. The sun came out, and he succeeded in locating the points +of the compass, though he knew now that he was lost. Perhaps, in +his previous days' wanderings, he had edged away too far to the +left. He now bore off to the right to counteract the possible +deviation from his true course. + +Though the hunger pangs were no longer so exquisite, he realized +that he was weak. He was compelled to pause for frequent rests, +when he attacked the muskeg berries and rush-grass patches. His +tongue felt dry and large, as though covered with a fine hairy +growth, and it tasted bitter in his mouth. His heart gave him a +great deal of trouble. When he had travelled a few minutes it +would begin a remorseless thump, thump, thump, and then leap up and +away in a painful flutter of beats that choked him and made him go +faint and dizzy. + +In the middle of the day he found two minnows in a large pool. It +was impossible to bale it, but he was calmer now and managed to +catch them in his tin bucket. They were no longer than his little +finger, but he was not particularly hungry. The dull ache in his +stomach had been growing duller and fainter. It seemed almost that +his stomach was dozing. He ate the fish raw, masticating with +painstaking care, for the eating was an act of pure reason. While +he had no desire to eat, he knew that he must eat to live. + +In the evening he caught three more minnows, eating two and saving +the third for breakfast. The sun had dried stray shreds of moss, +and he was able to warm himself with hot water. He had not covered +more than ten miles that day; and the next day, travelling whenever +his heart permitted him, he covered no more than five miles. But +his stomach did not give him the slightest uneasiness. It had gone +to sleep. He was in a strange country, too, and the caribou were +growing more plentiful, also the wolves. Often their yelps drifted +across the desolation, and once he saw three of them slinking away +before his path. + +Another night; and in the morning, being more rational, he untied +the leather string that fastened the squat moose-hide sack. From +its open mouth poured a yellow stream of coarse gold-dust and +nuggets. He roughly divided the gold in halves, caching one half +on a prominent ledge, wrapped in a piece of blanket, and returning +the other half to the sack. He also began to use strips of the one +remaining blanket for his feet. He still clung to his gun, for +there were cartridges in that cache by the river Dease. + +This was a day of fog, and this day hunger awoke in him again. He +was very weak and was afflicted with a giddiness which at times +blinded him. It was no uncommon thing now for him to stumble and +fall; and stumbling once, he fell squarely into a ptarmigan nest. +There were four newly hatched chicks, a day old - little specks of +pulsating life no more than a mouthful; and he ate them ravenously, +thrusting them alive into his mouth and crunching them like egg- +shells between his teeth. The mother ptarmigan beat about him with +great outcry. He used his gun as a club with which to knock her +over, but she dodged out of reach. He threw stones at her and with +one chance shot broke a wing. Then she fluttered away, running, +trailing the broken wing, with him in pursuit. + +The little chicks had no more than whetted his appetite. He hopped +and bobbed clumsily along on his injured ankle, throwing stones and +screaming hoarsely at times; at other times hopping and bobbing +silently along, picking himself up grimly and patiently when he +fell, or rubbing his eyes with his hand when the giddiness +threatened to overpower him. + +The chase led him across swampy ground in the bottom of the valley, +and he came upon footprints in the soggy moss. They were not his +own - he could see that. They must be Bill's. But he could not +stop, for the mother ptarmigan was running on. He would catch her +first, then he would return and investigate. + +He exhausted the mother ptarmigan; but he exhausted himself. She +lay panting on her side. He lay panting on his side, a dozen feet +away, unable to crawl to her. And as he recovered she recovered, +fluttering out of reach as his hungry hand went out to her. The +chase was resumed. Night settled down and she escaped. He +stumbled from weakness and pitched head foremost on his face, +cutting his cheek, his pack upon his back. He did not move for a +long while; then he rolled over on his side, wound his watch, and +lay there until morning. + +Another day of fog. Half of his last blanket had gone into foot- +wrappings. He failed to pick up Bill's trail. It did not matter. +His hunger was driving him too compellingly - only - only he +wondered if Bill, too, were lost. By midday the irk of his pack +became too oppressive. Again he divided the gold, this time merely +spilling half of it on the ground. In the afternoon he threw the +rest of it away, there remaining to him only the half-blanket, the +tin bucket, and the rifle. + +An hallucination began to trouble him. He felt confident that one +cartridge remained to him. It was in the chamber of the rifle and +he had overlooked it. On the other hand, he knew all the time that +the chamber was empty. But the hallucination persisted. He fought +it off for hours, then threw his rifle open and was confronted with +emptiness. The disappointment was as bitter as though he had +really expected to find the cartridge. + +He plodded on for half an hour, when the hallucination arose again. +Again he fought it, and still it persisted, till for very relief he +opened his rifle to unconvince himself. At times his mind wandered +farther afield, and he plodded on, a mere automaton, strange +conceits and whimsicalities gnawing at his brain like worms. But +these excursions out of the real were of brief duration, for ever +the pangs of the hunger-bite called him back. He was jerked back +abruptly once from such an excursion by a sight that caused him +nearly to faint. He reeled and swayed, doddering like a drunken +man to keep from falling. Before him stood a horse. A horse! He +could not believe his eyes. A thick mist was in them, intershot +with sparkling points of light. He rubbed his eyes savagely to +clear his vision, and beheld, not a horse, but a great brown bear. +The animal was studying him with bellicose curiosity. + +The man had brought his gun halfway to his shoulder before he +realized. He lowered it and drew his hunting-knife from its beaded +sheath at his hip. Before him was meat and life. He ran his thumb +along the edge of his knife. It was sharp. The point was sharp. +He would fling himself upon the bear and kill it. But his heart +began its warning thump, thump, thump. Then followed the wild +upward leap and tattoo of flutters, the pressing as of an iron band +about his forehead, the creeping of the dizziness into his brain. + +His desperate courage was evicted by a great surge of fear. In his +weakness, what if the animal attacked him? He drew himself up to +his most imposing stature, gripping the knife and staring hard at +the bear. The bear advanced clumsily a couple of steps, reared up, +and gave vent to a tentative growl. If the man ran, he would run +after him; but the man did not run. He was animated now with the +courage of fear. He, too, growled, savagely, terribly, voicing the +fear that is to life germane and that lies twisted about life's +deepest roots. + +The bear edged away to one side, growling menacingly, himself +appalled by this mysterious creature that appeared upright and +unafraid. But the man did not move. He stood like a statue till +the danger was past, when he yielded to a fit of trembling and sank +down into the wet moss. + +He pulled himself together and went on, afraid now in a new way. +It was not the fear that he should die passively from lack of food, +but that he should be destroyed violently before starvation had +exhausted the last particle of the endeavor in him that made toward +surviving. There were the wolves. Back and forth across the +desolation drifted their howls, weaving the very air into a fabric +of menace that was so tangible that he found himself, arms in the +air, pressing it back from him as it might be the walls of a wind- +blown tent. + +Now and again the wolves, in packs of two and three, crossed his +path. But they sheered clear of him. They were not in sufficient +numbers, and besides they were hunting the caribou, which did not +battle, while this strange creature that walked erect might scratch +and bite. + +In the late afternoon he came upon scattered bones where the wolves +had made a kill. The debris had been a caribou calf an hour +before, squawking and running and very much alive. He contemplated +the bones, clean-picked and polished, pink with the cell-life in +them which had not yet died. Could it possibly be that he might be +that ere the day was done! Such was life, eh? A vain and fleeting +thing. It was only life that pained. There was no hurt in death. +To die was to sleep. It meant cessation, rest. Then why was he +not content to die? + +But he did not moralize long. He was squatting in the moss, a bone +in his mouth, sucking at the shreds of life that still dyed it +faintly pink. The sweet meaty taste, thin and elusive almost as a +memory, maddened him. He closed his jaws on the bones and +crunched. Sometimes it was the bone that broke, sometimes his +teeth. Then he crushed the bones between rocks, pounded them to a +pulp, and swallowed them. He pounded his fingers, too, in his +haste, and yet found a moment in which to feel surprise at the fact +that his fingers did not hurt much when caught under the descending +rock. + +Came frightful days of snow and rain. He did not know when he made +camp, when he broke camp. He travelled in the night as much as in +the day. He rested wherever he fell, crawled on whenever the dying +life in him flickered up and burned less dimly. He, as a man, no +longer strove. It was the life in him, unwilling to die, that +drove him on. He did not suffer. His nerves had become blunted, +numb, while his mind was filled with weird visions and delicious +dreams. + +But ever he sucked and chewed on the crushed bones of the caribou +calf, the least remnants of which he had gathered up and carried +with him. He crossed no more hills or divides, but automatically +followed a large stream which flowed through a wide and shallow +valley. He did not see this stream nor this valley. He saw +nothing save visions. Soul and body walked or crawled side by +side, yet apart, so slender was the thread that bound them. + +He awoke in his right mind, lying on his back on a rocky ledge. +The sun was shining bright and warm. Afar off he heard the +squawking of caribou calves. He was aware of vague memories of +rain and wind and snow, but whether he had been beaten by the storm +for two days or two weeks he did not know. + +For some time he lay without movement, the genial sunshine pouring +upon him and saturating his miserable body with its warmth. A fine +day, he thought. Perhaps he could manage to locate himself. By a +painful effort he rolled over on his side. Below him flowed a wide +and sluggish river. Its unfamiliarity puzzled him. Slowly he +followed it with his eyes, winding in wide sweeps among the bleak, +bare hills, bleaker and barer and lower-lying than any hills he had +yet encountered. Slowly, deliberately, without excitement or more +than the most casual interest, he followed the course of the +strange stream toward the sky-line and saw it emptying into a +bright and shining sea. He was still unexcited. Most unusual, he +thought, a vision or a mirage - more likely a vision, a trick of +his disordered mind. He was confirmed in this by sight of a ship +lying at anchor in the midst of the shining sea. He closed his +eyes for a while, then opened them. Strange how the vision +persisted! Yet not strange. He knew there were no seas or ships +in the heart of the barren lands, just as he had known there was no +cartridge in the empty rifle. + +He heard a snuffle behind him - a half-choking gasp or cough. Very +slowly, because of his exceeding weakness and stiffness, he rolled +over on his other side. He could see nothing near at hand, but he +waited patiently. Again came the snuffle and cough, and outlined +between two jagged rocks not a score of feet away he made out the +gray head of a wolf. The sharp ears were not pricked so sharply as +he had seen them on other wolves; the eyes were bleared and +bloodshot, the head seemed to droop limply and forlornly. The +animal blinked continually in the sunshine. It seemed sick. As he +looked it snuffled and coughed again. + +This, at least, was real, he thought, and turned on the other side +so that he might see the reality of the world which had been veiled +from him before by the vision. But the sea still shone in the +distance and the ship was plainly discernible. Was it reality, +after all? He closed his eyes for a long while and thought, and +then it came to him. He had been making north by east, away from +the Dease Divide and into the Coppermine Valley. This wide and +sluggish river was the Coppermine. That shining sea was the Arctic +Ocean. That ship was a whaler, strayed east, far east, from the +mouth of the Mackenzie, and it was lying at anchor in Coronation +Gulf. He remembered the Hudson Bay Company chart he had seen long +ago, and it was all clear and reasonable to him. + +He sat up and turned his attention to immediate affairs. He had +worn through the blanket-wrappings, and his feet were shapeless +lumps of raw meat. His last blanket was gone. Rifle and knife +were both missing. He had lost his hat somewhere, with the bunch +of matches in the band, but the matches against his chest were safe +and dry inside the tobacco pouch and oil paper. He looked at his +watch. It marked eleven o'clock and was still running. Evidently +he had kept it wound. + +He was calm and collected. Though extremely weak, he had no +sensation of pain. He was not hungry. The thought of food was not +even pleasant to him, and whatever he did was done by his reason +alone. He ripped off his pants' legs to the knees and bound them +about his feet. Somehow he had succeeded in retaining the tin +bucket. He would have some hot water before he began what he +foresaw was to be a terrible journey to the ship. + +His movements were slow. He shook as with a palsy. When he +started to collect dry moss, he found he could not rise to his +feet. He tried again and again, then contented himself with +crawling about on hands and knees. Once he crawled near to the +sick wolf. The animal dragged itself reluctantly out of his way, +licking its chops with a tongue which seemed hardly to have the +strength to curl. The man noticed that the tongue was not the +customary healthy red. It was a yellowish brown and seemed coated +with a rough and half-dry mucus. + +After he had drunk a quart of hot water the man found he was able +to stand, and even to walk as well as a dying man might be supposed +to walk. Every minute or so he was compelled to rest. His steps +were feeble and uncertain, just as the wolf's that trailed him were +feeble and uncertain; and that night, when the shining sea was +blotted out by blackness, he knew he was nearer to it by no more +than four miles. + +Throughout the night he heard the cough of the sick wolf, and now +and then the squawking of the caribou calves. There was life all +around him, but it was strong life, very much alive and well, and +he knew the sick wolf clung to the sick man's trail in the hope +that the man would die first. In the morning, on opening his eyes, +he beheld it regarding him with a wistful and hungry stare. It +stood crouched, with tail between its legs, like a miserable and +woe-begone dog. It shivered in the chill morning wind, and grinned +dispiritedly when the man spoke to it in a voice that achieved no +more than a hoarse whisper. + +The sun rose brightly, and all morning the man tottered and fell +toward the ship on the shining sea. The weather was perfect. It +was the brief Indian Summer of the high latitudes. It might last a +week. To-morrow or next day it might he gone. + +In the afternoon the man came upon a trail. It was of another man, +who did not walk, but who dragged himself on all fours. The man +thought it might be Bill, but he thought in a dull, uninterested +way. He had no curiosity. In fact, sensation and emotion had left +him. He was no longer susceptible to pain. Stomach and nerves had +gone to sleep. Yet the life that was in him drove him on. He was +very weary, but it refused to die. It was because it refused to +die that he still ate muskeg berries and minnows, drank his hot +water, and kept a wary eye on the sick wolf. + +He followed the trail of the other man who dragged himself along, +and soon came to the end of it - a few fresh-picked bones where the +soggy moss was marked by the foot-pads of many wolves. He saw a +squat moose-hide sack, mate to his own, which had been torn by +sharp teeth. He picked it up, though its weight was almost too +much for his feeble fingers. Bill had carried it to the last. Ha! +ha! He would have the laugh on Bill. He would survive and carry +it to the ship in the shining sea. His mirth was hoarse and +ghastly, like a raven's croak, and the sick wolf joined him, +howling lugubriously. The man ceased suddenly. How could he have +the laugh on Bill if that were Bill; if those bones, so pinky-white +and clean, were Bill? + +He turned away. Well, Bill had deserted him; but he would not take +the gold, nor would he suck Bill's bones. Bill would have, though, +had it been the other way around, he mused as he staggered on. + +He came to a pool of water. Stooping over in quest of minnows, he +jerked his head back as though he had been stung. He had caught +sight of his reflected face. So horrible was it that sensibility +awoke long enough to be shocked. There were three minnows in the +pool, which was too large to drain; and after several ineffectual +attempts to catch them in the tin bucket he forbore. He was +afraid, because of his great weakness, that he might fall in and +drown. It was for this reason that he did not trust himself to the +river astride one of the many drift-logs which lined its sand- +spits. + +That day he decreased the distance between him and the ship by +three miles; the next day by two - for he was crawling now as Bill +had crawled; and the end of the fifth day found the ship still +seven miles away and him unable to make even a mile a day. Still +the Indian Summer held on, and he continued to crawl and faint, +turn and turn about; and ever the sick wolf coughed and wheezed at +his heels. His knees had become raw meat like his feet, and though +he padded them with the shirt from his back it was a red track he +left behind him on the moss and stones. Once, glancing back, he +saw the wolf licking hungrily his bleeding trail, and he saw +sharply what his own end might be - unless - unless he could get +the wolf. Then began as grim a tragedy of existence as was ever +played - a sick man that crawled, a sick wolf that limped, two +creatures dragging their dying carcasses across the desolation and +hunting each other's lives. + +Had it been a well wolf, it would not have mattered so much to the +man; but the thought of going to feed the maw of that loathsome and +all but dead thing was repugnant to him. He was finicky. His mind +had begun to wander again, and to be perplexed by hallucinations, +while his lucid intervals grew rarer and shorter. + +He was awakened once from a faint by a wheeze close in his ear. +The wolf leaped lamely back, losing its footing and falling in its +weakness. It was ludicrous, but he was not amused. Nor was he +even afraid. He was too far gone for that. But his mind was for +the moment clear, and he lay and considered. The ship was no more +than four miles away. He could see it quite distinctly when he +rubbed the mists out of his eyes, and he could see the white sail +of a small boat cutting the water of the shining sea. But he could +never crawl those four miles. He knew that, and was very calm in +the knowledge. He knew that he could not crawl half a mile. And +yet he wanted to live. It was unreasonable that he should die +after all he had undergone. Fate asked too much of him. And, +dying, he declined to die. It was stark madness, perhaps, but in +the very grip of Death he defied Death and refused to die. + +He closed his eyes and composed himself with infinite precaution. +He steeled himself to keep above the suffocating languor that +lapped like a rising tide through all the wells of his being. It +was very like a sea, this deadly languor, that rose and rose and +drowned his consciousness bit by bit. Sometimes he was all but +submerged, swimming through oblivion with a faltering stroke; and +again, by some strange alchemy of soul, he would find another shred +of will and strike out more strongly. + +Without movement he lay on his back, and he could hear, slowly +drawing near and nearer, the wheezing intake and output of the sick +wolf's breath. It drew closer, ever closer, through an infinitude +of time, and he did not move. It was at his ear. The harsh dry +tongue grated like sandpaper against his cheek. His hands shot out +- or at least he willed them to shoot out. The fingers were curved +like talons, but they closed on empty air. Swiftness and certitude +require strength, and the man had not this strength. + +The patience of the wolf was terrible. The man's patience was no +less terrible. For half a day he lay motionless, fighting off +unconsciousness and waiting for the thing that was to feed upon him +and upon which he wished to feed. Sometimes the languid sea rose +over him and he dreamed long dreams; but ever through it all, +waking and dreaming, he waited for the wheezing breath and the +harsh caress of the tongue. + +He did not hear the breath, and he slipped slowly from some dream +to the feel of the tongue along his hand. He waited. The fangs +pressed softly; the pressure increased; the wolf was exerting its +last strength in an effort to sink teeth in the food for which it +had waited so long. But the man had waited long, and the lacerated +hand closed on the jaw. Slowly, while the wolf struggled feebly +and the hand clutched feebly, the other hand crept across to a +grip. Five minutes later the whole weight of the man's body was on +top of the wolf. The hands had not sufficient strength to choke +the wolf, but the face of the man was pressed close to the throat +of the wolf and the mouth of the man was full of hair. At the end +of half an hour the man was aware of a warm trickle in his throat. +It was not pleasant. It was like molten lead being forced into his +stomach, and it was forced by his will alone. Later the man rolled +over on his back and slept. + + +There were some members of a scientific expedition on the whale- +ship BEDFORD. From the deck they remarked a strange object on the +shore. It was moving down the beach toward the water. They were +unable to classify it, and, being scientific men, they climbed into +the whale-boat alongside and went ashore to see. And they saw +something that was alive but which could hardly be called a man. +It was blind, unconscious. It squirmed along the ground like some +monstrous worm. Most of its efforts were ineffectual, but it was +persistent, and it writhed and twisted and went ahead perhaps a +score of feet an hour. + + +Three weeks afterward the man lay in a bunk on the whale-ship +BEDFORD, and with tears streaming down his wasted cheeks told who +he was and what he had undergone. He also babbled incoherently of +his mother, of sunny Southern California, and a home among the +orange groves and flowers. + +The days were not many after that when he sat at table with the +scientific men and ship's officers. He gloated over the spectacle +of so much food, watching it anxiously as it went into the mouths +of others. With the disappearance of each mouthful an expression +of deep regret came into his eyes. He was quite sane, yet he hated +those men at mealtime. He was haunted by a fear that the food +would not last. He inquired of the cook, the cabin-boy, the +captain, concerning the food stores. They reassured him countless +times; but he could not believe them, and pried cunningly about the +lazarette to see with his own eyes. + + It was noticed that the man was getting fat. He grew stouter with +each day. The scientific men shook their heads and theorized. +They limited the man at his meals, but still his girth increased +and he swelled prodigiously under his shirt. + +The sailors grinned. They knew. And when the scientific men set a +watch on the man, they knew too. They saw him slouch for'ard after +breakfast, and, like a mendicant, with outstretched palm, accost a +sailor. The sailor grinned and passed him a fragment of sea +biscuit. He clutched it avariciously, looked at it as a miser +looks at gold, and thrust it into his shirt bosom. Similar were +the donations from other grinning sailors. + +The scientific men were discreet. They let him alone. But they +privily examined his bunk. It was lined with hardtack; the +mattress was stuffed with hardtack; every nook and cranny was +filled with hardtack. Yet he was sane. He was taking precautions +against another possible famine - that was all. He would recover +from it, the scientific men said; and he did, ere the BEDFORD'S +anchor rumbled down in San Francisco Bay. + + + +A DAY'S LODGING + + + +It was the gosh-dangdest stampede I ever seen. A thousand dog- +teams hittin' the ice. You couldn't see 'm fer smoke. Two white +men an' a Swede froze to death that night, an' there was a dozen +busted their lungs. But didn't I see with my own eyes the bottom +of the water-hole? It was yellow with gold like a mustard-plaster. +That's why I staked the Yukon for a minin' claim. That's what made +the stampede. An' then there was nothin' to it. That's what I +said - NOTHIN' to it. An' I ain't got over guessin' yet. - +NARRATIVE OF SHORTY. + + +JOHN MESSNER clung with mittened hand to the bucking gee-pole and +held the sled in the trail. With the other mittened hand he rubbed +his cheeks and nose. He rubbed his cheeks and nose every little +while. In point of fact, he rarely ceased from rubbing them, and +sometimes, as their numbness increased, he rubbed fiercely. His +forehead was covered by the visor of his fur cap, the flaps of +which went over his ears. The rest of his face was protected by a +thick beard, golden-brown under its coating of frost. + +Behind him churned a heavily loaded Yukon sled, and before him +toiled a string of five dogs. The rope by which they dragged the +sled rubbed against the side of Messner's leg. When the dogs swung +on a bend in the trail, he stepped over the rope. There were many +bends, and he was compelled to step over it often. Sometimes he +tripped on the rope, or stumbled, and at all times he was awkward, +betraying a weariness so great that the sled now and again ran upon +his heels. + +When he came to a straight piece of trail, where the sled could get +along for a moment without guidance, he let go the gee-pole and +batted his right hand sharply upon the hard wood. He found it +difficult to keep up the circulation in that hand. But while he +pounded the one hand, he never ceased from rubbing his nose and +cheeks with the other. + +"It's too cold to travel, anyway," he said. He spoke aloud, after +the manner of men who are much by themselves. "Only a fool would +travel at such a temperature. If it isn't eighty below, it's +because it's seventy-nine." + +He pulled out his watch, and after some fumbling got it back into +the breast pocket of his thick woollen jacket. Then he surveyed +the heavens and ran his eye along the white sky-line to the south. + +"Twelve o'clock," he mumbled, "A clear sky, and no sun." + +He plodded on silently for ten minutes, and then, as though there +had been no lapse in his speech, he added: + +"And no ground covered, and it's too cold to travel." + +Suddenly he yelled "Whoa!" at the dogs, and stopped. He seemed in +a wild panic over his right hand, and proceeded to hammer it +furiously against the gee-pole. + +"You - poor - devils!" he addressed the dogs, which had dropped +down heavily on the ice to rest. His was a broken, jerky +utterance, caused by the violence with which he hammered his numb +hand upon the wood. "What have you done anyway that a two-legged +other animal should come along, break you to harness, curb all your +natural proclivities, and make slave-beasts out of you?" + +He rubbed his nose, not reflectively, but savagely, in order to +drive the blood into it, and urged the dogs to their work again. +He travelled on the frozen surface of a great river. Behind him it +stretched away in a mighty curve of many miles, losing itself in a +fantastic jumble of mountains, snow-covered and silent. Ahead of +him the river split into many channels to accommodate the freight +of islands it carried on its breast. These islands were silent and +white. No animals nor humming insects broke the silence. No birds +flew in the chill air. There was no sound of man, no mark of the +handiwork of man. The world slept, and it was like the sleep of +death. + +John Messner seemed succumbing to the apathy of it all. The frost +was benumbing his spirit. He plodded on with bowed head, +unobservant, mechanically rubbing nose and cheeks, and batting his +steering hand against the gee-pole in the straight trail-stretches. + +But the dogs were observant, and suddenly they stopped, turning +their heads and looking back at their master out of eyes that were +wistful and questioning. Their eyelashes were frosted white, as +were their muzzles, and they had all the seeming of decrepit old +age, what of the frost-rime and exhaustion. + +The man was about to urge them on, when he checked himself, roused +up with an effort, and looked around. The dogs had stopped beside +a water-hole, not a fissure, but a hole man-made, chopped +laboriously with an axe through three and a half feet of ice. A +thick skin of new ice showed that it had not been used for some +time. Messner glanced about him. The dogs were already pointing +the way, each wistful and hoary muzzle turned toward the dim snow- +path that left the main river trail and climbed the bank of the +island. + +"All right, you sore-footed brutes," he said. "I'll investigate. +You're not a bit more anxious to quit than I am." + +He climbed the bank and disappeared. The dogs did not lie down, +but on their feet eagerly waited his return. He came back to them, +took a hauling-rope from the front of the sled, and put it around +his shoulders. Then he GEE'D the dogs to the right and put them at +the bank on the run. It was a stiff pull, but their weariness fell +from them as they crouched low to the snow, whining with eagerness +and gladness as they struggled upward to the last ounce of effort +in their bodies. When a dog slipped or faltered, the one behind +nipped his hind quarters. The man shouted encouragement and +threats, and threw all his weight on the hauling-rope. + +They cleared the bank with a rush, swung to the left, and dashed up +to a small log cabin. It was a deserted cabin of a single room, +eight feet by ten on the inside. Messner unharnessed the animals, +unloaded his sled and took possession. The last chance wayfarer +had left a supply of firewood. Messner set up his light sheet-iron +stove and starred a fire. He put five sun-cured salmon into the +oven to thaw out for the dogs, and from the water-hole filled his +coffee-pot and cooking-pail. + +While waiting for the water to boil, he held his face over the +stove. The moisture from his breath had collected on his beard and +frozen into a great mass of ice, and this he proceeded to thaw out. +As it melted and dropped upon the stove it sizzled and rose about +him in steam. He helped the process with his fingers, working +loose small ice-chunks that fell rattling to the floor. + +A wild outcry from the dogs without did not take him from his task. +He heard the wolfish snarling and yelping of strange dogs and the +sound of voices. A knock came on the door. + + "Come in," Messner called, in a voice muffled because at the +moment he was sucking loose a fragment of ice from its anchorage on +his upper lip. + +The door opened, and, gazing out of his cloud of steam, he saw a +man and a woman pausing on the threshold. + +"Come in," he said peremptorily, "and shut the door!" + +Peering through the steam, he could make out but little of their +personal appearance. The nose and cheek strap worn by the woman +and the trail-wrappings about her head allowed only a pair of black +eyes to be seen. The man was dark-eyed and smooth-shaven all +except his mustache, which was so iced up as to hide his mouth. + +"We just wanted to know if there is any other cabin around here," +he said, at the same time glancing over the unfurnished state of +the room. "We thought this cabin was empty." + +"It isn't my cabin," Messner answered. "I just found it a few +minutes ago. Come right in and camp. Plenty of room, and you +won't need your stove. There's room for all." + +At the sound of his voice the woman peered at him with quick +curiousness. + +"Get your things off," her companion said to her. "I'll unhitch +and get the water so we can start cooking." + +Messner took the thawed salmon outside and fed his dogs. He had to +guard them against the second team of dogs, and when he had +re‰ntered the cabin the other man had unpacked the sled and fetched +water. Messner's pot was boiling. He threw in the coffee, settled +it with half a cup of cold water, and took the pot from the stove. +He thawed some sour-dough biscuits in the oven, at the same time +heating a pot of beans he had boiled the night before and that had +ridden frozen on the sled all morning. + +Removing his utensils from the stove, so as to give the newcomers a +chance to cook, he proceeded to take his meal from the top of his +grub-box, himself sitting on his bed-roll. Between mouthfuls he +talked trail and dogs with the man, who, with head over the stove, +was thawing the ice from his mustache. There were two bunks in the +cabin, and into one of them, when he had cleared his lip, the +stranger tossed his bed-roll. + +"We'll sleep here," he said, "unless you prefer this bunk. You're +the first comer and you have first choice, you know." + +"That's all right," Messner answered. "One bunk's just as good as +the other." + +He spread his own bedding in the second bunk, and sat down on the +edge. The stranger thrust a physician's small travelling case +under his blankets at one end to serve for a pillow. + +"Doctor?" Messner asked. + +"Yes," came the answer, "but I assure you I didn't come into the +Klondike to practise." + +The woman busied herself with cooking, while the man sliced bacon +and fired the stove. The light in the cabin was dim, filtering +through in a small window made of onion-skin writing paper and +oiled with bacon grease, so that John Messner could not make out +very well what the woman looked like. Not that he tried. He +seemed to have no interest in her. But she glanced curiously from +time to time into the dark corner where he sat. + +"Oh, it's a great life," the doctor proclaimed enthusiastically, +pausing from sharpening his knife on the stovepipe. "What I like +about it is the struggle, the endeavor with one's own hands, the +primitiveness of it, the realness." + +"The temperature is real enough," Messner laughed. + +"Do you know how cold it actually is?" the doctor demanded. + +The other shook his head. + +"Well, I'll tell you. Seventy-four below zero by spirit +thermometer on the sled." + +"That's one hundred and six below freezing point - too cold for +travelling, eh?" + +"Practically suicide," was the doctor's verdict. "One exerts +himself. He breathes heavily, taking into his lungs the frost +itself. It chills his lungs, freezes the edges of the tissues. He +gets a dry, hacking cough as the dead tissue sloughs away, and dies +the following summer of pneumonia, wondering what it's all about. +I'll stay in this cabin for a week, unless the thermometer rises at +least to fifty below." + +"I say, Tess," he said, the next moment, "don't you think that +coffee's boiled long enough!" + +At the sound of the woman's name, John Messner became suddenly +alert. He looked at her quickly, while across his face shot a +haunting expression, the ghost of some buried misery achieving +swift resurrection. But the next moment, and by an effort of will, +the ghost was laid again. His face was as placid as before, though +he was still alert, dissatisfied with what the feeble light had +shown him of the woman's face. + +Automatically, her first act had been to set the coffee-pot back. +It was not until she had done this that she glanced at Messner. +But already he had composed himself. She saw only a man sitting on +the edge of the bunk and incuriously studying the toes of his +moccasins. But, as she turned casually to go about her cooking, he +shot another swift look at her, and she, glancing as swiftly back, +caught his look. He shifted on past her to the doctor, though the +slightest smile curled his lip in appreciation of the way she had +trapped him. + +She drew a candle from the grub-box and lighted it. One look at +her illuminated face was enough for Messner. In the small cabin +the widest limit was only a matter of several steps, and the next +moment she was alongside of him. She deliberately held the candle +close to his face and stared at him out of eyes wide with fear and +recognition. He smiled quietly back at her. + +"What are you looking for, Tess?" the doctor called. + +"Hairpins," she replied, passing on and rummaging in a clothes-bag +on the bunk. + +They served their meal on their grub-box, sitting on Messner's +grub-box and facing him. He had stretched out on his bunk to rest, +lying on his side, his head on his arm. In the close quarters it +was as though the three were together at table. + +"What part of the States do you come from?" Messner asked. + +"San Francisco," answered the doctor. "I've been in here two +years, though." + +"I hail from California myself," was Messner's announcement. + +The woman looked at him appealingly, but he smiled and went on: + +"Berkeley, you know." + +The other man was becoming interested. + +"U. C.?" he asked. + +"Yes, Class of '86." + +"I meant faculty," the doctor explained. "You remind me of the +type." + +"Sorry to hear you say so," Messner smiled back. "I'd prefer being +taken for a prospector or a dog-musher." + +"I don't think he looks any more like a professor than you do a +doctor," the woman broke in. + +"Thank you," said Messner. Then, turning to her companion, "By the +way, Doctor, what is your name, if I may ask?" + +"Haythorne, if you'll take my word for it. I gave up cards with +civilization." + +"And Mrs. Haythorne," Messner smiled and bowed. + +She flashed a look at him that was more anger than appeal. + +Haythorne was about to ask the other's name. His mouth had opened +to form the question when Messner cut him off. + +"Come to think of it, Doctor, you may possibly be able to satisfy +my curiosity. There was a sort of scandal in faculty circles some +two or three years ago. The wife of one of the English professors +- er, if you will pardon me, Mrs. Haythorne - disappeared with some +San Francisco doctor, I understood, though his name does not just +now come to my lips. Do you remember the incident?" + +Haythorne nodded his head. "Made quite a stir at the time. His +name was Womble - Graham Womble. He had a magnificent practice. I +knew him somewhat." + +"Well, what I was trying to get at was what had become of them. I +was wondering if you had heard. They left no trace, hide nor +hair." + +"He covered his tracks cunningly." Haythorne cleared his throat. +"There was rumor that they went to the South Seas - were lost on a +trading schooner in a typhoon, or something like that." + +"I never heard that," Messner said. "You remember the case, Mrs. +Haythorne?" + +"Perfectly," she answered, in a voice the control of which was in +amazing contrast to the anger that blazed in the face she turned +aside so that Haythorne might not see. + +The latter was again on the verge of asking his name, when Messner +remarked: + +"This Dr. Womble, I've heard he was very handsome, and - er - quite +a success, so to say, with the ladies." + +"Well, if he was, he finished himself off by that affair," +Haythorne grumbled. + +"And the woman was a termagant - at least so I've been told. It +was generally accepted in Berkeley that she made life - er - not +exactly paradise for her husband." + +"I never heard that," Haythorne rejoined. "In San Francisco the +talk was all the other way." + +"Woman sort of a martyr, eh? - crucified on the cross of +matrimony?" + +The doctor nodded. Messner's gray eyes were mildly curious as he +went on: + +"That was to be expected - two sides to the shield. Living in +Berkeley I only got the one side. She was a great deal in San +Francisco, it seems." + +"Some coffee, please," Haythorne said. + +The woman refilled his mug, at the same time breaking into light +laughter. + +"You're gossiping like a pair of beldames," she chided them. + +"It's so interesting," Messner smiled at her, then returned to the +doctor. "The husband seems then to have had a not very savory +reputation in San Francisco?" + +"On the contrary, he was a moral prig," Haythorne blurted out, with +apparently undue warmth. "He was a little scholastic shrimp +without a drop of red blood in his body." + +"Did you know him?" + +"Never laid eyes on him. I never knocked about in university +circles." + +"One side of the shield again," Messner said, with an air of +weighing the matter judicially. While he did not amount to much, +it is true - that is, physically - I'd hardly say he was as bad as +all that. He did take an active interest in student athletics. +And he had some talent. He once wrote a Nativity play that brought +him quite a bit of local appreciation. I have heard, also, that he +was slated for the head of the English department, only the affair +happened and he resigned and went away. It quite broke his career, +or so it seemed. At any rate, on our side the shield, it was +considered a knock-out blow to him. It was thought he cared a +great deal for his wife." + +Haythorne, finishing his mug of coffee, grunted uninterestedly and +lighted his pipe. + +"It was fortunate they had no children," Messner continued. + +But Haythorne, with a glance at the stove, pulled on his cap and +mittens. + +"I'm going out to get some wood," he said. "Then I can take off my +moccasins and he comfortable." + +The door slammed behind him. For a long minute there was silence. +The man continued in the same position on the bed. The woman sat +on the grub-box, facing him. + +"What are you going to do?" she asked abruptly. + +Messner looked at her with lazy indecision. "What do you think I +ought to do? Nothing scenic, I hope. You see I am stiff and +trail-sore, and this bunk is so restful." + +She gnawed her lower lip and fumed dumbly. + +"But - " she began vehemently, then clenched her hands and stopped. + +"I hope you don't want me to kill Mr. -er - Haythorne," he said +gently, almost pleadingly. "It would be most distressing, and, I +assure you, really it is unnecessary." + +"But you must do something," she cried. + +"On the contrary, it is quite conceivable that I do not have to do +anything." + +"You would stay here?" + +He nodded. + +She glanced desperately around the cabin and at the bed unrolled on +the other bunk. "Night is coming on. You can't stop here. You +can't! I tell you, you simply can't!" + +"Of course I can. I might remind you that I found this cabin first +and that you are my guests." + +Again her eyes travelled around the room, and the terror in them +leaped up at sight of the other bunk. + +"Then we'll have to go," she announced decisively. + +"Impossible. You have a dry, hacking cough - the sort Mr. - er - +Haythorne so aptly described. You've already slightly chilled your +lungs. Besides, he is a physician and knows. He would never +permit it." + +"Then what are you going to do?" she demanded again, with a tense, +quiet utterance that boded an outbreak. + +Messner regarded her in a way that was almost paternal, what of the +profundity of pity and patience with which he contrived to suffuse +it. + +"My dear Theresa, as I told you before, I don't know. I really +haven't thought about it." + +"Oh! You drive me mad!" She sprang to her feet, wringing her +hands in impotent wrath. "You never used to be this way." + +"I used to be all softness and gentleness," he nodded concurrence. +"Was that why you left me?" + +"You are so different, so dreadfully calm. You frighten me. I +feel you have something terrible planned all the while. But +whatever you do, don't do anything rash. Don't get excited - " + +"I don't get excited any more," he interrupted. "Not since you +went away." + +"You have improved - remarkably," she retorted. + +He smiled acknowledgment. "While I am thinking about what I shall +do, I'll tell you what you will have to do - tell Mr. - er - +Haythorne who I am. It may make our stay in this cabin more - may +I say, sociable?" + +"Why have you followed me into this frightful country?" she asked +irrelevantly. + +"Don't think I came here looking for you, Theresa. Your vanity +shall not be tickled by any such misapprehension. Our meeting is +wholly fortuitous. I broke with the life academic and I had to go +somewhere. To be honest, I came into the Klondike because I +thought it the place you were least liable to be in." + +There was a fumbling at the latch, then the door swung in and +Haythorne entered with an armful of firewood. At the first +warning, Theresa began casually to clear away the dishes. +Haythorne went out again after more wood. + +"Why didn't you introduce us?" Messner queried. + +"I'll tell him," she replied, with a toss of her head. "Don't +think I'm afraid." + +"I never knew you to be afraid, very much, of anything." + +"And I'm not afraid of confession, either," she said, with +softening face and voice. + +"In your case, I fear, confession is exploitation by indirection, +profit-making by ruse, self-aggrandizement at the expense of God." + +"Don't be literary," she pouted, with growing tenderness. "I never +did like epigrammatic discussion. Besides, I'm not afraid to ask +you to forgive me." + +"There is nothing to forgive, Theresa. I really should thank you. +True, at first I suffered; and then, with all the graciousness of +spring, it dawned upon me that I was happy, very happy. It was a +most amazing discovery." + +"But what if I should return to you?" she asked. + +"I should" (he looked at her whimsically), "be greatly perturbed." + +"I am your wife. You know you have never got a divorce." + +"I see," he meditated. "I have been careless. It will be one of +the first things I attend to." + +She came over to his side, resting her hand on his arm. "You don't +want me, John?" Her voice was soft and caressing, her hand rested +like a lure. "If I told you I had made a mistake? If I told you +that I was very unhappy? - and I am. And I did make a mistake." + +Fear began to grow on Messner. He felt himself wilting under the +lightly laid hand. The situation was slipping away from him, all +his beautiful calmness was going. She looked at him with melting +eyes, and he, too, seemed all dew and melting. He felt himself on +the edge of an abyss, powerless to withstand the force that was +drawing him over. + +"I am coming back to you, John. I am coming back to-day . . . +now." + +As in a nightmare, he strove under the hand. While she talked, he +seemed to hear, rippling softly, the song of the Lorelei. It was +as though, somewhere, a piano were playing and the actual notes +were impinging on his ear-drums. + +Suddenly he sprang to his feet, thrust her from him as her arms +attempted to clasp him, and retreated backward to the door. He was +in a panic. + +"I'll do something desperate!" he cried. + +"I warned you not to get excited." She laughed mockingly, and went +about washing the dishes. "Nobody wants you. I was just playing +with you. I am happier where I am." + +But Messner did not believe. He remembered her facility in +changing front. She had changed front now. It was exploitation by +indirection. She was not happy with the other man. She had +discovered her mistake. The flame of his ego flared up at the +thought. She wanted to come back to him, which was the one thing +he did not want. Unwittingly, his hand rattled the door-latch. + +"Don't run away," she laughed. "I won't bite you." + +"I am not running away," he replied with child-like defiance, at +the same time pulling on his mittens. "I'm only going to get some +water." + +He gathered the empty pails and cooking pots together and opened +the door. He looked back at her. + +"Don't forget you're to tell Mr. - er - Haythorne who I am." + +Messner broke the skin that had formed on the water-hole within the +hour, and filled his pails. But he did not return immediately to +the cabin. Leaving the pails standing in the trail, he walked up +and down, rapidly, to keep from freezing, for the frost bit into +the flesh like fire. His beard was white with his frozen breath +when the perplexed and frowning brows relaxed and decision came +into his face. He had made up his mind to his course of action, +and his frigid lips and cheeks crackled into a chuckle over it. +The pails were already skinned over with young ice when he picked +them up and made for the cabin. + +When he entered he found the other man waiting, standing near the +stove, a certain stiff awkwardness and indecision in his manner. +Messner set down his water-pails. + +"Glad to meet you, Graham Womble," he said in conventional tones, +as though acknowledging an introduction. + +Messner did not offer his hand. Womble stirred uneasily, feeling +for the other the hatred one is prone to feel for one he has +wronged. + +"And so you're the chap," Messner said in marvelling accents. +"Well, well. You see, I really am glad to meet you. I have been - +er - curious to know what Theresa found in you - where, I may say, +the attraction lay. Well, well." + +And he looked the other up and down as a man would look a horse up +and down. + +"I know how you must feel about me," Womble began. + +"Don't mention it," Messner broke in with exaggerated cordiality of +voice and manner. "Never mind that. What I want to know is how do +you find her? Up to expectations? Has she worn well? Life been +all a happy dream ever since?" + +"Don't be silly," Theresa interjected. + +"I can't help being natural," Messner complained. + +"You can be expedient at the same time, and practical," Womble said +sharply. "What we want to know is what are you going to do?" + +Messner made a well-feigned gesture of helplessness. "I really +don't know. It is one of those impossible situations against which +there can be no provision." + +"All three of us cannot remain the night in this cabin." + +Messner nodded affirmation. + +"Then somebody must get out." + +"That also is incontrovertible," Messner agreed. "When three +bodies cannot occupy the same space at the same time, one must get +out." + +"And you're that one," Womble announced grimly. "It's a ten-mile +pull to the next camp, but you can make it all right." + +"And that's the first flaw in your reasoning," the other objected. +"Why, necessarily, should I be the one to get out? I found this +cabin first." + +"But Tess can't get out," Womble explained. "Her lungs are already +slightly chilled." + +"I agree with you. She can't venture ten miles of frost. By all +means she must remain." + +"Then it is as I said," Womble announced with finality. + +Messner cleared his throat. "Your lungs are all right, aren't +they?" + +"Yes, but what of it?" + +Again the other cleared his throat and spoke with painstaking and +judicial slowness. "Why, I may say, nothing of it, except, ah, +according to your own reasoning, there is nothing to prevent your +getting out, hitting the frost, so to speak, for a matter of ten +miles. You can make it all right." + +Womble looked with quick suspicion at Theresa and caught in her +eyes a glint of pleased surprise. + +"Well?" he demanded of her. + +She hesitated, and a surge of anger darkened his face. He turned +upon Messner. + +"Enough of this. You can't stop here." + +"Yes, I can." + +"I won't let you." Womble squared his shoulders. "I'm running +things." + +"I'll stay anyway," the other persisted. + +"I'll put you out." + +"I'll come back." + +Womble stopped a moment to steady his voice and control himself. +Then he spoke slowly, in a low, tense voice. + +"Look here, Messner, if you refuse to get out, I'll thrash you. +This isn't California. I'll beat you to a jelly with my two +fists." + +Messner shrugged his shoulders. "If you do, I'll call a miners' +meeting and see you strung up to the nearest tree. As you said, +this is not California. They're a simple folk, these miners, and +all I'll have to do will be to show them the marks of the beating, +tell them the truth about you, and present my claim for my wife." + +The woman attempted to speak, but Womble turned upon her fiercely. + +"You keep out of this," he cried. + +In marked contrast was Messner's "Please don't intrude, Theresa." + +What of her anger and pent feelings, her lungs were irritated into +the dry, hacking cough, and with blood-suffused face and one hand +clenched against her chest, she waited for the paroxysm to pass. + +Womble looked gloomily at her, noting her cough. + +"Something must be done," he said. "Yet her lungs can't stand the +exposure. She can't travel till the temperature rises. And I'm +not going to give her up." + +Messner hemmed, cleared his throat, and hemmed again, semi- +apologetically, and said, "I need some money." + +Contempt showed instantly in Womble's face. At last, beneath him +in vileness, had the other sunk himself. + +"You've got a fat sack of dust," Messner went on. "I saw you +unload it from the sled." + +"How much do you want?" Womble demanded, with a contempt in his +voice equal to that in his face. + +"I made an estimate of the sack, and I - ah - should say it weighed +about twenty pounds. What do you say we call it four thousand?" + +"But it's all I've got, man!" Womble cried out. + +"You've got her," the other said soothingly. "She must be worth +it. Think what I'm giving up. Surely it is a reasonable price." + +"All right." Womble rushed across the floor to the gold-sack. +"Can't put this deal through too quick for me, you - you little +worm!" + +"Now, there you err," was the smiling rejoinder. "As a matter of +ethics isn't the man who gives a bribe as bad as the man who takes +a bribe? The receiver is as bad as the thief, you know; and you +needn't console yourself with any fictitious moral superiority +concerning this little deal." + +"To hell with your ethics!" the other burst out. "Come here and +watch the weighing of this dust. I might cheat you." + +And the woman, leaning against the bunk, raging and impotent, +watched herself weighed out in yellow dust and nuggets in the +scales erected on the grub-box. The scales were small, making +necessary many weighings, and Messner with precise care verified +each weighing. + +"There's too much silver in it," he remarked as he tied up the +gold-sack. "I don't think it will run quite sixteen to the ounce. +You got a trifle the better of me, Womble." + +He handled the sack lovingly, and with due appreciation of its +preciousness carried it out to his sled. + +Returning, he gathered his pots and pans together, packed his grub- +box, and rolled up his bed. When the sled was lashed and the +complaining dogs harnessed, he returned into the cabin for his +mittens. + +"Good-by, Tess," he said, standing at the open door. + +She turned on him, struggling for speech but too frantic to word +the passion that burned in her. + +"Good-by, Tess," he repeated gently. + +"Beast!" she managed to articulate. + +She turned and tottered to the bunk, flinging herself face down +upon it, sobbing: "You beasts! You beasts!" + +John Messner closed the door softly behind him, and, as he started +the dogs, looked back at the cabin with a great relief in his face. +At the bottom of the bank, beside the water-hole, he halted the +sled. He worked the sack of gold out between the lashings and +carried it to the water-hole. Already a new skin of ice had +formed. This he broke with his fist. Untying the knotted mouth +with his teeth, he emptied the contents of the sack into the water. +The river was shallow at that point, and two feet beneath the +surface he could see the bottom dull-yellow in the fading light. +At the sight of it, he spat into the hole. + +He started the dogs along the Yukon trail. Whining spiritlessly, +they were reluctant to work. Clinging to the gee-pole with his +right band and with his left rubbing cheeks and nose, he stumbled +over the rope as the dogs swung on a bend. + +"Mush-on, you poor, sore-footed brutes!" he cried. "That's it, +mush-on!" + + + +THE WHITE MAN'S WAY + + + +"TO cook by your fire and to sleep under your roof for the night," +I had announced on entering old Ebbits's cabin; and he had looked +at me blear-eyed and vacuous, while Zilla had favored me with a +sour face and a contemptuous grunt. Zilla was his wife, and no +more bitter-tongued, implacable old squaw dwelt on the Yukon. Nor +would I have stopped there had my dogs been less tired or had the +rest of the village been inhabited. But this cabin alone had I +found occupied, and in this cabin, perforce, I took my shelter. + +Old Ebbits now and again pulled his tangled wits together, and +hints and sparkles of intelligence came and went in his eyes. +Several times during the preparation of my supper he even essayed +hospitable inquiries about my health, the condition and number of +my dogs, and the distance I had travelled that day. And each time +Zilla had looked sourer than ever and grunted more contemptuously. + +Yet I confess that there was no particular call for cheerfulness on +their part. There they crouched by the fire, the pair of them, at +the end of their days, old and withered and helpless, racked by +rheumatism, bitten by hunger, and tantalized by the frying-odors of +my abundance of meat. They rocked back and forth in a slow and +hopeless way, and regularly, once every five minutes, Ebbits +emitted a low groan. It was not so much a groan of pain, as of +pain-weariness. He was oppressed by the weight and the torment of +this thing called life, and still more was he oppressed by the fear +of death. His was that eternal tragedy of the aged, with whom the +joy of life has departed and the instinct for death has not come. + +When my moose-meat spluttered rowdily in the frying-pan, I noticed +old Ebbits's nostrils twitch and distend as he caught the food- +scent. He ceased rocking for a space and forgot to groan, while a +look of intelligence seemed to come into his face. + +Zilla, on the other hand, rocked more rapidly, and for the first +time, in sharp little yelps, voiced her pain. It came to me that +their behavior was like that of hungry dogs, and in the fitness of +things I should not have been astonished had Zilla suddenly +developed a tail and thumped it on the floor in right doggish +fashion. Ebbits drooled a little and stopped his rocking very +frequently to lean forward and thrust his tremulous nose nearer to +the source of gustatory excitement. + +When I passed them each a plate of the fried meat, they ate +greedily, making loud mouth-noises - champings of worn teeth and +sucking intakes of the breath, accompanied by a continuous +spluttering and mumbling. After that, when I gave them each a mug +of scalding tea, the noises ceased. Easement and content came into +their faces. Zilla relaxed her sour mouth long enough to sigh her +satisfaction. Neither rocked any more, and they seemed to have +fallen into placid meditation. Then a dampness came into Ebbits's +eyes, and I knew that the sorrow of self-pity was his. The search +required to find their pipes told plainly that they had been +without tobacco a long time, and the old man's eagerness for the +narcotic rendered him helpless, so that I was compelled to light +his pipe for him. + +"Why are you all alone in the village?" I asked. "Is everybody +dead? Has there been a great sickness? Are you alone left of the +living?" + +Old Ebbits shook his head, saying: "Nay, there has been no great +sickness. The village has gone away to hunt meat. We be too old, +our legs are not strong, nor can our backs carry the burdens of +camp and trail. Wherefore we remain here and wonder when the young +men will return with meat." + +"What if the young men do return with meat?" Zilla demanded +harshly. + +"They may return with much meat," he quavered hopefully. + +"Even so, with much meat," she continued, more harshly than before. +"But of what worth to you and me? A few bones to gnaw in our +toothless old age. But the back-fat, the kidneys, and the tongues +- these shall go into other mouths than thine and mine, old man." + +Ebbits nodded his head and wept silently. + +"There be no one to hunt meat for us," she cried, turning fiercely +upon me. + +There was accusation in her manner, and I shrugged my shoulders in +token that I was not guilty of the unknown crime imputed to me. + +"Know, O White Man, that it is because of thy kind, because of all +white men, that my man and I have no meat in our old age and sit +without tobacco in the cold." + +"Nay," Ebbits said gravely, with a stricter sense of justice. +"Wrong has been done us, it be true; but the white men did not mean +the wrong." + +"Where be Moklan?" she demanded. "Where be thy strong son, Moklan, +and the fish he was ever willing to bring that you might eat?" + +The old man shook his head. + +"And where be Bidarshik, thy strong son? Ever was he a mighty +hunter, and ever did he bring thee the good back-fat and the sweet +dried tongues of the moose and the caribou. I see no back-fat and +no sweet dried tongues. Your stomach is full with emptiness +through the days, and it is for a man of a very miserable and lying +people to give you to eat." + +"Nay," old Ebbits interposed in kindliness, "the white man's is not +a lying people. The white man speaks true. Always does the white +man speak true." He paused, casting about him for words wherewith +to temper the severity of what he was about to say. "But the white +man speaks true in different ways. To-day he speaks true one way, +to-morrow he speaks true another way, and there is no understanding +him nor his way." + +"To-day speak true one way, to-morrow speak true another way, which +is to lie," was Zilla's dictum. + +"There is no understanding the white man," Ebbits went on doggedly. + +The meat, and the tea, and the tobacco seemed to have brought him +back to life, and he gripped tighter hold of the idea behind his +age-bleared eyes. He straightened up somewhat. His voice lost its +querulous and whimpering note, and became strong and positive. He +turned upon me with dignity, and addressed me as equal addresses +equal. + +"The white man's eyes are not shut," he began. "The white man sees +all things, and thinks greatly, and is very wise. But the white +man of one day is not the white man of next day, and there is no +understanding him. He does not do things always in the same way. +And what way his next way is to be, one cannot know. Always does +the Indian do the one thing in the one way. Always does the moose +come down from the high mountains when the winter is here. Always +does the salmon come in the spring when the ice has gone out of the +river. Always does everything do all things in the same way, and +the Indian knows and understands. But the white man does not do +all things in the same way, and the Indian does not know nor +understand. + +"Tobacco be very good. It be food to the hungry man. It makes the +strong man stronger, and the angry man to forget that he is angry. +Also is tobacco of value. It is of very great value. The Indian +gives one large salmon for one leaf of tobacco, and he chews the +tobacco for a long time. It is the juice of the tobacco that is +good. When it runs down his throat it makes him feel good inside. +But the white man! When his mouth is full with the juice, what +does he do? That juice, that juice of great value, he spits it out +in the snow and it is lost. Does the white man like tobacco? I do +not know. But if he likes tobacco, why does he spit out its value +and lose it in the snow? It is a great foolishness and without +understanding." + +He ceased, puffed at the pipe, found that it was out, and passed it +over to Zilla, who took the sneer at the white man off her lips in +order to pucker them about the pipe-stem. Ebbits seemed sinking +back into his senility with the tale untold, and I demanded: + +"What of thy sons, Moklan and Bidarshik? And why is it that you +and your old woman are without meat at the end of your years?" + +He roused himself as from sleep, and straightened up with an +effort. + +"It is not good to steal," he said. "When the dog takes your meat +you beat the dog with a club. Such is the law. It is the law the +man gave to the dog, and the dog must live to the law, else will it +suffer the pain of the club. When man takes your meat, or your +canoe, or your wife, you kill that man. That is the law, and it is +a good law. It is not good to steal, wherefore it is the law that +the man who steals must die. Whoso breaks the law must suffer +hurt. It is a great hurt to die." + +"But if you kill the man, why do you not kill the dog?" I asked. + +Old Ebbits looked at me in childlike wonder, while Zilla sneered +openly at the absurdity of my question. + +"It is the way of the white man," Ebbits mumbled with an air of +resignation. + +"It is the foolishness of the white man," snapped Zilla. + +"Then let old Ebbits teach the white man wisdom," I said softly. + +"The dog is not killed, because it must pull the sled of the man. +No man pulls another man's sled, wherefore the man is killed." + +"Oh," I murmured. + +"That is the law," old Ebbits went on. "Now listen, O White Man, +and I will tell you of a great foolishness. There is an Indian. +His name is Mobits. From white man he steals two pounds of flour. +What does the white man do? Does he beat Mobits? No. Does he +kill Mobits? No. What does he do to Mobits? I will tell you, O +White Man. He has a house. He puts Mobits in that house. The +roof is good. The walls are thick. He makes a fire that Mobits +may be warm. He gives Mobits plenty grub to eat. It is good grub. +Never in his all days does Mobits eat so good grub. There is +bacon, and bread, and beans without end. Mobits have very good +time. + +"There is a big lock on door so that Mobits does not run away. +This also is a great foolishness. Mobits will not run away. All +the time is there plenty grub in that place, and warm blankets, and +a big fire. Very foolish to run away. Mobits is not foolish. +Three months Mobits stop in that place. He steal two pounds of +flour. For that, white man take plenty good care of him. Mobits +eat many pounds of flour, many pounds of sugar, of bacon, of beans +without end. Also, Mobits drink much tea. After three months +white man open door and tell Mobits he must go. Mobits does not +want to go. He is like dog that is fed long time in one place. He +want to stay in that place, and the white man must drive Mobits +away. So Mobits come back to this village, and he is very fat. +That is the white man's way, and there is no understanding it. It +is a foolishness, a great foolishness." + +"But thy sons?" I insisted. "Thy very strong sons and thine old- +age hunger?" + +"There was Moklan," Ebbits began. + +"A strong man," interrupted the mother. "He could dip paddle all +of a day and night and never stop for the need of rest. He was +wise in the way of the salmon and in the way of the water. He was +very wise." + +"There was Moklan," Ebbits repeated, ignoring the interruption. +"In the spring, he went down the Yukon with the young men to trade +at Cambell Fort. There is a post there, filled with the goods of +the white man, and a trader whose name is Jones. Likewise is there +a white man's medicine man, what you call missionary. Also is +there bad water at Cambell Fort, where the Yukon goes slim like a +maiden, and the water is fast, and the currents rush this way and +that and come together, and there are whirls and sucks, and always +are the currents changing and the face of the water changing, so at +any two times it is never the same. Moklan is my son, wherefore he +is brave man - " + +"Was not my father brave man?" Zilla demanded. + +"Thy father was brave man," Ebbits acknowledged, with the air of +one who will keep peace in the house at any cost. "Moklan is thy +son and mine, wherefore he is brave. Mayhap, because of thy very +brave father, Moklan is too brave. It is like when too much water +is put in the pot it spills over. So too much bravery is put into +Moklan, and the bravery spills over. + +"The young men are much afraid of the bad water at Cambell Fort. +But Moklan is not afraid. He laughs strong, Ho! ho! and he goes +forth into the bad water. But where the currents come together the +canoe is turned over. A whirl takes Moklan by the legs, and he +goes around and around, and down and down, and is seen no more." + +"Ai! ai!" wailed Zilla. "Crafty and wise was he, and my first- +born!" + +"I am the father of Moklan," Ebbits said, having patiently given +the woman space for her noise. "I get into canoe and journey down +to Cambell Fort to collect the debt!" + +"Debt!" interrupted. "What debt?" + +"The debt of Jones, who is chief trader," came the answer. "Such +is the law of travel in a strange country." + +I shook my head in token of my ignorance, and Ebbits looked +compassion at me, while Zilla snorted her customary contempt. + +"Look you, O White Man," he said. "In thy camp is a dog that +bites. When the dog bites a man, you give that man a present +because you are sorry and because it is thy dog. You make payment. +Is it not so? Also, if you have in thy country bad hunting, or bad +water, you must make payment. It is just. It is the law. Did not +my father's brother go over into the Tanana Country and get killed +by a bear? And did not the Tanana tribe pay my father many +blankets and fine furs? It was just. It was bad hunting, and the +Tanana people made payment for the bad hunting. + +"So I, Ebbits, journeyed down to Cambell Fort to collect the debt. +Jones, who is chief trader, looked at me, and he laughed. He made +great laughter, and would not give payment. I went to the +medicine-man, what you call missionary, and had large talk about +the bad water and the payment that should be mine. And the +missionary made talk about other things. He talk about where +Moklan has gone, now he is dead. There be large fires in that +place, and if missionary make true talk, I know that Moklan will be +cold no more. Also the missionary talk about where I shall go when +I am dead. And he say bad things. He say that I am blind. Which +is a lie. He say that I am in great darkness. Which is a lie. +And I say that the day come and the night come for everybody just +the same, and that in my village it is no more dark than at Cambell +Fort. Also, I say that darkness and light and where we go when we +die be different things from the matter of payment of just debt for +bad water. Then the missionary make large anger, and call me bad +names of darkness, and tell me to go away. And so I come back from +Cambell Fort, and no payment has been made, and Moklan is dead, and +in my old age I am without fish and meat." + +"Because of the white man," said Zilla. + +"Because of the white man," Ebbits concurred. "And other things +because of the white man. There was Bidarshik. One way did the +white man deal with him; and yet another way for the same thing did +the white man deal with Yamikan. And first must I tell you of +Yamikan, who was a young man of this village and who chanced to +kill a white man. It is not good to kill a man of another people. +Always is there great trouble. It was not the fault of Yamikan +that he killed the white man. Yamikan spoke always soft words and +ran away from wrath as a dog from a stick. But this white man +drank much whiskey, and in the night-time came to Yamikan's house +and made much fight. Yamikan cannot run away, and the white man +tries to kill him. Yamikan does not like to die, so he kills the +white man. + +"Then is all the village in great trouble. We are much afraid that +we must make large payment to the white man's people, and we hide +our blankets, and our furs, and all our wealth, so that it will +seem that we are poor people and can make only small payment. +After long time white men come. They are soldier white men, and +they take Yamikan away with them. His mother make great noise and +throw ashes in her hair, for she knows Yamikan is dead. And all +the village knows that Yamikan is dead, and is glad that no payment +is asked. + +"That is in the spring when the ice has gone out of the river. One +year go by, two years go by. It is spring-time again, and the ice +has gone out of the river. And then Yamikan, who is dead, comes +back to us, and he is not dead, but very fat, and we know that he +has slept warm and had plenty grub to eat. He has much fine +clothes and is all the same white man, and he has gathered large +wisdom so that he is very quick head man in the village. + +"And he has strange things to tell of the way of the white man, for +he has seen much of the white man and done a great travel into the +white man's country. First place, soldier white men take him down +the river long way. All the way do they take him down the river to +the end, where it runs into a lake which is larger than all the +land and large as the sky. I do not know the Yukon is so big +river, but Yamikan has seen with his own eyes. I do not think +there is a lake larger than all the land and large as the sky, but +Yamikan has seen. Also, he has told me that the waters of this +lake be salt, which is a strange thing and beyond understanding. + +"But the White Man knows all these marvels for himself, so I shall +not weary him with the telling of them. Only will I tell him what +happened to Yamikan. The white man give Yamikan much fine grub. +All the time does Yamikan eat, and all the time is there plenty +more grub. The white man lives under the sun, so said Yamikan, +where there be much warmth, and animals have only hair and no fur, +and the green things grow large and strong and become flour, and +beans, and potatoes. And under the sun there is never famine. +Always is there plenty grub. I do not know. Yamikan has said. + +"And here is a strange thing that befell Yamikan. Never did the +white man hurt him. Only did they give him warm bed at night and +plenty fine grub. They take him across the salt lake which is big +as the sky. He is on white man's fire-boat, what you call +steamboat, only he is on boat maybe twenty times bigger than +steamboat on Yukon. Also, it is made of iron, this boat, and yet +does it not sink. This I do not understand, but Yamikan has said, +'I have journeyed far on the iron boat; behold! I am still alive.' +It is a white man's soldier-boat with many soldier men upon it. + +"After many sleeps of travel, a long, long time, Yamikan comes to a +land where there is no snow. I cannot believe this. It is not in +the nature of things that when winter comes there shall be no snow. +But Yamikan has seen. Also have I asked the white men, and they +have said yes, there is no snow in that country. But I cannot +believe, and now I ask you if snow never come in that country. +Also, I would hear the name of that country. I have heard the name +before, but I would hear it again, if it be the same - thus will I +know if I have heard lies or true talk." + +Old Ebbits regarded me with a wistful face. He would have the +truth at any cost, though it was his desire to retain his faith in +the marvel he had never seen. + +"Yes," I answered, "it is true talk that you have heard. There is +no snow in that country, and its name is California." + +"Cal-ee-forn-ee-yeh," he mumbled twice and thrice, listening +intently to the sound of the syllables as they fell from his lips. +He nodded his head in confirmation. "Yes, it is the same country +of which Yamikan made talk." + +I recognized the adventure of Yamikan as one likely to occur in the +early days when Alaska first passed into the possession of the +United States. Such a murder case, occurring before the instalment +of territorial law and officials, might well have been taken down +to the United States for trial before a Federal court. + +"When Yamikan is in this country where there is no snow," old +Ebbits continued, "he is taken to large house where many men make +much talk. Long time men talk. Also many questions do they ask +Yamikan. By and by they tell Yamikan he have no more trouble. +Yamikan does not understand, for never has he had any trouble. All +the time have they given him warm place to sleep and plenty grub. + +"But after that they give him much better grub, and they give him +money, and they take him many places in white man's country, and he +see many strange things which are beyond the understanding of +Ebbits, who is an old man and has not journeyed far. After two +years, Yamikan comes back to this village, and he is head man, and +very wise until he dies. + +"But before he dies, many times does he sit by my fire and make +talk of the strange things he has seen. And Bidarshik, who is my +son, sits by the fire and listens; and his eyes are very wide and +large because of the things he hears. One night, after Yamikan has +gone home, Bidarshik stands up, so, very tall, and he strikes his +chest with his fist, and says, 'When I am a man, I shall journey in +far places, even to the land where there is no snow, and see things +for myself.'" + +"Always did Bidarshik journey in far places," Zilla interrupted +proudly. + +"It be true," Ebbits assented gravely. "And always did he return +to sit by the fire and hunger for yet other and unknown far +places." + +"And always did he remember the salt lake as big as the sky and the +country under the sun where there is no snow," quoth Zilla. + +"And always did he say, 'When I have the full strength of a man, I +will go and see for myself if the talk of Yamikan be true talk,'" +said Ebbits. + +"But there was no way to go to the white man's country," said +Zilla. + +"Did he not go down to the salt lake that is big as the sky?" +Ebbits demanded. + +"And there was no way for him across the salt lake," said Zilla. + +"Save in the white man's fire-boat which is of iron and is bigger +than twenty steamboats on the Yukon," said Ebbits. He scowled at +Zilla, whose withered lips were again writhing into speech, and +compelled her to silence. "But the white man would not let him +cross the salt lake in the fire-boat, and he returned to sit by the +fire and hunger for the country under the sun where there is no +snow.'" + +"Yet on the salt lake had he seen the fire-boat of iron that did +not sink," cried out Zilla the irrepressible. + +"Ay," said Ebbits, "and he saw that Yamikan had made true talk of +the things he had seen. But there was no way for Bidarshik to +journey to the white man's land under the sun, and he grew sick and +weary like an old man and moved not away from the fire. No longer +did he go forth to kill meat - " + +"And no longer did he eat the meat placed before him," Zilla broke +in. "He would shake his head and say, 'Only do I care to eat the +grub of the white man and grow fat after the manner of Yamikan.'" + +"And he did not eat the meat," Ebbits went on. "And the sickness +of Bidarshik grew into a great sickness until I thought he would +die. It was not a sickness of the body, but of the head. It was a +sickness of desire. I, Ebbits, who am his father, make a great +think. I have no more sons and I do not want Bidarshik to die. It +is a head-sickness, and there is but one way to make it well. +Bidarshik must journey across the lake as large as the sky to the +land where there is no snow, else will he die. I make a very great +think, and then I see the way for Bidarshik to go. + +"So, one night when he sits by the fire, very sick, his head +hanging down, I say, 'My son, I have learned the way for you to go +to the white man's land.' He looks at me, and his face is glad. +'Go,' I say, 'even as Yamikan went.' But Bidarshik is sick and +does not understand. 'Go forth,' I say, 'and find a white man, +and, even as Yamikan, do you kill that white man. Then will the +soldier white men come and get you, and even as they took Yamikan +will they take you across the salt lake to the white man's land. +And then, even as Yamikan, will you return very fat, your eyes full +of the things you have seen, your head filled with wisdom.' + +"And Bidarshik stands up very quick, and his hand is reaching out +for his gun. 'Where do you go?' I ask. 'To kill the white man,' +he says. And I see that my words have been good in the ears of +Bidarshik and that he will grow well again. Also do I know that my +words have been wise. + +"There is a white man come to this village. He does not seek after +gold in the ground, nor after furs in the forest. All the time +does he seek after bugs and flies. He does not eat the bugs and +flies, then why does he seek after them? I do not know. Only do I +know that he is a funny white man. Also does he seek after the +eggs of birds. He does not eat the eggs. All that is inside he +takes out, and only does he keep the shell. Eggshell is not good +to eat. Nor does he eat the eggshells, but puts them away in soft +boxes where they will not break. He catch many small birds. But +he does not eat the birds. He takes only the skins and puts them +away in boxes. Also does he like bones. Bones are not good to +eat. And this strange white man likes best the bones of long time +ago which he digs out of the ground. + +"But he is not a fierce white man, and I know he will die very +easy; so I say to Bidarshik, 'My son, there is the white man for +you to kill.' And Bidarshik says that my words be wise. So he +goes to a place he knows where are many bones in the ground. He +digs up very many of these bones and brings them to the strange +white man's camp. The white man is made very glad. His face +shines like the sun, and he smiles with much gladness as he looks +at the bones. He bends his head over, so, to look well at the +bones, and then Bidarshik strikes him hard on the head, with axe, +once, so, and the strange white man kicks and is dead. + +"'Now,' I say to Bidarshik, 'will the white soldier men come and +take you away to the land under the sun, where you will eat much +and grow fat.' Bidarshik is happy. Already has his sickness gone +from him, and he sits by the fire and waits for the coming of the +white soldier men. + +"How was I to know the way of the white man is never twice the +same?" the old man demanded, whirling upon me fiercely. "How was I +to know that what the white man does yesterday he will not do to- +day, and that what he does to-day he will not do to-morrow?" +Ebbits shook his head sadly. "There is no understanding the white +man. Yesterday he takes Yamikan to the land under the sun and +makes him fat with much grub. To-day he takes Bidarshik and - what +does he do with Bidarshik? Let me tell you what he does with +Bidarshik. + +"I, Ebbits, his father, will tell you. He takes Bidarshik to +Cambell Fort, and he ties a rope around his neck, so, and, when his +feet are no more on the ground, he dies." + +"Ai! ai!" wailed Zilla. "And never does he cross the lake large as +the sky, nor see the land under the sun where there is no snow." + +"Wherefore," old Ebbits said with grave dignity, "there be no one +to hunt meat for me in my old age, and I sit hungry by my fire and +tell my story to the White Man who has given me grub, and strong +tea, and tobacco for my pipe." + +"Because of the lying and very miserable white people," Zilla +proclaimed shrilly. + +"Nay," answered the old man with gentle positiveness. "Because of +the way of the white man, which is without understanding and never +twice the same." + + + +THE STORY OF KEESH + + + +KEESH lived long ago on the rim of the polar sea, was head man of +his village through many and prosperous years, and died full of +honors with his name on the lips of men. So long ago did he live +that only the old men remember his name, his name and the tale, +which they got from the old men before them, and which the old men +to come will tell to their children and their children's children +down to the end of time. And the winter darkness, when the north +gales make their long sweep across the ice-pack, and the air is +filled with flying white, and no man may venture forth, is the +chosen time for the telling of how Keesh, from the poorest IGLOO in +the village, rose to power and place over them all. + +He was a bright boy, so the tale runs, healthy and strong, and he +had seen thirteen suns, in their way of reckoning time. For each +winter the sun leaves the land in darkness, and the next year a new +sun returns so that they may be warm again and look upon one +another's faces. The father of Keesh had been a very brave man, +but he had met his death in a time of famine, when he sought to +save the lives of his people by taking the life of a great polar +bear. In his eagerness he came to close grapples with the bear, +and his bones were crushed; but the bear had much meat on him and +the people were saved. Keesh was his only son, and after that +Keesh lived alone with his mother. But the people are prone to +forget, and they forgot the deed of his father; and he being but a +boy, and his mother only a woman, they, too, were swiftly +forgotten, and ere long came to live in the meanest of all the +IGLOOS. + +It was at a council, one night, in the big IGLOO of Klosh-Kwan, the +chief, that Keesh showed the blood that ran in his veins and the +manhood that stiffened his back. With the dignity of an elder, he +rose to his feet, and waited for silence amid the babble of voices. + +"It is true that meat be apportioned me and mine," he said. "But +it is ofttimes old and tough, this meat, and, moreover, it has an +unusual quantity of bones." + +The hunters, grizzled and gray, and lusty and young, were aghast. +The like had never been known before. A child, that talked like a +grown man, and said harsh things to their very faces! + +But steadily and with seriousness, Keesh went on. "For that I know +my father, Bok, was a great hunter, I speak these words. It is +said that Bok brought home more meat than any of the two best +hunters, that with his own hands he attended to the division of it, +that with his own eyes he saw to it that the least old woman and +the last old man received fair share." + +"Na! Na!" the men cried. "Put the child out!" "Send him off to +bed!" "He is no man that he should talk to men and graybeards!" + +He waited calmly till the uproar died down. + +"Thou hast a wife, Ugh-Gluk," he said, "and for her dost thou +speak. And thou, too, Massuk, a mother also, and for them dost +thou speak. My mother has no one, save me; wherefore I speak. As +I say, though Bok be dead because he hunted over-keenly, it is just +that I, who am his son, and that Ikeega, who is my mother and was +his wife, should have meat in plenty so long as there be meat in +plenty in the tribe. I, Keesh, the son of Bok, have spoken." + +He sat down, his ears keenly alert to the flood of protest and +indignation his words had created. + +"That a boy should speak in council!" old Ugh-Gluk was mumbling. + +"Shall the babes in arms tell us men the things we shall do?" +Massuk demanded in a loud voice. "Am I a man that I should be made +a mock by every child that cries for meat?" + +The anger boiled a white heat. They ordered him to bed, threatened +that he should have no meat at all, and promised him sore beatings +for his presumption. Keesh's eyes began to flash, and the blood to +pound darkly under his skin. In the midst of the abuse he sprang +to his feet. + +"Hear me, ye men!" he cried. "Never shall I speak in the council +again, never again till the men come to me and say, 'It is well, +Keesh, that thou shouldst speak, it is well and it is our wish.' +Take this now, ye men, for my last word. Bok, my father, was a +great hunter. I, too, his son, shall go and hunt the meat that I +eat. And be it known, now, that the division of that which I kill +shall be fair. And no widow nor weak one shall cry in the night +because there is no meat, when the strong men are groaning in great +pain for that they have eaten overmuch. And in the days to come +there shall be shame upon the strong men who have eaten overmuch. +I, Keesh, have said it!" + +Jeers and scornful laughter followed him out of the IGLOO, but his +jaw was set and he went his way, looking neither to right nor left. + +The next day he went forth along the shore-line where the ice and +the land met together. Those who saw him go noted that he carried +his bow, with a goodly supply of bone-barbed arrows, and that +across his shoulder was his father's big hunting-spear. And there +was laughter, and much talk, at the event. It was an unprecedented +occurrence. Never did boys of his tender age go forth to hunt, +much less to hunt alone. Also were there shaking of heads and +prophetic mutterings, and the women looked pityingly at Ikeega, and +her face was grave and sad. + +"He will be back ere long," they said cheeringly. + +"Let him go; it will teach him a lesson," the hunters said. "And +he will come back shortly, and he will be meek and soft of speech +in the days to follow." + +But a day passed, and a second, and on the third a wild gale blew, +and there was no Keesh. Ikeega tore her hair and put soot of the +seal-oil on her face in token of her grief; and the women assailed +the men with bitter words in that they had mistreated the boy and +sent him to his death; and the men made no answer, preparing to go +in search of the body when the storm abated. + +Early next morning, however, Keesh strode into the village. But he +came not shamefacedly. Across his shoulders he bore a burden of +fresh-killed meat. And there was importance in his step and +arrogance in his speech. + +"Go, ye men, with the dogs and sledges, and take my trail for the +better part of a day's travel," he said. "There is much meat on +the ice - a she-bear and two half-grown cubs." + +Ikeega was overcome with joy, but he received her demonstrations in +manlike fashion, saying: "Come, Ikeega, let us eat. And after +that I shall sleep, for I am weary." + +And he passed into their IGLOO and ate profoundly, and after that +slept for twenty running hours. + +There was much doubt at first, much doubt and discussion. The +killing of a polar bear is very dangerous, but thrice dangerous is +it, and three times thrice, to kill a mother bear with her cubs. +The men could not bring themselves to believe that the boy Keesh, +single-handed, had accomplished so great a marvel. But the women +spoke of the fresh-killed meat he had brought on his back, and this +was an overwhelming argument against their unbelief. So they +finally departed, grumbling greatly that in all probability, if the +thing were so, he had neglected to cut up the carcasses. Now in +the north it is very necessary that this should be done as soon as +a kill is made. If not, the meat freezes so solidly as to turn the +edge of the sharpest knife, and a three-hundred-pound bear, frozen +stiff, is no easy thing to put upon a sled and haul over the rough +ice. But arrived at the spot, they found not only the kill, which +they had doubted, but that Keesh had quartered the beasts in true +hunter fashion, and removed the entrails. + +Thus began the mystery of Keesh, a mystery that deepened and +deepened with the passing of the days. His very next trip he +killed a young bear, nearly full-grown, and on the trip following, +a large male bear and his mate. He was ordinarily gone from three +to four days, though it was nothing unusual for him to stay away a +week at a time on the ice-field. Always he declined company on +these expeditions, and the people marvelled. "How does he do it?" +they demanded of one another. "Never does he take a dog with him, +and dogs are of such great help, too." + +"Why dost thou hunt only bear?" Klosh-Kwan once ventured to ask +him. + +And Keesh made fitting answer. "It is well known that there is +more meat on the bear," he said. + +But there was also talk of witchcraft in the village. "He hunts +with evil spirits," some of the people contended, "wherefore his +hunting is rewarded. How else can it be, save that he hunts with +evil spirits?" + +"Mayhap they be not evil, but good, these spirits," others said. +"It is known that his father was a mighty hunter. May not his +father hunt with him so that he may attain excellence and patience +and understanding? Who knows?" + +None the less, his success continued, and the less skilful hunters +were often kept busy hauling in his meat. And in the division of +it he was just. As his father had done before him, he saw to it +that the least old woman and the last old man received a fair +portion, keeping no more for himself than his needs required. And +because of this, and of his merit as a hunter, he was looked upon +with respect, and even awe; and there was talk of making him chief +after old Klosh-Kwan. Because of the things he had done, they +looked for him to appear again in the council, but he never came, +and they were ashamed to ask. + +"I am minded to build me an IGLOO," he said one day to Klosh-Kwan +and a number of the hunters. "It shall be a large IGLOO, wherein +Ikeega and I can dwell in comfort." + +"Ay," they nodded gravely. + +"But I have no time. My business is hunting, and it takes all my +time. So it is but just that the men and women of the village who +eat my meat should build me my IGLOO." + +And the IGLOO was built accordingly, on a generous scale which +exceeded even the dwelling of Klosh-Kwan. Keesh and his mother +moved into it, and it was the first prosperity she had enjoyed +since the death of Bok. Nor was material prosperity alone hers, +for, because of her wonderful son and the position he had given +her, she came to he looked upon as the first woman in all the +village; and the women were given to visiting her, to asking her +advice, and to quoting her wisdom when arguments arose among +themselves or with the men. + +But it was the mystery of Keesh's marvellous hunting that took +chief place in all their minds. And one day Ugh-Gluk taxed him +with witchcraft to his face. + +"It is charged," Ugh-Gluk said ominously, "that thou dealest with +evil spirits, wherefore thy hunting is rewarded." + +"Is not the meat good?" Keesh made answer. "Has one in the village +yet to fall sick from the eating of it? How dost thou know that +witchcraft be concerned? Or dost thou guess, in the dark, merely +because of the envy that consumes thee?" + +And Ugh-Gluk withdrew discomfited, the women laughing at him as he +walked away. But in the council one night, after long +deliberation, it was determined to put spies on his track when he +went forth to hunt, so that his methods might be learned. So, on +his next trip, Bim and Bawn, two young men, and of hunters the +craftiest, followed after him, taking care not to be seen. After +five days they returned, their eyes bulging and their tongues a- +tremble to tell what they had seen. The council was hastily called +in Klosh-Kwan's dwelling, and Bim took up the tale. + +"Brothers! As commanded, we journeyed on the trail of Keesh, and +cunningly we journeyed, so that he might not know. And midway of +the first day he picked up with a great he-bear. It was a very +great bear." + +"None greater," Bawn corroborated, and went on himself. "Yet was +the bear not inclined to fight, for he turned away and made off +slowly over the ice. This we saw from the rocks of the shore, and +the bear came toward us, and after him came Keesh, very much +unafraid. And he shouted harsh words after the bear, and waved his +arms about, and made much noise. Then did the bear grow angry, and +rise up on his hind legs, and growl. But Keesh walked right up to +the bear." + +"Ay," Bim continued the story. "Right up to the bear Keesh walked. +And the bear took after him, and Keesh ran away. But as he ran he +dropped a little round ball on the ice. And the bear stopped and +smelled of it, then swallowed it up. And Keesh continued to run +away and drop little round balls, and the bear continued to swallow +them up." + +Exclamations and cries of doubt were being made, and Ugh-Gluk +expressed open unbelief. + +"With our own eyes we saw it," Bim affirmed. + +And Bawn - "Ay, with our own eyes. And this continued until the +bear stood suddenly upright and cried aloud in pain, and thrashed +his fore paws madly about. And Keesh continued to make off over +the ice to a safe distance. But the bear gave him no notice, being +occupied with the misfortune the little round balls had wrought +within him." + +"Ay, within him," Bim interrupted. "For he did claw at himself, +and leap about over the ice like a playful puppy, save from the way +he growled and squealed it was plain it was not play but pain. +Never did I see such a sight!" + +"Nay, never was such a sight seen," Bawn took up the strain. "And +furthermore, it was such a large bear." + +"Witchcraft," Ugh-Gluk suggested. + +"I know not," Bawn replied. "I tell only of what my eyes beheld. +And after a while the bear grew weak and tired, for he was very +heavy and he had jumped about with exceeding violence, and he went +off along the shore-ice, shaking his head slowly from side to side +and sitting down ever and again to squeal and cry. And Keesh +followed after the bear, and we followed after Keesh, and for that +day and three days more we followed. The bear grew weak, and never +ceased crying from his pain." + +"It was a charm!" Ugh-Gluk exclaimed. "Surely it was a charm!" + +"It may well be." + +And Bim relieved Bawn. "The bear wandered, now this way and now +that, doubling back and forth and crossing his trail in circles, so +that at the end he was near where Keesh had first come upon him. +By this time he was quite sick, the bear, and could crawl no +farther, so Keesh came up close and speared him to death." + +"And then?" Klosh-Kwan demanded. + +"Then we left Keesh skinning the bear, and came running that the +news of the killing might be told." + +And in the afternoon of that day the women hauled in the meat of +the bear while the men sat in council assembled. When Keesh +arrived a messenger was sent to him, bidding him come to the +council. But he sent reply, saying that he was hungry and tired; +also that his IGLOO was large and comfortable and could hold many +men. + +And curiosity was so strong on the men that the whole council, +Klosh-Kwan to the fore, rose up and went to the IGLOO of Keesh. He +was eating, but he received them with respect and seated them +according to their rank. Ikeega was proud and embarrassed by +turns, but Keesh was quite composed. + +Klosh-Kwan recited the information brought by Bim and Bawn, and at +its close said in a stern voice: "So explanation is wanted, O +Keesh, of thy manner of hunting. Is there witchcraft in it?" + +Keesh looked up and smiled. "Nay, O Klosh-Kwan. It is not for a +boy to know aught of witches, and of witches I know nothing. I +have but devised a means whereby I may kill the ice-bear with ease, +that is all. It be headcraft, not witchcraft." + +"And may any man?" + +"Any man." + +There was a long silence. The men looked in one another's faces, +and Keesh went on eating. + +"And . . . and . . . and wilt thou tell us, O Keesh?" Klosh-Kwan +finally asked in a tremulous voice. + +"Yea, I will tell thee." Keesh finished sucking a marrow-bone and +rose to his feet. "It is quite simple. Behold!" + +He picked up a thin strip of whalebone and showed it to them. The +ends were sharp as needle-points. The strip he coiled carefully, +till it disappeared in his hand. Then, suddenly releasing it, it +sprang straight again. He picked up a piece of blubber. + +"So," he said, "one takes a small chunk of blubber, thus, and thus +makes it hollow. Then into the hollow goes the whalebone, so, +tightly coiled, and another piece of blubber is fitted over the +whale-bone. After that it is put outside where it freezes into a +little round ball. The bear swallows the little round ball, the +blubber melts, the whalebone with its sharp ends stands out +straight, the bear gets sick, and when the bear is very sick, why, +you kill him with a spear. It is quite simple." + +And Ugh-Gluk said "Oh!" and Klosh-Kwan said "Ah!" And each said +something after his own manner, and all understood. + +And this is the story of Keesh, who lived long ago on the rim of +the polar sea. Because he exercised headcraft and not witchcraft, +he rose from the meanest IGLOO to be head man of his village, and +through all the years that he lived, it is related, his tribe was +prosperous, and neither widow nor weak one cried aloud in the night +because there was no meat. + + + +THE UNEXPECTED + + + +IT is a simple matter to see the obvious, to do the expected. The +tendency of the individual life is to be static rather than +dynamic, and this tendency is made into a propulsion by +civilization, where the obvious only is seen, and the unexpected +rarely happens. When the unexpected does happen, however, and when +it is of sufficiently grave import, the unfit perish. They do not +see what is not obvious, are unable to do the unexpected, are +incapable of adjusting their well-grooved lives to other and +strange grooves. In short, when they come to the end of their own +groove, they die. + +On the other hand, there are those that make toward survival, the +fit individuals who escape from the rule of the obvious and the +expected and adjust their lives to no matter what strange grooves +they may stray into, or into which they may be forced. Such an +individual was Edith Whittlesey. She was born in a rural district +of England, where life proceeds by rule of thumb and the unexpected +is so very unexpected that when it happens it is looked upon as an +immorality. She went into service early, and while yet a young +woman, by rule-of-thumb progression, she became a lady's maid. + +The effect of civilization is to impose human law upon environment +until it becomes machine-like in its regularity. The objectionable +is eliminated, the inevitable is foreseen. One is not even made +wet by the rain nor cold by the frost; while death, instead of +stalking about grewsome and accidental, becomes a prearranged +pageant, moving along a well-oiled groove to the family vault, +where the hinges are kept from rusting and the dust from the air is +swept continually away. + +Such was the environment of Edith Whittlesey. Nothing happened. +It could scarcely be called a happening, when, at the age of +twenty-five, she accompanied her mistress on a bit of travel to the +United States. The groove merely changed its direction. It was +still the same groove and well oiled. It was a groove that bridged +the Atlantic with uneventfulness, so that the ship was not a ship +in the midst of the sea, but a capacious, many-corridored hotel +that moved swiftly and placidly, crushing the waves into submission +with its colossal bulk until the sea was a mill-pond, monotonous +with quietude. And at the other side the groove continued on over +the land - a well-disposed, respectable groove that supplied hotels +at every stopping-place, and hotels on wheels between the stopping- +places. + +In Chicago, while her mistress saw one side of social life, Edith +Whittlesey saw another side; and when she left her lady's service +and became Edith Nelson, she betrayed, perhaps faintly, her ability +to grapple with the unexpected and to master it. Hans Nelson, +immigrant, Swede by birth and carpenter by occupation, had in him +that Teutonic unrest that drives the race ever westward on its +great adventure. He was a large-muscled, stolid sort of a man, in +whom little imagination was coupled with immense initiative, and +who possessed, withal, loyalty and affection as sturdy as his own +strength. + +"When I have worked hard and saved me some money, I will go to +Colorado," he had told Edith on the day after their wedding. A +year later they were in Colorado, where Hans Nelson saw his first +mining and caught the mining-fever himself. His prospecting led +him through the Dakotas, Idaho, and eastern Oregon, and on into the +mountains of British Columbia. In camp and on trail, Edith Nelson +was always with him, sharing his luck, his hardship, and his toil. +The short step of the house-reared woman she exchanged for the long +stride of the mountaineer. She learned to look upon danger clear- +eyed and with understanding, losing forever that panic fear which +is bred of ignorance and which afflicts the city-reared, making +them as silly as silly horses, so that they await fate in frozen +horror instead of grappling with it, or stampede in blind self- +destroying terror which clutters the way with their crushed +carcasses. + +Edith Nelson met the unexpected at every turn of the trail, and she +trained her vision so that she saw in the landscape, not the +obvious, but the concealed. She, who had never cooked in her life, +learned to make bread without the mediation of hops, yeast, or +baking-powder, and to bake bread, top and bottom, in a frying-pan +before an open fire. And when the last cup of flour was gone and +the last rind of bacon, she was able to rise to the occasion, and +of moccasins and the softer-tanned bits of leather in the outfit to +make a grub-stake substitute that somehow held a man's soul in his +body and enabled him to stagger on. She learned to pack a horse as +well as a man, - a task to break the heart and the pride of any +city-dweller, and she knew how to throw the hitch best suited for +any particular kind of pack. Also, she could build a fire of wet +wood in a downpour of rain and not lose her temper. In short, in +all its guises she mastered the unexpected. But the Great +Unexpected was yet to come into her life and put its test upon her. + +The gold-seeking tide was flooding northward into Alaska, and it +was inevitable that Hans Nelson and his wife should he caught up by +the stream and swept toward the Klondike. The fall of 1897 found +them at Dyea, but without the money to carry an outfit across +Chilcoot Pass and float it down to Dawson. So Hans Nelson worked +at his trade that winter and helped rear the mushroom outfitting- +town of Skaguay. + +He was on the edge of things, and throughout the winter he heard +all Alaska calling to him. Latuya Bay called loudest, so that the +summer of 1898 found him and his wife threading the mazes of the +broken coast-line in seventy-foot Siwash canoes. With them were +Indians, also three other men. The Indians landed them and their +supplies in a lonely bight of land a hundred miles or so beyond +Latuya Bay, and returned to Skaguay; but the three other men +remained, for they were members of the organized party. Each had +put an equal share of capital into the outfitting, and the profits +were to he divided equally. In that Edith Nelson undertook to cook +for the outfit, a man's share was to be her portion. + +First, spruce trees were cut down and a three-room cabin +constructed. To keep this cabin was Edith Nelson's task. The task +of the men was to search for gold, which they did; and to find +gold, which they likewise did. It was not a startling find, merely +a low-pay placer where long hours of severe toil earned each man +between fifteen and twenty dollars a day. The brief Alaskan summer +protracted itself beyond its usual length, and they took advantage +of the opportunity, delaying their return to Skaguay to the last +moment. And then it was too late. Arrangements had been made to +accompany the several dozen local Indians on their fall trading +trip down the coast. The Siwashes had waited on the white people +until the eleventh hour, and then departed. There was no course +left the party but to wait for chance transportation. In the +meantime the claim was cleaned up and firewood stocked in. + +The Indian summer had dreamed on and on, and then, suddenly, with +the sharpness of bugles, winter came. It came in a single night, +and the miners awoke to howling wind, driving snow, and freezing +water. Storm followed storm, and between the storms there was the +silence, broken only by the boom of the surf on the desolate shore, +where the salt spray rimmed the beach with frozen white. + +All went well in the cabin. Their gold-dust had weighed up +something like eight thousand dollars, and they could not but be +contented. The men made snowshoes, hunted fresh meat for the +larder, and in the long evenings played endless games of whist and +pedro. Now that the mining had ceased, Edith Nelson turned over +the fire-building and the dish-washing to the men, while she darned +their socks and mended their clothes. + +There was no grumbling, no bickering, nor petty quarrelling in the +little cabin, and they often congratulated one another on the +general happiness of the party. Hans Nelson was stolid and easy- +going, while Edith had long before won his unbounded admiration by +her capacity for getting on with people. Harkey, a long, lank +Texan, was unusually friendly for one with a saturnine disposition, +and, as long as his theory that gold grew was not challenged, was +quite companionable. The fourth member of the party, Michael +Dennin, contributed his Irish wit to the gayety of the cabin. He +was a large, powerful man, prone to sudden rushes of anger over +little things, and of unfailing good-humor under the stress and +strain of big things. The fifth and last member, Dutchy, was the +willing butt of the party. He even went out of his way to raise a +laugh at his own expense in order to keep things cheerful. His +deliberate aim in life seemed to be that of a maker of laughter. +No serious quarrel had ever vexed the serenity of the party; and, +now that each had sixteen hundred dollars to show for a short +summer's work, there reigned the well-fed, contented spirit of +prosperity. + +And then the unexpected happened. They had just sat down to the +breakfast table. Though it was already eight o'clock (late +breakfasts had followed naturally upon cessation of the steady work +at mining) a candle in the neck of a bottle lighted the meal. +Edith and Hans sat at each end of the table. On one side, with +their backs to the door, sat Harkey and Dutchy. The place on the +other side was vacant. Dennin had not yet come in. + +Hans Nelson looked at the empty chair, shook his head slowly, and, +with a ponderous attempt at humor, said: "Always is he first at +the grub. It is very strange. Maybe he is sick." + +"Where is Michael?" Edith asked. + +"Got up a little ahead of us and went outside," Harkey answered. + +Dutchy's face beamed mischievously. He pretended knowledge of +Dennin's absence, and affected a mysterious air, while they +clamored for information. Edith, after a peep into the men's bunk- +room, returned to the table. Hans looked at her, and she shook her +head. + +"He was never late at meal-time before," she remarked. + +"I cannot understand," said Hans. "Always has he the great +appetite like the horse." + +"It is too bad," Dutchy said, with a sad shake of his head. + +They were beginning to make merry over their comrade's absence. + +"It is a great pity!" Dutchy volunteered. + +"What?" they demanded in chorus. + +"Poor Michael," was the mournful reply. + +"Well, what's wrong with Michael?" Harkey asked. + +"He is not hungry no more," wailed Dutchy. "He has lost der +appetite. He do not like der grub." + +"Not from the way he pitches into it up to his ears," remarked +Harkey. + +"He does dot shust to be politeful to Mrs. Nelson," was Dutchy's +quick retort. "I know, I know, and it is too pad. Why is he not +here? Pecause he haf gone out. Why haf he gone out? For der +defelopment of der appetite. How does he defelop der appetite? He +walks barefoots in der snow. Ach! don't I know? It is der way der +rich peoples chases after der appetite when it is no more and is +running away. Michael haf sixteen hundred dollars. He is rich +peoples. He haf no appetite. Derefore, pecause, he is chasing der +appetite. Shust you open der door und you will see his barefoots +in der snow. No, you will not see der appetite. Dot is shust his +trouble. When he sees der appetite he will catch it und come to +preak-fast." + +They burst into loud laughter at Dutchy's nonsense. The sound had +scarcely died away when the door opened and Dennin came in. All +turned to look at him. He was carrying a shot-gun. Even as they +looked, he lifted it to his shoulder and fired twice. At the first +shot Dutchy sank upon the table, overturning his mug of coffee, his +yellow mop of hair dabbling in his plate of mush. His forehead, +which pressed upon the near edge of the plate, tilted the plate up +against his hair at an angle of forty-five degrees. Harkey was in +the air, in his spring to his feet, at the second shot, and he +pitched face down upon the floor, his "My God!" gurgling and dying +in his throat. + +It was the unexpected. Hans and Edith were stunned. They sat at +the table with bodies tense, their eyes fixed in a fascinated gaze +upon the murderer. Dimly they saw him through the smoke of the +powder, and in the silence nothing was to be heard save the drip- +drip of Dutchy's spilled coffee on the floor. Dennin threw open +the breech of the shot-gun, ejecting the empty shells. Holding the +gun with one hand, he reached with the other into his pocket for +fresh shells. + +He was thrusting the shells into the gun when Edith Nelson was +aroused to action. It was patent that he intended to kill Hans and +her. For a space of possibly three seconds of time she had been +dazed and paralysed by the horrible and inconceivable form in which +the unexpected had made its appearance. Then she rose to it and +grappled with it. She grappled with it concretely, making a cat- +like leap for the murderer and gripping his neck-cloth with both +her hands. The impact of her body sent him stumbling backward +several steps. He tried to shake her loose and still retain his +hold on the gun. This was awkward, for her firm-fleshed body had +become a cat's. She threw herself to one side, and with her grip +at his throat nearly jerked him to the floor. He straightened +himself and whirled swiftly. Still faithful to her hold, her body +followed the circle of his whirl so that her feet left the floor, +and she swung through the air fastened to his throat by her hands. +The whirl culminated in a collision with a chair, and the man and +woman crashed to the floor in a wild struggling fall that extended +itself across half the length of the room. + +Hans Nelson was half a second behind his wife in rising to the +unexpected. His nerve processed and mental processes were slower +than hers. His was the grosser organism, and it had taken him half +a second longer to perceive, and determine, and proceed to do. She +had already flown at Dennin and gripped his throat, when Hans +sprang to his feet. But her coolness was not his. He was in a +blind fury, a Berserker rage. At the instant he sprang from his +chair his mouth opened and there issued forth a sound that was half +roar, half bellow. The whirl of the two bodies had already +started, and still roaring, or bellowing, he pursued this whirl +down the room, overtaking it when it fell to the floor. + +Hans hurled himself upon the prostrate man, striking madly with his +fists. They were sledge-like blows, and when Edith felt Dennin's +body relax she loosed her grip and rolled clear. She lay on the +floor, panting and watching. The fury of blows continued to rain +down. Dennin did not seem to mind the blows. He did not even +move. Then it dawned upon her that he was unconscious. She cried +out to Hans to stop. She cried out again. But he paid no heed to +her voice. She caught him by the arm, but her clinging to it +merely impeded his effort. + +It was no reasoned impulse that stirred her to do what she then +did. Nor was it a sense of pity, nor obedience to the "Thou shalt +not" of religion. Rather was it some sense of law, an ethic of her +race and early environment, that compelled her to interpose her +body between her husband and the helpless murderer. It was not +until Hans knew he was striking his wife that he ceased. He +allowed himself to be shoved away by her in much the same way that +a ferocious but obedient dog allows itself to be shoved away by its +master. The analogy went even farther. Deep in his throat, in an +animal-like way, Hans's rage still rumbled, and several times he +made as though to spring back upon his prey and was only prevented +by the woman's swiftly interposed body. + +Back and farther back Edith shoved her husband. She had never seen +him in such a condition, and she was more frightened of him than +she had been of Dennin in the thick of the struggle. She could not +believe that this raging beast was her Hans, and with a shock she +became suddenly aware of a shrinking, instinctive fear that he +might snap her hand in his teeth like any wild animal. For some +seconds, unwilling to hurt her, yet dogged in his desire to return +to the attack, Hans dodged back and forth. But she resolutely +dodged with him, until the first glimmerings of reason returned and +he gave over. + +Both crawled to their feet. Hans staggered back against the wall, +where he leaned, his face working, in his throat the deep and +continuous rumble that died away with the seconds and at last +ceased. The time for the reaction had come. Edith stood in the +middle of the floor, wringing her hands, panting and gasping, her +whole body trembling violently. + +Hans looked at nothing, but Edith's eyes wandered wildly from +detail to detail of what had taken place. Dennin lay without +movement. The overturned chair, hurled onward in the mad whirl, +lay near him. Partly under him lay the shot-gun, still broken open +at the breech. Spilling out of his right hand were the two +cartridges which he had failed to put into the gun and which he had +clutched until consciousness left him. Harkey lay on the floor, +face downward, where he had fallen; while Dutchy rested forward on +the table, his yellow mop of hair buried in his mush-plate, the +plate itself still tilted at an angle of forty-five degrees. This +tilted plate fascinated her. Why did it not fall down? It was +ridiculous. It was not in the nature of things for a mush-plate to +up-end itself on the table, even if a man or so had been killed. + +She glanced back at Dennin, but her eyes returned to the tilted +plate. It was so ridiculous! She felt a hysterical impulse to +laugh. Then she noticed the silence, and forgot the plate in a +desire for something to happen. The monotonous drip of the coffee +from the table to the floor merely emphasized the silence. Why did +not Hans do something? say something? She looked at him and was +about to speak, when she discovered that her tongue refused its +wonted duty. There was a peculiar ache in her throat, and her +mouth was dry and furry. She could only look at Hans, who, in +turn, looked at her. + +Suddenly the silence was broken by a sharp, metallic clang. She +screamed, jerking her eyes back to the table. The plate had fallen +down. Hans sighed as though awakening from sleep. The clang of +the plate had aroused them to life in a new world. The cabin +epitomized the new world in which they must thenceforth live and +move. The old cabin was gone forever. The horizon of life was +totally new and unfamiliar. The unexpected had swept its wizardry +over the face of things, changing the perspective, juggling values, +and shuffling the real and the unreal into perplexing confusion. + +"My God, Hans!" was Edith's first speech. + +He did not answer, but stared at her with horror. Slowly his eyes +wandered over the room, for the first time taking in its details. +Then he put on his cap and started for the door. + + "Where are you going?" Edith demanded, in an agony of +apprehension. + +His hand was on the door-knob, and he half turned as he answered, +"To dig some graves." + +"Don't leave me, Hans, with - " her eyes swept the room - "with +this." + +"The graves must be dug sometime," he said. + +"But you do not know how many," she objected desperately. She +noted his indecision, and added, "Besides, I'll go with you and +help." + +Hans stepped back to the table and mechanically snuffed the candle. +Then between them they made the examination. Both Harkey and +Dutchy were dead - frightfully dead, because of the close range of +the shot-gun. Hans refused to go near Dennin, and Edith was forced +to conduct this portion of the investigation by herself. + +"He isn't dead," she called to Hans. + +He walked over and looked down at the murderer. + +"What did you say?" Edith demanded, having caught the rumble of +inarticulate speech in her husband's throat. + +"I said it was a damn shame that he isn't dead," came the reply. + +Edith was bending over the body. + +"Leave him alone," Hans commanded harshly, in a strange voice. + +She looked at him in sudden alarm. He had picked up the shot-gun +dropped by Dennin and was thrusting in the shells. + +"What are you going to do?" she cried, rising swiftly from her +bending position. + +Hans did not answer, but she saw the shot-gun going to his +shoulder. She grasped the muzzle with her hand and threw it up. + +"Leave me alone!" he cried hoarsely. + +He tried to jerk the weapon away from her, but she came in closer +and clung to him. + +"Hans! Hans! Wake up!" she cried. "Don't be crazy!" + +"He killed Dutchy and Harkey!" was her husband's reply; "and I am +going to kill him." + +"But that is wrong," she objected. "There is the law." + +He sneered his incredulity of the law's potency in such a region, +but he merely iterated, dispassionately, doggedly, "He killed +Dutchy and Harkey." + +Long she argued it with him, but the argument was one-sided, for he +contented himself with repeating again and again, "He killed Dutchy +and Harkey." But she could not escape from her childhood training +nor from the blood that was in her. The heritage of law was hers, +and right conduct, to her, was the fulfilment of the law. She +could see no other righteous course to pursue. Hans's taking the +law in his own hands was no more justifiable than Dennin's deed. +Two wrongs did not make a right, she contended, and there was only +one way to punish Dennin, and that was the legal way arranged by +society. At last Hans gave in to her. + +"All right," he said. "Have it your own way. And to-morrow or +next day look to see him kill you and me." + +She shook her head and held out her hand for the shot-gun. He +started to hand it to her, then hesitated. + +"Better let me shoot him," he pleaded. + +Again she shook her head, and again he started to pass her the gun, +when the door opened, and an Indian, without knocking, came in. A +blast of wind and flurry of snow came in with him. They turned and +faced him, Hans still holding the shot-gun. The intruder took in +the scene without a quiver. His eyes embraced the dead and wounded +in a sweeping glance. No surprise showed in his face, not even +curiosity. Harkey lay at his feet, but he took no notice of him. +So far as he was concerned, Harkey's body did not exist. + +"Much wind," the Indian remarked by way of salutation. "All well? +Very well?" + +Hans, still grasping the gun, felt sure that the Indian attributed +to him the mangled corpses. He glanced appealingly at his wife. + +"Good morning, Negook," she said, her voice betraying her effort. +"No, not very well. Much trouble." + +"Good-by, I go now, much hurry", the Indian said, and without +semblance of haste, with great deliberation stepping clear of a red +pool on the floor, he opened the door and went out. + +The man and woman looked at each other. + +"He thinks we did it," Hans gasped, "that I did it." + +Edith was silent for a space. Then she said, briefly, in a +businesslike way: + +"Never mind what he thinks. That will come after. At present we +have two graves to dig. But first of all, we've got to tie up +Dennin so he can't escape." + +Hans refused to touch Dennin, but Edith lashed him securely, hand +and foot. Then she and Hans went out into the snow. The ground +was frozen. It was impervious to a blow of the pick. They first +gathered wood, then scraped the snow away and on the frozen surface +built a fire. When the fire had burned for an hour, several inches +of dirt had thawed. This they shovelled out, and then built a +fresh fire. Their descent into the earth progressed at the rate of +two or three inches an hour. + +It was hard and bitter work. The flurrying snow did not permit the +fire to burn any too well, while the wind cut through their clothes +and chilled their bodies. They held but little conversation. The +wind interfered with speech. Beyond wondering at what could have +been Dennin's motive, they remained silent, oppressed by the horror +of the tragedy. At one o'clock, looking toward the cabin, Hans +announced that he was hungry. + +"No, not now, Hans," Edith answered. "I couldn't go back alone +into that cabin the way it is, and cook a meal." + +At two o'clock Hans volunteered to go with her; but she held him to +his work, and four o'clock found the two graves completed. They +were shallow, not more than two feet deep, but they would serve the +purpose. Night had fallen. Hans got the sled, and the two dead +men were dragged through the darkness and storm to their frozen +sepulchre. The funeral procession was anything but a pageant. The +sled sank deep into the drifted snow and pulled hard. The man and +the woman had eaten nothing since the previous day, and were weak +from hunger and exhaustion. They had not the strength to resist +the wind, and at times its buffets hurled them off their feet. On +several occasions the sled was overturned, and they were compelled +to reload it with its sombre freight. The last hundred feet to the +graves was up a steep slope, and this they took on all fours, like +sled-dogs, making legs of their arms and thrusting their hands into +the snow. Even so, they were twice dragged backward by the weight +of the sled, and slid and fell down the hill, the living and the +dead, the haul-ropes and the sled, in ghastly entanglement. + +"To-morrow I will put up head-boards with their names," Hans said, +when the graves were filled in. + +Edith was sobbing. A few broken sentences had been all she was +capable of in the way of a funeral service, and now her husband was +compelled to half-carry her back to the cabin. + +Dennin was conscious. He had rolled over and over on the floor in +vain efforts to free himself. He watched Hans and Edith with +glittering eyes, but made no attempt to speak. Hans still refused +to touch the murderer, and sullenly watched Edith drag him across +the floor to the men's bunk-room. But try as she would, she could +not lift him from the floor into his bunk. + +"Better let me shoot him, and we'll have no more trouble," Hans +said in final appeal. + +Edith shook her head and bent again to her task. To her surprise +the body rose easily, and she knew Hans had relented and was +helping her. Then came the cleansing of the kitchen. But the +floor still shrieked the tragedy, until Hans planed the surface of +the stained wood away and with the shavings made a fire in the +stove. + +The days came and went. There was much of darkness and silence, +broken only by the storms and the thunder on the beach of the +freezing surf. Hans was obedient to Edith's slightest order. All +his splendid initiative had vanished. She had elected to deal with +Dennin in her way, and so he left the whole matter in her hands. + +The murderer was a constant menace. At all times there was the +chance that he might free himself from his bonds, and they were +compelled to guard him day and night. The man or the woman sat +always beside him, holding the loaded shot-gun. At first, Edith +tried eight-hour watches, but the continuous strain was too great, +and afterwards she and Hans relieved each other every four hours. +As they had to sleep, and as the watches extended through the +night, their whole waking time was expended in guarding Dennin. +They had barely time left over for the preparation of meals and the +getting of firewood. + +Since Negook's inopportune visit, the Indians had avoided the +cabin. Edith sent Hans to their cabins to get them to take Dennin +down the coast in a canoe to the nearest white settlement or +trading post, but the errand was fruitless. Then Edith went +herself and interviewed Negook. He was head man of the little +village, keenly aware of his responsibility, and he elucidated his +policy thoroughly in few words. + +"It is white man's trouble", he said, "not Siwash trouble. My +people help you, then will it be Siwash trouble too. When white +man's trouble and Siwash trouble come together and make a trouble, +it is a great trouble, beyond understanding and without end. +Trouble no good. My people do no wrong. What for they help you +and have trouble?" + +So Edith Nelson went back to the terrible cabin with its endless +alternating four-hour watches. Sometimes, when it was her turn and +she sat by the prisoner, the loaded shot-gun in her lap, her eyes +would close and she would doze. Always she aroused with a start, +snatching up the gun and swiftly looking at him. These were +distinct nervous shocks, and their effect was not good on her. +Such was her fear of the man, that even though she were wide awake, +if he moved under the bedclothes she could not repress the start +and the quick reach for the gun. + +She was preparing herself for a nervous break-down, and she knew +it. First came a fluttering of the eyeballs, so that she was +compelled to close her eyes for relief. A little later the eyelids +were afflicted by a nervous twitching that she could not control. +To add to the strain, she could not forget the tragedy. She +remained as close to the horror as on the first morning when the +unexpected stalked into the cabin and took possession. In her +daily ministrations upon the prisoner she was forced to grit her +teeth and steel herself, body and spirit. + +Hans was affected differently. He became obsessed by the idea that +it was his duty to kill Dennin; and whenever he waited upon the +bound man or watched by him, Edith was troubled by the fear that +Hans would add another red entry to the cabin's record. Always he +cursed Dennin savagely and handled him roughly. Hans tried to +conceal his homicidal mania, and he would say to his wife: "By and +by you will want me to kill him, and then I will not kill him. It +would make me sick." But more than once, stealing into the room, +when it was her watch off, she would catch the two men glaring +ferociously at each other, wild animals the pair of them, in Hans's +face the lust to kill, in Dennin's the fierceness and savagery of +the cornered rat. "Hans!" she would cry, "wake up!" and he would +come to a recollection of himself, startled and shamefaced and +unrepentant. + +So Hans became another factor in the problem the unexpected had +given Edith Nelson to solve. At first it had been merely a +question of right conduct in dealing with Dennin, and right +conduct, as she conceived it, lay in keeping him a prisoner until +he could be turned over for trial before a proper tribunal. But +now entered Hans, and she saw that his sanity and his salvation +were involved. Nor was she long in discovering that her own +strength and endurance had become part of the problem. She was +breaking down under the strain. Her left arm had developed +involuntary jerkings and twitchings. She spilled her food from her +spoon, and could place no reliance in her afflicted arm. She +judged it to be a form of St. Vitus's dance, and she feared the +extent to which its ravages might go. What if she broke down? And +the vision she had of the possible future, when the cabin might +contain only Dennin and Hans, was an added horror. + +After the third day, Dennin had begun to talk. His first question +had been, "What are you going to do with me?" And this question he +repeated daily and many times a day. And always Edith replied that +he would assuredly be dealt with according to law. In turn, she +put a daily question to him, - "Why did you do it?" To this he +never replied. Also, he received the question with out-bursts of +anger, raging and straining at the rawhide that bound him and +threatening her with what he would do when he got loose, which he +said he was sure to do sooner or later. At such times she cocked +both triggers of the gun, prepared to meet him with leaden death if +he should burst loose, herself trembling and palpitating and dizzy +from the tension and shock. + +But in time Dennin grew more tractable. It seemed to her that he +was growing weary of his unchanging recumbent position. He began +to beg and plead to be released. He made wild promises. He would +do them no harm. He would himself go down the coast and give +himself up to the officers of the law. He would give them his +share of the gold. He would go away into the heart of the +wilderness, and never again appear in civilization. He would take +his own life if she would only free him. His pleadings usually +culminated in involuntary raving, until it seemed to her that he +was passing into a fit; but always she shook her head and denied +him the freedom for which he worked himself into a passion. + +But the weeks went by, and he continued to grow more tractable. +And through it all the weariness was asserting itself more and +more. "I am so tired, so tired," he would murmur, rolling his head +back and forth on the pillow like a peevish child. At a little +later period he began to make impassioned pleas for death, to beg +her to kill him, to beg Hans to put him our of his misery so that +he might at least rest comfortably. + +The situation was fast becoming impossible. Edith's nervousness +was increasing, and she knew her break-down might come any time. +She could not even get her proper rest, for she was haunted by the +fear that Hans would yield to his mania and kill Dennin while she +slept. Though January had already come, months would have to +elapse before any trading schooner was even likely to put into the +bay. Also, they had not expected to winter in the cabin, and the +food was running low; nor could Hans add to the supply by hunting. +They were chained to the cabin by the necessity of guarding their +prisoner. + +Something must be done, and she knew it. She forced herself to go +back into a reconsideration of the problem. She could not shake +off the legacy of her race, the law that was of her blood and that +had been trained into her. She knew that whatever she did she must +do according to the law, and in the long hours of watching, the +shot-gun on her knees, the murderer restless beside her and the +storms thundering without, she made original sociological +researches and worked out for herself the evolution of the law. It +came to her that the law was nothing more than the judgment and the +will of any group of people. It mattered not how large was the +group of people. There were little groups, she reasoned, like +Switzerland, and there were big groups like the United States. +Also, she reasoned, it did not matter how small was the group of +people. There might be only ten thousand people in a country, yet +their collective judgment and will would be the law of that +country. Why, then, could not one thousand people constitute such +a group? she asked herself. And if one thousand, why not one +hundred? Why not fifty? Why not five? Why not - two? + +She was frightened at her own conclusion, and she talked it over +with Hans. At first he could not comprehend, and then, when he +did, he added convincing evidence. He spoke of miners' meetings, +where all the men of a locality came together and made the law and +executed the law. There might be only ten or fifteen men +altogether, he said, but the will of the majority became the law +for the whole ten or fifteen, and whoever violated that will was +punished. + +Edith saw her way clear at last. Dennin must hang. Hans agreed +with her. Between them they constituted the majority of this +particular group. It was the group-will that Dennin should be +hanged. In the execution of this will Edith strove earnestly to +observe the customary forms, but the group was so small that Hans +and she had to serve as witnesses, as jury, and as judges - also as +executioners. She formally charged Michael Dennin with the murder +of Dutchy and Harkey, and the prisoner lay in his bunk and listened +to the testimony, first of Hans, and then of Edith. He refused to +plead guilty or not guilty, and remained silent when she asked him +if he had anything to say in his own defence. She and Hans, +without leaving their seats, brought in the jury's verdict of +guilty. Then, as judge, she imposed the sentence. Her voice +shook, her eyelids twitched, her left arm jerked, but she carried +it out. + +"Michael Dennin, in three days' time you are to be hanged by the +neck until you are dead." + +Such was the sentence. The man breathed an unconscious sigh of +relief, then laughed defiantly, and said, "Thin I'm thinkin' the +damn bunk won't be achin' me back anny more, an' that's a +consolation." + +With the passing of the sentence a feeling of relief seemed to +communicate itself to all of them. Especially was it noticeable in +Dennin. All sullenness and defiance disappeared, and he talked +sociably with his captors, and even with flashes of his old-time +wit. Also, he found great satisfaction in Edith's reading to him +from the Bible. She read from the New Testament, and he took keen +interest in the prodigal son and the thief on the cross. + +On the day preceding that set for the execution, when Edith asked +her usual question, "Why did you do it?" Dennin answered, "'Tis +very simple. I was thinkin' - " + +But she hushed him abruptly, asked him to wait, and hurried to +Hans's bedside. It was his watch off, and he came out of his +sleep, rubbing his eyes and grumbling. + +"Go," she told him, "and bring up Negook and one other Indian. +Michael's going to confess. Make them come. Take the rifle along +and bring them up at the point of it if you have to." + +Half an hour later Negook and his uncle, Hadikwan, were ushered +into the death chamber. They came unwillingly, Hans with his rifle +herding them along. + +"Negook," Edith said, "there is to be no trouble for you and your +people. Only is it for you to sit and do nothing but listen and +understand." + +Thus did Michael Dennin, under sentence of death, make public +confession of his crime. As he talked, Edith wrote his story down, +while the Indians listened, and Hans guarded the door for fear the +witnesses might bolt. + +He had not been home to the old country for fifteen years, Dennin +explained, and it had always been his intention to return with +plenty of money and make his old mother comfortable for the rest of +her days. + +"An' how was I to be doin' it on sixteen hundred?" he demanded. +"What I was after wantin' was all the goold, the whole eight +thousan'. Thin I cud go back in style. What ud be aisier, thinks +I to myself, than to kill all iv yez, report it at Skaguay for an +Indian-killin', an' thin pull out for Ireland? An' so I started in +to kill all iv yez, but, as Harkey was fond of sayin', I cut out +too large a chunk an' fell down on the swallowin' iv it. An' +that's me confession. I did me duty to the devil, an' now, God +willin', I'll do me duty to God." + +"Negook and Hadikwan, you have heard the white man's words," Edith +said to the Indians. "His words are here on this paper, and it is +for you to make a sign, thus, on the paper, so that white men to +come after will know that you have heard." + +The two Siwashes put crosses opposite their signatures, received a +summons to appear on the morrow with all their tribe for a further +witnessing of things, and were allowed to go. + +Dennin's hands were released long enough for him to sign the +document. Then a silence fell in the room. Hans was restless, and +Edith felt uncomfortable. Dennin lay on his back, staring straight +up at the moss-chinked roof. + +"An' now I'll do me duty to God," he murmured. He turned his head +toward Edith. "Read to me," he said, "from the book;" then added, +with a glint of playfulness, "Mayhap 'twill help me to forget the +bunk." + +The day of the execution broke clear and cold. The thermometer was +down to twenty-five below zero, and a chill wind was blowing which +drove the frost through clothes and flesh to the bones. For the +first time in many weeks Dennin stood upon his feet. His muscles +had remained inactive so long, and he was so out of practice in +maintaining an erect position, that he could scarcely stand. + +He reeled back and forth, staggered, and clutched hold of Edith +with his bound hands for support. + +"Sure, an' it's dizzy I am," he laughed weakly. + +A moment later he said, "An' it's glad I am that it's over with. +That damn bunk would iv been the death iv me, I know." + +When Edith put his fur cap on his head and proceeded to pull the +flaps down over his ears, he laughed and said: + +"What are you doin' that for?" + +"It's freezing cold outside", she answered. + +"An' in tin minutes' time what'll matter a frozen ear or so to poor +Michael Dennin?" he asked. + +She had nerved herself for the last culminating ordeal, and his +remark was like a blow to her self-possession. So far, everything +had seemed phantom-like, as in a dream, but the brutal truth of +what he had said shocked her eyes wide open to the reality of what +was taking place. Nor was her distress unnoticed by the Irishman. + +"I'm sorry to be troublin' you with me foolish spache," he said +regretfully. "I mint nothin' by it. 'Tis a great day for Michael +Dennin, an' he's as gay as a lark." + +He broke out in a merry whistle, which quickly became lugubrious +and ceased. + +"I'm wishin' there was a priest," he said wistfully; then added +swiftly, "But Michael Dennin's too old a campaigner to miss the +luxuries when he hits the trail." + +He was so very weak and unused to walking that when the door opened +and he passed outside, the wind nearly carried him off his feet. +Edith and Hans walked on either side of him and supported him, the +while he cracked jokes and tried to keep them cheerful, breaking +off, once, long enough to arrange the forwarding of his share of +the gold to his mother in Ireland. + +They climbed a slight hill and came out into an open space among +the trees. Here, circled solemnly about a barrel that stood on end +in the snow, were Negook and Hadikwan, and all the Siwashes down to +the babies and the dogs, come to see the way of the white man's +law. Near by was an open grave which Hans had burned into the +frozen earth. + +Dennin cast a practical eye over the preparations, noting the +grave, the barrel, the thickness of the rope, and the diameter of +the limb over which the rope was passed. + +"Sure, an' I couldn't iv done better meself, Hans, if it'd been for +you." + +He laughed loudly at his own sally, but Hans's face was frozen into +a sullen ghastliness that nothing less than the trump of doom could +have broken. Also, Hans was feeling very sick. He had not +realized the enormousness of the task of putting a fellow-man out +of the world. Edith, on the other hand, had realized; but the +realization did not make the task any easier. She was filled with +doubt as to whether she could hold herself together long enough to +finish it. She felt incessant impulses to scream, to shriek, to +collapse into the snow, to put her hands over her eyes and turn and +run blindly away, into the forest, anywhere, away. It was only by +a supreme effort of soul that she was able to keep upright and go +on and do what she had to do. And in the midst of it all she was +grateful to Dennin for the way he helped her. + +"Lind me a hand," he said to Hans, with whose assistance he managed +to mount the barrel. + +He bent over so that Edith could adjust the rope about his neck. +Then he stood upright while Hans drew the rope taut across the +overhead branch. + +"Michael Dennin, have you anything to say?" Edith asked in a clear +voice that shook in spite of her. + +Dennin shuffled his feet on the barrel, looked down bashfully like +a man making his maiden speech, and cleared his throat. + +"I'm glad it's over with," he said. "You've treated me like a +Christian, an' I'm thankin' you hearty for your kindness." + +"Then may God receive you, a repentant sinner," she said. + +"Ay," he answered, his deep voice as a response to her thin one, +"may God receive me, a repentant sinner." + +"Good-by, Michael," she cried, and her voice sounded desperate. + +She threw her weight against the barrel, but it did not overturn. + +"Hans! Quick! Help me!" she cried faintly. + +She could feel her last strength going, and the barrel resisted +her. Hans hurried to her, and the barrel went out from under +Michael Dennin. + +She turned her back, thrusting her fingers into her ears. Then she +began to laugh, harshly, sharply, metallically; and Hans was +shocked as he had not been shocked through the whole tragedy. +Edith Nelson's break-down had come. Even in her hysteria she knew +it, and she was glad that she had been able to hold up under the +strain until everything had been accomplished. She reeled toward +Hans. + +"Take me to the cabin, Hans," she managed to articulate. + +"And let me rest," she added. "Just let me rest, and rest, and +rest." + +With Hans's arm around her, supporting her weight and directing her +helpless steps, she went off across the snow. But the Indians +remained solemnly to watch the working of the white man's law that +compelled a man to dance upon the air. + + + +BROWN WOLF + + + +SHE had delayed, because of the dew-wet grass, in order to put on +her overshoes, and when she emerged from the house found her +waiting husband absorbed in the wonder of a bursting almond-bud. +She sent a questing glance across the tall grass and in and out +among the orchard trees. + +"Where's Wolf?" she asked. + +"He was here a moment ago." Walt Irvine drew himself away with a +jerk from the metaphysics and poetry of the organic miracle of +blossom, and surveyed the landscape. "He was running a rabbit the +last I saw of him." + +"Wolf! Wolf! Here Wolf!" she called, as they left the clearing +and took the trail that led down through the waxen-belled manzanita +jungle to the county road. + +Irvine thrust between his lips the little finger of each hand and +lent to her efforts a shrill whistling. + +She covered her ears hastily and made a wry grimace. + +"My! for a poet, delicately attuned and all the rest of it, you can +make unlovely noises. My ear-drums are pierced. You outwhistle - +" + +"Orpheus." + +"I was about to say a street-arab," she concluded severely. + +"Poesy does not prevent one from being practical - at least it +doesn't prevent ME. Mine is no futility of genius that can't sell +gems to the magazines." + +He assumed a mock extravagance, and went on: + +"I am no attic singer, no ballroom warbler. And why? Because I am +practical. Mine is no squalor of song that cannot transmute +itself, with proper exchange value, into a flower-crowned cottage, +a sweet mountain-meadow, a grove of red-woods, an orchard of +thirty-seven trees, one long row of blackberries and two short rows +of strawberries, to say nothing of a quarter of a mile of gurgling +brook. I am a beauty-merchant, a trader in song, and I pursue +utility, dear Madge. I sing a song, and thanks to the magazine +editors I transmute my song into a waft of the west wind sighing +through our redwoods, into a murmur of waters over mossy stones +that sings back to me another song than the one I sang and yet the +same song wonderfully - er - transmuted." + +"O that all your song-transmutations were as successful!" she +laughed. + +"Name one that wasn't." + +"Those two beautiful sonnets that you transmuted into the cow that +was accounted the worst milker in the township." + +"She was beautiful - " he began, + +"But she didn't give milk," Madge interrupted. + +"But she WAS beautiful, now, wasn't she?" he insisted. + +"And here's where beauty and utility fall out," was her reply. +"And there's the Wolf!" + +From the thicket-covered hillside came a crashing of underbrush, +and then, forty feet above them, on the edge of the sheer wall of +rock, appeared a wolf's head and shoulders. His braced fore paws +dislodged a pebble, and with sharp-pricked ears and peering eyes he +watched the fall of the pebble till it struck at their feet. Then +he transferred his gaze and with open mouth laughed down at them. + +"You Wolf, you!" and "You blessed Wolf!" the man and woman called +out to him. + +The ears flattened back and down at the sound, and the head seemed +to snuggle under the caress of an invisible hand. + +They watched him scramble backward into the thicket, then proceeded +on their way. Several minutes later, rounding a turn in the trail +where the descent was less precipitous, he joined them in the midst +of a miniature avalanche of pebbles and loose soil. He was not +demonstrative. A pat and a rub around the ears from the man, and a +more prolonged caressing from the woman, and he was away down the +trail in front of them, gliding effortlessly over the ground in +true wolf fashion. + +In build and coat and brush he was a huge timber-wolf; but the lie +was given to his wolfhood by his color and marking. There the dog +unmistakably advertised itself. No wolf was ever colored like him. +He was brown, deep brown, red-brown, an orgy of browns. Back and +shoulders were a warm brown that paled on the sides and underneath +to a yellow that was dingy because of the brown that lingered in +it. The white of the throat and paws and the spots over the eyes +was dirty because of the persistent and ineradicable brown, while +the eyes themselves were twin topazes, golden and brown. + +The man and woman loved the dog very much; perhaps this was because +it had been such a task to win his love. It had been no easy +matter when he first drifted in mysteriously out of nowhere to +their little mountain cottage. Footsore and famished, he had +killed a rabbit under their very noses and under their very +windows, and then crawled away and slept by the spring at the foot +of the blackberry bushes. When Walt Irvine went down to inspect +the intruder, he was snarled at for his pains, and Madge likewise +was snarled at when she went down to present, as a peace-offering, +a large pan of bread and milk. + +A most unsociable dog he proved to be, resenting all their +advances, refusing to let them lay hands on him, menacing them with +bared fangs and bristling hair. Nevertheless he remained, sleeping +and resting by the spring, and eating the food they gave him after +they set it down at a safe distance and retreated. His wretched +physical condition explained why he lingered; and when he had +recuperated, after several days' sojourn, he disappeared. + +And this would have been the end of him, so far as Irvine and his +wife were concerned, had not Irvine at that particular time been +called away into the northern part of the state. Riding along on +the train, near to the line between California and Oregon, he +chanced to look out of the window and saw his unsociable guest +sliding along the wagon road, brown and wolfish, tired yet +tireless, dust-covered and soiled with two hundred miles of travel. + +Now Irvine was a man of impulse, a poet. He got off the train at +the next station, bought a piece of meat at a butcher shop, and +captured the vagrant on the outskirts of the town. The return trip +was made in the baggage car, and so Wolf came a second time to the +mountain cottage. Here he was tied up for a week and made love to +by the man and woman. But it was very circumspect love-making. +Remote and alien as a traveller from another planet, he snarled +down their soft-spoken love-words. He never barked. In all the +time they had him he was never known to bark. + +To win him became a problem. Irvine liked problems. He had a +metal plate made, on which was stamped: RETURN TO WALT IRVINE, +GLEN ELLEN, SONOMA COUNTY, CALIFORNIA. This was riveted to a +collar and strapped about the dog's neck. Then he was turned +loose, and promptly he disappeared. A day later came a telegram +from Mendocino County. In twenty hours he had made over a hundred +miles to the north, and was still going when captured. + +He came back by Wells Fargo Express, was tied up three days, and +was loosed on the fourth and lost. This time he gained southern +Oregon before he was caught and returned. Always, as soon as he +received his liberty, he fled away, and always he fled north. He +was possessed of an obsession that drove him north. The homing +instinct, Irvine called it, after he had expended the selling price +of a sonnet in getting the animal back from northern Oregon. + +Another time the brown wanderer succeeded in traversing half the +length of California, all of Oregon, and most of Washington, before +he was picked up and returned "Collect." A remarkable thing was +the speed with which he travelled. Fed up and rested, as soon as +he was loosed he devoted all his energy to getting over the ground. +On the first day's run he was known to cover as high as a hundred +and fifty miles, and after that he would average a hundred miles a +day until caught. He always arrived back lean and hungry and +savage, and always departed fresh and vigorous, cleaving his way +northward in response to some prompting of his being that no one +could understand. + +But at last, after a futile year of flight, he accepted the +inevitable and elected to remain at the cottage where first he had +killed the rabbit and slept by the spring. Even after that, a long +time elapsed before the man and woman succeeded in patting him. It +was a great victory, for they alone were allowed to put hands on +him. He was fastidiously exclusive, and no guest at the cottage +ever succeeded in making up to him. A low growl greeted such +approach; if any one had the hardihood to come nearer, the lips +lifted, the naked fangs appeared, and the growl became a snarl - a +snarl so terrible and malignant that it awed the stoutest of them, +as it likewise awed the farmers' dogs that knew ordinary dog- +snarling, but had never seen wolf-snarling before. + +He was without antecedents. His history began with Walt and Madge. +He had come up from the south, but never a clew did they get of the +owner from whom he had evidently fled. Mrs. Johnson, their nearest +neighbor and the one who supplied them with milk, proclaimed him a +Klondike dog. Her brother was burrowing for frozen pay-streaks in +that far country, and so she constituted herself an authority on +the subject. + +But they did not dispute her. There were the tips of Wolf's ears, +obviously so severely frozen at some time that they would never +quite heal again. Besides, he looked like the photographs of the +Alaskan dogs they saw published in magazines and newspapers. They +often speculated over his past, and tried to conjure up (from what +they had read and heard) what his northland life had been. That +the northland still drew him, they knew; for at night they +sometimes heard him crying softly; and when the north wind blew and +the bite of frost was in the air, a great restlessness would come +upon him and he would lift a mournful lament which they knew to be +the long wolf-howl. Yet he never barked. No provocation was great +enough to draw from him that canine cry. + +Long discussion they had, during the time of winning him, as to +whose dog he was. Each claimed him, and each proclaimed loudly any +expression of affection made by him. But the man had the better of +it at first, chiefly because he was a man. It was patent that Wolf +had had no experience with women. He did not understand women. +Madge's skirts were something he never quite accepted. The swish +of them was enough to set him a-bristle with suspicion, and on a +windy day she could not approach him at all. + +On the other hand, it was Madge who fed him; also it was she who +ruled the kitchen, and it was by her favor, and her favor alone, +that he was permitted to come within that sacred precinct. It was +because of these things that she bade fair to overcome the handicap +of her garments. Then it was that Walt put forth special effort, +making it a practice to have Wolf lie at his feet while he wrote, +and, between petting and talking, losing much time from his work. +Walt won in the end, and his victory was most probably due to the +fact that he was a man, though Madge averred that they would have +had another quarter of a mile of gurgling brook, and at least two +west winds sighing through their redwoods, had Wait properly +devoted his energies to song-transmutation and left Wolf alone to +exercise a natural taste and an unbiassed judgment. + +"It's about time I heard from those triolets", Walt said, after a +silence of five minutes, during which they had swung steadily down +the trail. "There'll be a check at the post-office, I know, and +we'll transmute it into beautiful buckwheat flour, a gallon of +maple syrup, and a new pair of overshoes for you." + +"And into beautiful milk from Mrs. Johnson's beautiful cow," Madge +added. "To-morrow's the first of the month, you know." + +Walt scowled unconsciously; then his face brightened, and he +clapped his hand to his breast pocket. + +"Never mind. I have here a nice beautiful new cow, the best milker +in California." + +"When did you write it?" she demanded eagerly. Then, +reproachfully, "And you never showed it to me." + +"I saved it to read to you on the way to the post-office, in a spot +remarkably like this one," he answered, indicating, with a wave of +his hand, a dry log on which to sit. + +A tiny stream flowed out of a dense fern-brake, slipped down a +mossy-lipped stone, and ran across the path at their feet. From +the valley arose the mellow song of meadow-larks, while about them, +in and out, through sunshine and shadow, fluttered great yellow +butterflies. + +Up from below came another sound that broke in upon Walt reading +softly from his manuscript. It was a crunching of heavy feet, +punctuated now and again by the clattering of a displaced stone. +As Walt finished and looked to his wife for approval, a man came +into view around the turn of the trail. He was bare-headed and +sweaty. With a handkerchief in one hand he mopped his face, while +in the other hand he carried a new hat and a wilted starched collar +which he had removed from his neck. He was a well-built man, and +his muscles seemed on the point of bursting out of the painfully +new and ready-made black clothes he wore. + +"Warm day," Walt greeted him. Walt believed in country democracy, +and never missed an opportunity to practise it. + +The man paused and nodded. + +"I guess I ain't used much to the warm," he vouchsafed half +apologetically. "I'm more accustomed to zero weather." + +"You don't find any of that in this country," Walt laughed. + +"Should say not," the man answered. "An' I ain't here a-lookin' +for it neither. I'm tryin' to find my sister. Mebbe you know +where she lives. Her name's Johnson, Mrs. William Johnson." + +"You're not her Klondike brother!" Madge cried, her eyes bright +with interest, "about whom we've heard so much?" + +"Yes'm, that's me," he answered modestly. "My name's Miller, Skiff +Miller. I just thought I'd s'prise her." + +"You are on the right track then. Only you've come by the foot- +path." Madge stood up to direct him, pointing up the canyon a +quarter of a mile. "You see that blasted redwood? Take the little +trail turning off to the right. It's the short cut to her house. +You can't miss it." + +"Yes'm, thank you, ma'am," he said. He made tentative efforts to +go, but seemed awkwardly rooted to the spot. He was gazing at her +with an open admiration of which he was quite unconscious, and +which was drowning, along with him, in the rising sea of +embarrassment in which he floundered. + +"We'd like to hear you tell about the Klondike," Madge said. +"Mayn't we come over some day while you are at your sister's? Or, +better yet, won't you come over and have dinner with us?" + +"Yes'm, thank you, ma'am," he mumbled mechanically. Then he caught +himself up and added: "I ain't stoppin' long. I got to be pullin' +north again. I go out on to-night's train. You see, I've got a +mail contract with the government." + +When Madge had said that it was too bad, he made another futile +effort to go. But he could not take his eyes from her face. He +forgot his embarrassment in his admiration, and it was her turn to +flush and feel uncomfortable. + +It was at this juncture, when Walt had just decided it was time for +him to be saying something to relieve the strain, that Wolf, who +had been away nosing through the brush, trotted wolf-like into +view. + +Skiff Miller's abstraction disappeared. The pretty woman before +him passed out of his field of vision. He had eyes only for the +dog, and a great wonder came into his face. + +"Well, I'll be damned!" he enunciated slowly and solemnly. + +He sat down ponderingly on the log, leaving Madge standing. At the +sound of his voice, Wolf's ears had flattened down, then his mouth +had opened in a laugh. He trotted slowly up to the stranger and +first smelled his hands, then licked them with his tongue. + +Skiff Miller patted the dog's head, and slowly and solemnly +repeated, "Well, I'll be damned!" + +"Excuse me, ma'am," he said the next moment "I was just s'prised +some, that was all." + +"We're surprised, too," she answered lightly. "We never saw Wolf +make up to a stranger before." + +"Is that what you call him - Wolf?" the man asked. + +Madge nodded. "But I can't understand his friendliness toward you +- unless it's because you're from the Klondike. He's a Klondike +dog, you know." + +"Yes'm," Miller said absently. He lifted one of Wolf's fore legs +and examined the foot-pads, pressing them and denting them with his +thumb. "Kind of SOFT," he remarked. "He ain't been on trail for a +long time." + +"I say," Walt broke in, "it is remarkable the way he lets you +handle him." + +Skiff Miller arose, no longer awkward with admiration of Madge, and +in a sharp, businesslike manner asked, "How long have you had him?" + +But just then the dog, squirming and rubbing against the newcomer's +legs, opened his mouth and barked. It was an explosive bark, brief +and joyous, but a bark. + +"That's a new one on me," Skiff Miller remarked. + +Walt and Madge stared at each other. The miracle had happened. +Wolf had barked. + +"It's the first time he ever barked," Madge said. + +"First time I ever heard him, too," Miller volunteered. + +Madge smiled at him. The man was evidently a humorist. + +"Of course," she said, "since you have only seen him for five +minutes." + +Skiff Miller looked at her sharply, seeking in her face the guile +her words had led him to suspect. + +"I thought you understood," he said slowly. "I thought you'd +tumbled to it from his makin' up to me. He's my dog. His name +ain't Wolf. It's Brown." + +"Oh, Walt!" was Madge's instinctive cry to her husband. + +Walt was on the defensive at once. + +"How do you know he's your dog?" he demanded. + +"Because he is," was the reply. + +"Mere assertion," Walt said sharply. + +In his slow and pondering way, Skiff Miller looked at him, then +asked, with a nod of his head toward Madge: + +"How d'you know she's your wife? You just say, 'Because she is,' +and I'll say it's mere assertion. The dog's mine. I bred 'm an' +raised 'm, an' I guess I ought to know. Look here. I'll prove it +to you." + +Skiff Miller turned to the dog. "Brown!" His voice rang out +sharply, and at the sound the dog's ears flattened down as to a +caress. "Gee!" The dog made a swinging turn to the right. "Now +mush-on!" And the dog ceased his swing abruptly and started +straight ahead, halting obediently at command. + +"I can do it with whistles", Skiff Miller said proudly. "He was my +lead dog." + +"But you are not going to take him away with you?" Madge asked +tremulously. + +The man nodded. + +"Back into that awful Klondike world of suffering?" + +He nodded and added: "Oh, it ain't so bad as all that. Look at +me. Pretty healthy specimen, ain't I?" + +"But the dogs! The terrible hardship, the heart-breaking toil, the +starvation, the frost! Oh, I've read about it and I know." + +"I nearly ate him once, over on Little Fish River," Miller +volunteered grimly. "If I hadn't got a moose that day was all that +saved 'm." + +"I'd have died first!" Madge cried. + +"Things is different down here", Miller explained. "You don't have +to eat dogs. You think different just about the time you're all +in. You've never ben all in, so you don't know anything about it." + +"That's the very point," she argued warmly. "Dogs are not eaten in +California. Why not leave him here? He is happy. He'll never +want for food - you know that. He'll never suffer from cold and +hardship. Here all is softness and gentleness. Neither the human +nor nature is savage. He will never know a whip-lash again. And +as for the weather - why, it never snows here." + +"But it's all-fired hot in summer, beggin' your pardon," Skiff +Miller laughed. + +"But you do not answer," Madge continued passionately. "What have +you to offer him in that northland life?" + +"Grub, when I've got it, and that's most of the time," came the +answer. + +"And the rest of the time?" + +"No grub." + +"And the work?" + +"Yes, plenty of work," Miller blurted out impatiently. "Work +without end, an' famine, an' frost, an all the rest of the miseries +- that's what he'll get when he comes with me. But he likes it. +He is used to it. He knows that life. He was born to it an' +brought up to it. An' you don't know anything about it. You don't +know what you're talking about. That's where the dog belongs, and +that's where he'll be happiest." + +"The dog doesn't go," Walt announced in a determined voice. "So +there is no need of further discussion." + +"What's that?" Skiff Miller demanded, his brows lowering and an +obstinate flush of blood reddening his forehead. + +"I said the dog doesn't go, and that settles it. I don't believe +he's your dog. You may have seen him sometime. You may even +sometime have driven him for his owner. But his obeying the +ordinary driving commands of the Alaskan trail is no demonstration +that he is yours. Any dog in Alaska would obey you as he obeyed. +Besides, he is undoubtedly a valuable dog, as dogs go in Alaska, +and that is sufficient explanation of your desire to get possession +of him. Anyway, you've got to prove property." + +Skiff Miller, cool and collected, the obstinate flush a trifle +deeper on his forehead, his huge muscles bulging under the black +cloth of his coat, carefully looked the poet up and down as though +measuring the strength of his slenderness. + +The Klondiker's face took on a contemptuous expression as he said +finally, "I reckon there's nothin' in sight to prevent me takin' +the dog right here an' now." + +Walt's face reddened, and the striking-muscles of his arms and +shoulders seemed to stiffen and grow tense. His wife fluttered +apprehensively into the breach. + +"Maybe Mr. Miller is right", she said. "I am afraid that he is. +Wolf does seem to know him, and certainly he answers to the name of +'Brown.' He made friends with him instantly, and you know that's +something he never did with anybody before. Besides, look at the +way he barked. He was just bursting with joy Joy over what? +Without doubt at finding Mr. Miller." + +Walt's striking-muscles relaxed, and his shoulders seemed to droop +with hopelessness. + +"I guess you're right, Madge," he said. "Wolf isn't Wolf, but +Brown, and he must belong to Mr. Miller." + +"Perhaps Mr. Miller will sell him," she suggested. "We can buy +him." + +Skiff Miller shook his head, no longer belligerent, but kindly, +quick to be generous in response to generousness. + +"I had five dogs," he said, casting about for the easiest way to +temper his refusal. "He was the leader. They was the crack team +of Alaska. Nothin' could touch 'em. In 1898 I refused five +thousand dollars for the bunch. Dogs was high, then, anyway; but +that wasn't what made the fancy price. It was the team itself. +Brown was the best in the team. That winter I refused twelve +hundred for 'm. I didn't sell 'm then, an' I ain't a-sellin' 'm +now. Besides, I think a mighty lot of that dog. I've ben lookin' +for 'm for three years. It made me fair sick when I found he'd ben +stole - not the value of him, but the - well, I liked 'm like hell, +that's all, beggin' your pardon. I couldn't believe my eyes when I +seen 'm just now. I thought I was dreamin'. It was too good to be +true. Why, I was his wet-nurse. I put 'm to bed, snug every +night. His mother died, and I brought 'm up on condensed milk at +two dollars a can when I couldn't afford it in my own coffee. He +never knew any mother but me. He used to suck my finger regular, +the darn little cuss - that finger right there!" + +And Skiff Miller, too overwrought for speech, held up a fore finger +for them to see. + +"That very finger," he managed to articulate, as though it somehow +clinched the proof of ownership and the bond of affection. + +He was still gazing at his extended finger when Madge began to +speak. + +"But the dog," she said. "You haven't considered the dog." + +Skiff Miller looked puzzled. + +"Have you thought about him?" she asked. + +"Don't know what you're drivin' at," was the response. + +"Maybe the dog has some choice in the matter," Madge went on. +"Maybe he has his likes and desires. You have not considered him. +You give him no choice. It has never entered your mind that +possibly he might prefer California to Alaska. You consider only +what you like. You do with him as you would with a sack of +potatoes or a bale of hay." + +This was a new way of looking at it, and Miller was visibly +impressed as he debated it in his mind. Madge took advantage of +his indecision. + +"If you really love him, what would be happiness to him would be +your happiness also," she urged. + +Skiff Miller continued to debate with himself, and Madge stole a +glance of exultation to her husband, who looked back warm approval. + +"What do you think?" the Klondiker suddenly demanded. + +It was her turn to be puzzled. "What do you mean?" she asked. + +"D'ye think he'd sooner stay in California?" + +She nodded her head with positiveness. "I am sure of it." + +Skiff Miller again debated with himself, though this time aloud, at +the same time running his gaze in a judicial way over the mooted +animal. + +"He was a good worker. He's done a heap of work for me. He never +loafed on me, an' he was a joe-dandy at hammerin' a raw team into +shape. He's got a head on him. He can do everything but talk. He +knows what you say to him. Look at 'm now. He knows we're talkin' +about him." + +The dog was lying at Skiff Miller's feet, head close down on paws, +ears erect and listening, and eyes that were quick and eager to +follow the sound of speech as it fell from the lips of first one +and then the other. + +"An' there's a lot of work in 'm yet. He's good for years to come. +An' I do like him. I like him like hell." + +Once or twice after that Skiff Miller opened his mouth and closed +it again without speaking. Finally he said: + +"I'll tell you what I'll do. Your remarks, ma'am, has some weight +in them. The dog's worked hard, and maybe he's earned a soft berth +an' has got a right to choose. Anyway, we'll leave it up to him. +Whatever he says, goes. You people stay right here settin' down. +I'll say good-by and walk off casual-like. If he wants to stay, he +can stay. If he wants to come with me, let 'm come. I won't call +'m to come an' don't you call 'm to come back." + +He looked with sudden suspicion at Madge, and added, "Only you must +play fair. No persuadin' after my back is turned." + +"We'll play fair," Madge began, but Skiff Miller broke in on her +assurances. + +"I know the ways of women," he announced. "Their hearts is soft. +When their hearts is touched they're likely to stack the cards, +look at the bottom of the deck, an' lie like the devil - beggin' +your pardon, ma'am. I'm only discoursin' about women in general." + +"I don't know how to thank you," Madge quavered. + +"I don't see as you've got any call to thank me," he replied. +"Brown ain't decided yet. Now you won't mind if I go away slow? +It's no more'n fair, seein' I'll be out of sight inside a hundred +yards." - Madge agreed, and added, "And I promise you faithfully +that we won't do anything to influence him." + +"Well, then, I might as well be gettin' along," Skiff Miller said +in the ordinary tones of one departing. + +At this change in his voice, Wolf lifted his head quickly, and +still more quickly got to his feet when the man and woman shook +hands. He sprang up on his hind legs, resting his fore paws on her +hip and at the same time licking Skiff Miller's hand. When the +latter shook hands with Walt, Wolf repeated his act, resting his +weight on Walt and licking both men's hands. + +"It ain't no picnic, I can tell you that," were the Klondiker's +last words, as he turned and went slowly up the trail. + +For the distance of twenty feet Wolf watched him go, himself all +eagerness and expectancy, as though waiting for the man to turn and +retrace his steps. Then, with a quick low whine, Wolf sprang after +him, overtook him, caught his hand between his teeth with reluctant +tenderness, and strove gently to make him pause. + +Failing in this, Wolf raced back to where Walt Irvine sat, catching +his coat-sleeve in his teeth and trying vainly to drag him after +the retreating man. + +Wolf's perturbation began to wax. He desired ubiquity. He wanted +to be in two places at the same time, with the old master and the +new, and steadily the distance between them was increasing. He +sprang about excitedly, making short nervous leaps and twists, now +toward one, now toward the other, in painful indecision, not +knowing his own mind, desiring both and unable to choose, uttering +quick sharp whines and beginning to pant. + +He sat down abruptly on his haunches, thrusting his nose upward, +the mouth opening and closing with jerking movements, each time +opening wider. These jerking movements were in unison with the +recurrent spasms that attacked the throat, each spasm severer and +more intense than the preceding one. And in accord with jerks and +spasms the larynx began to vibrate, at first silently, accompanied +by the rush of air expelled from the lungs, then sounding a low, +deep note, the lowest in the register of the human ear. All this +was the nervous and muscular preliminary to howling. + +But just as the howl was on the verge of bursting from the full +throat, the wide-opened mouth was closed, the paroxysms ceased, and +he looked long and steadily at the retreating man. Suddenly Wolf +turned his head, and over his shoulder just as steadily regarded +Walt. The appeal was unanswered. Not a word nor a sign did the +dog receive, no suggestion and no clew as to what his conduct +should be. + +A glance ahead to where the old master was nearing the curve of the +trail excited him again. He sprang to his feet with a whine, and +then, struck by a new idea, turned his attention to Madge. +Hitherto he had ignored her, but now, both masters failing him, she +alone was left. He went over to her and snuggled his head in her +lap, nudging her arm with his nose - an old trick of his when +begging for favors. He backed away from her and began writhing and +twisting playfully, curvetting and prancing, half rearing and +striking his fore paws to the earth, struggling with all his body, +from the wheedling eyes and flattening ears to the wagging tail, to +express the thought that was in him and that was denied him +utterance. + +This, too, he soon abandoned. He was depressed by the coldness of +these humans who had never been cold before. No response could he +draw from them, no help could he get. They did not consider him. +They were as dead. + +He turned and silently gazed after the old master. Skiff Miller +was rounding the curve. In a moment he would be gone from view. +Yet he never turned his head, plodding straight onward, slowly and +methodically, as though possessed of no interest in what was +occurring behind his back. + +And in this fashion he went out of view. Wolf waited for him to +reappear. He waited a long minute, silently, quietly, without +movement, as though turned to stone - withal stone quick with +eagerness and desire. He barked once, and waited. Then he turned +and trotted back to Walt Irvine. He sniffed his hand and dropped +down heavily at his feet, watching the trail where it curved +emptily from view. + +The tiny stream slipping down the mossy-lipped stone seemed +suddenly to increase the volume of its gurgling noise. Save for +the meadow-larks, there was no other sound. The great yellow +butterflies drifted silently through the sunshine and lost +themselves in the drowsy shadows. Madge gazed triumphantly at her +husband. + +A few minutes later Wolf got upon his feet. Decision and +deliberation marked his movements. He did not glance at the man +and woman. His eyes were fixed up the trail. He had made up his +mind. They knew it. And they knew, so far as they were concerned, +that the ordeal had just begun. + +He broke into a trot, and Madge's lips pursed, forming an avenue +for the caressing sound that it was the will of her to send forth. +But the caressing sound was not made. She was impelled to look at +her husband, and she saw the sternness with which he watched her. +The pursed lips relaxed, and she sighed inaudibly. + +Wolf's trot broke into a run. Wider and wider were the leaps he +made. Not once did he turn his head, his wolf's brush standing out +straight behind him. He cut sharply across the curve of the trail +and was gone. + + + +THE SUN-DOG TRAIL + + + +SITKA CHARLEY smoked his pipe and gazed thoughtfully at the POLICE +GAZETTE illustration on the wall. For half an hour he had been +steadily regarding it, and for half an hour I had been slyly +watching him. Something was going on in that mind of his, and, +whatever it was, I knew it was well worth knowing. He had lived +life, and seen things, and performed that prodigy of prodigies, +namely, the turning of his back upon his own people, and, in so far +as it was possible for an Indian, becoming a white man even in his +mental processes. As he phrased it himself, he had come into the +warm, sat among us, by our fires, and become one of us. He had +never learned to read nor write, but his vocabulary was remarkable, +and more remarkable still was the completeness with which he had +assumed the white man's point of view, the white man's attitude +toward things. + +We had struck this deserted cabin after a hard day on trail. The +dogs had been fed, the supper dishes washed, the beds made, and we +were now enjoying that most delicious hour that comes each day, and +but once each day, on the Alaskan trail, the hour when nothing +intervenes between the tired body and bed save the smoking of the +evening pipe. Some former denizen of the cabin had decorated its +walls with illustrations torn from magazines and newspapers, and it +was these illustrations that had held Sitka Charley's attention +from the moment of our arrival two hours before. He had studied +them intently, ranging from one to another and back again, and I +could see that there was uncertainty in his mind, and bepuzzlement. + +"Well?" I finally broke the silence. + +He took the pipe from his mouth and said simply, "I do not +understand." + +He smoked on again, and again removed the pipe, using it to point +at the POLICE GAZETTE illustration. + +"That picture - what does it mean? I do not understand." + +I looked at the picture. A man, with a preposterously wicked face, +his right hand pressed dramatically to his heart, was falling +backward to the floor. Confronting him, with a face that was a +composite of destroying angel and Adonis, was a man holding a +smoking revolver. + +"One man is killing the other man," I said, aware of a distinct +bepuzzlement of my own and of failure to explain. + +"Why?" asked Sitka Charley. + +"I do not know," I confessed. + +"That picture is all end," he said. "It has no beginning." + +"It is life," I said. + +"Life has beginning," he objected. + +I was silenced for the moment, while his eyes wandered on to an +adjoining decoration, a photographic reproduction of somebody's +"Leda and the Swan." + +"That picture," he said, "has no beginning. It has no end. I do +not understand pictures." + +"Look at that picture," I commanded, pointing to a third +decoration. "It means something. Tell me what it means to you." + +He studied it for several minutes. + +"The little girl is sick," he said finally. "That is the doctor +looking at her. They have been up all night - see, the oil is low +in the lamp, the first morning light is coming in at the window. +It is a great sickness; maybe she will die, that is why the doctor +looks so hard. That is the mother. It is a great sickness, +because the mother's head is on the table and she is crying." + +"How do you know she is crying?" I interrupted. "You cannot see +her face. Perhaps she is asleep." + +Sitka Charley looked at me in swift surprise, then back at the +picture. It was evident that he had not reasoned the impression. + +"Perhaps she is asleep," he repeated. He studied it closely. "No, +she is not asleep. The shoulders show that she is not asleep. I +have seen the shoulders of a woman who cried. The mother is +crying. It is a very great sickness." + +"And now you understand the picture," I cried. + +He shook his head, and asked, "The little girl - does it die?" + +It was my turn for silence. + +"Does it die?" he reiterated. "You are a painter-man. Maybe you +know." + +"No, I do not know," I confessed. + +"It is not life," he delivered himself dogmatically. "In life +little girl die or get well. Something happen in life. In picture +nothing happen. No, I do not understand pictures." + +His disappointment was patent. It was his desire to understand all +things that white men understand, and here, in this matter, he +failed. I felt, also, that there was challenge in his attitude. +He was bent upon compelling me to show him the wisdom of pictures. +Besides, he had remarkable powers of visualization. I had long +since learned this. He visualized everything. He saw life in +pictures, felt life in pictures, generalized life in pictures; and +yet he did not understand pictures when seen through other men's +eyes and expressed by those men with color and line upon canvas. + +"Pictures are bits of life," I said. "We paint life as we see it. +For instance, Charley, you are coming along the trail. It is +night. You see a cabin. The window is lighted. You look through +the window for one second, or for two seconds, you see something, +and you go on your way. You saw maybe a man writing a letter. You +saw something without beginning or end. Nothing happened. Yet it +was a bit of life you saw. You remember it afterward. It is like +a picture in your memory. The window is the frame of the picture." + +I could see that he was interested, and I knew that as I spoke he +had looked through the window and seen the man writing the letter. + +"There is a picture you have painted that I understand," he said. +"It is a true picture. It has much meaning. It is in your cabin +at Dawson. It is a faro table. There are men playing. It is a +large game. The limit is off." + +"How do you know the limit is off?" I broke in excitedly, for here +was where my work could be tried out on an unbiassed judge who knew +life only, and not art, and who was a sheer master of reality. +Also, I was very proud of that particular piece of work. I had +named it "The Last Turn," and I believed it to be one of the best +things I had ever done. + +"There are no chips on the table", Sitka Charley explained. "The +men are playing with markers. That means the roof is the limit. +One man play yellow markers - maybe one yellow marker worth one +thousand dollars, maybe two thousand dollars. One man play red +markers. Maybe they are worth five hundred dollars, maybe one +thousand dollars. It is a very big game. Everybody play very +high, up to the roof. How do I know? You make the dealer with +blood little bit warm in face." (I was delighted.) "The lookout, +you make him lean forward in his chair. Why he lean forward? Why +his face very much quiet? Why his eyes very much bright? Why +dealer warm with blood a little bit in the face? Why all men very +quiet? - the man with yellow markers? the man with white markers? +the man with red markers? Why nobody talk? Because very much +money. Because last turn." + +"How do you know it is the last turn?" I asked. + +"The king is coppered, the seven is played open," he answered. +"Nobody bet on other cards. Other cards all gone. Everybody one +mind. Everybody play king to lose, seven to win. Maybe bank lose +twenty thousand dollars, maybe bank win. Yes, that picture I +understand." + +"Yet you do not know the end!" I cried triumphantly. "It is the +last turn, but the cards are not yet turned. In the picture they +will never be turned. Nobody will ever know who wins nor who +loses." + +"And the men will sit there and never talk," he said, wonder and +awe growing in his face. "And the lookout will lean forward, and +the blood will be warm in the face of the dealer. It is a strange +thing. Always will they sit there, always; and the cards will +never be turned." + +"It is a picture," I said. "It is life. You have seen things like +it yourself." + +He looked at me and pondered, then said, very slowly: "No, as you +say, there is no end to it. Nobody will ever know the end. Yet is +it a true thing. I have seen it. It is life." + +For a long time he smoked on in silence, weighing the pictorial +wisdom of the white man and verifying it by the facts of life. He +nodded his head several times, and grunted once or twice. Then he +knocked the ashes from his pipe, carefully refilled it, and after a +thoughtful pause, lighted it again. + +"Then have I, too, seen many pictures of life," he began; "pictures +not painted, but seen with the eyes. I have looked at them like +through the window at the man writing the letter. I have seen many +pieces of life, without beginning, without end, without +understanding." + +With a sudden change of position he turned his eyes full upon me +and regarded me thoughtfully. + +"Look you," he said; "you are a painter-man. How would you paint +this which I saw, a picture without beginning, the ending of which +I do not understand, a piece of life with the northern lights for a +candle and Alaska for a frame." + +"It is a large canvas," I murmured. + +But he ignored me, for the picture he had in mind was before his +eyes and he was seeing it. + +"There are many names for this picture," he said. "But in the +picture there are many sun-dogs, and it comes into my mind to call +it 'The Sun-Dog Trail.' It was a long time ago, seven years ago, +the fall of '97, when I saw the woman first time. At Lake +Linderman I had one canoe, very good Peterborough canoe. I came +over Chilcoot Pass with two thousand letters for Dawson. I was +letter carrier. Everybody rush to Klondike at that time. Many +people on trail. Many people chop down trees and make boats. Last +water, snow in the air, snow on the ground, ice on the lake, on the +river ice in the eddies. Every day more snow, more ice. Maybe one +day, maybe three days, maybe six days, any day maybe freeze-up +come, then no more water, all ice, everybody walk, Dawson six +hundred miles, long time walk. Boat go very quick. Everybody want +to go boat. Everybody say, 'Charley, two hundred dollars you take +me in canoe,' 'Charley, three hundred dollars,' 'Charley, four +hundred dollars.' I say no, all the time I say no. I am letter +carrier. + +"In morning I get to Lake Linderman. I walk all night and am much +tired. I cook breakfast, I eat, then I sleep on the beach three +hours. I wake up. It is ten o'clock. Snow is falling. There is +wind, much wind that blows fair. Also, there is a woman who sits +in the snow alongside. She is white woman, she is young, very +pretty, maybe she is twenty years old, maybe twenty-five years old. +She look at me. I look at her. She is very tired. She is no +dance-woman. I see that right away. She is good woman, and she is +very tired. + +"'You are Sitka Charley,' she says. I get up quick and roll +blankets so snow does not get inside. 'I go to Dawson,' she says. +'I go in your canoe - how much?' + +"I do not want anybody in my canoe. I do not like to say no. So I +say, 'One thousand dollars.' Just for fun I say it, so woman +cannot come with me, much better than say no. She look at me very +hard, then she says, 'When you start?' I say right away. Then she +says all right, she will give me one thousand dollars. + +"What can I say? I do not want the woman, yet have I given my word +that for one thousand dollars she can come. I am surprised. Maybe +she make fun, too, so I say, 'Let me see thousand dollars.' And +that woman, that young woman, all alone on the trail, there in the +snow, she take out one thousand dollars, in greenbacks, and she put +them in my hand. I look at money, I look at her. What can I say? +I say, 'No, my canoe very small. There is no room for outfit.' +She laugh. She says, 'I am great traveller. This is my outfit.' +She kick one small pack in the snow. It is two fur robes, canvas +outside, some woman's clothes inside. I pick it up. Maybe thirty- +five pounds. I am surprised. She take it away from me. She says, +'Come, let us start.' She carries pack into canoe. What can I +say? I put my blankets into canoe. We start. + +"And that is the way I saw the woman first time. The wind was +fair. I put up small sail. The canoe went very fast, it flew like +a bird over the high waves. The woman was much afraid. 'What for +you come Klondike much afraid?' I ask. She laugh at me, a hard +laugh, but she is still much afraid. Also is she very tired. I +run canoe through rapids to Lake Bennett. Water very bad, and +woman cry out because she is afraid. We go down Lake Bennett, +snow, ice, wind like a gale, but woman is very tired and go to +sleep. + +"That night we make camp at Windy Arm. Woman sit by fire and eat +supper. I look at her. She is pretty. She fix hair. There is +much hair, and it is brown, also sometimes it is like gold in the +firelight, when she turn her head, so, and flashes come from it +like golden fire. The eyes are large and brown, sometimes warm +like a candle behind a curtain, sometimes very hard and bright like +broken ice when sun shines upon it. When she smile - how can I +say? - when she smile I know white man like to kiss her, just like +that, when she smile. She never do hard work. Her hands are soft, +like baby's hand. She is soft all over, like baby. She is not +thin, but round like baby; her arm, her leg, her muscles, all soft +and round like baby. Her waist is small, and when she stand up, +when she walk, or move her head or arm, it is - I do not know the +word - but it is nice to look at, like - maybe I say she is built +on lines like the lines of a good canoe, just like that, and when +she move she is like the movement of the good canoe sliding through +still water or leaping through water when it is white and fast and +angry. It is very good to see. + +"Why does she come into Klondike, all alone, with plenty of money? +I do not know. Next day I ask her. She laugh and says: 'Sitka +Charley, that is none of your business. I give you one thousand +dollars take me to Dawson. That only is your business.' Next day +after that I ask her what is her name. She laugh, then she says, +'Mary Jones, that is my name.' I do not know her name, but I know +all the time that Mary Jones is not her name. + +"It is very cold in canoe, and because of cold sometimes she not +feel good. Sometimes she feel good and she sing. Her voice is +like a silver bell, and I feel good all over like when I go into +church at Holy Cross Mission, and when she sing I feel strong and +paddle like hell. Then she laugh and says, 'You think we get to +Dawson before freeze-up, Charley?' Sometimes she sit in canoe and +is thinking far away, her eyes like that, all empty. She does not +see Sitka Charley, nor the ice, nor the snow. She is far away. +Very often she is like that, thinking far away. Sometimes, when +she is thinking far away, her face is not good to see. It looks +like a face that is angry, like the face of one man when he want to +kill another man. + +"Last day to Dawson very bad. Shore-ice in all the eddies, mush- +ice in the stream. I cannot paddle. The canoe freeze to ice. I +cannot get to shore. There is much danger. All the time we go +down Yukon in the ice. That night there is much noise of ice. +Then ice stop, canoe stop, everything stop. 'Let us go to shore,' +the woman says. I say no, better wait. By and by, everything +start down-stream again. There is much snow. I cannot see. At +eleven o'clock at night, everything stop. At one o'clock +everything start again. At three o'clock everything stop. Canoe +is smashed like eggshell, but is on top of ice and cannot sink. I +hear dogs howling. We wait. We sleep. By and by morning come. +There is no more snow. It is the freeze-up, and there is Dawson. +Canoe smash and stop right at Dawson. Sitka Charley has come in +with two thousand letters on very last water. + +"The woman rent a cabin on the hill, and for one week I see her no +more. Then, one day, she come to me. 'Charley,' she says, 'how do +you like to work for me? You drive dogs, make camp, travel with +me.' I say that I make too much money carrying letters. She says, +'Charley, I will pay you more money.' I tell her that pick-and- +shovel man get fifteen dollars a day in the mines. She says, 'That +is four hundred and fifty dollars a month.' And I say, 'Sitka +Charley is no pick-and-shovel man.' Then she says, 'I understand, +Charley. I will give you seven hundred and fifty dollars each +month.' It is a good price, and I go to work for her. I buy for +her dogs and sled. We travel up Klondike, up Bonanza and Eldorado, +over to Indian River, to Sulphur Creek, to Dominion, back across +divide to Gold Bottom and to Too Much Gold, and back to Dawson. +All the time she look for something, I do not know what. I am +puzzled. 'What thing you look for?' I ask. She laugh. 'You look +for gold?' I ask. She laugh. Then she says, 'That is none of your +business, Charley.' And after that I never ask any more. + +"She has a small revolver which she carries in her belt. +Sometimes, on trail, she makes practice with revolver. I laugh. +'What for you laugh, Charley?' she ask. 'What for you play with +that?' I say. 'It is no good. It is too small. It is for a +child, a little plaything.' When we get back to Dawson she ask me +to buy good revolver for her. I buy a Colt's 44. It is very +heavy, but she carry it in her belt all the time. + +"At Dawson comes the man. Which way he come I do not know. Only +do I know he is CHECHA-QUO - what you call tenderfoot. His hands +are soft, just like hers. He never do hard work. He is soft all +over. At first I think maybe he is her husband. But he is too +young. Also, they make two beds at night. He is maybe twenty +years old. His eyes blue, his hair yellow, he has a little +mustache which is yellow. His name is John Jones. Maybe he is her +brother. I do not know. I ask questions no more. Only I think +his name not John Jones. Other people call him Mr. Girvan. I do +not think that is his name. I do not think her name is Miss +Girvan, which other people call her. I think nobody know their +names. + +"One night I am asleep at Dawson. He wake me up. He says, 'Get +the dogs ready; we start.' No more do I ask questions, so I get +the dogs ready and we start. We go down the Yukon. It is night- +time, it is November, and it is very cold - sixty-five below. She +is soft. He is soft. The cold bites. They get tired. They cry +under their breaths to themselves. By and by I say better we stop +and make camp. But they say that they will go on. Three times I +say better to make camp and rest, but each time they say they will +go on. After that I say nothing. All the time, day after day, is +it that way. They are very soft. They get stiff and sore. They +do not understand moccasins, and their feet hurt very much. They +limp, they stagger like drunken people, they cry under their +breaths; and all the time they say, 'On! on! We will go on!' + +"They are like crazy people. All the time do they go on, and on. +Why do they go on? I do not know. Only do they go on. What are +they after? I do not know. They are not after gold. There is no +stampede. Besides, they spend plenty of money. But I ask +questions no more. I, too, go on and on, because I am strong on +the trail and because I am greatly paid. + +"We make Circle City. That for which they look is not there. I +think now that we will rest, and rest the dogs. But we do not +rest, not for one day do we rest. 'Come,' says the woman to the +man, 'let us go on.' And we go on. We leave the Yukon. We cross +the divide to the west and swing down into the Tanana Country. +There are new diggings there. But that for which they look is not +there, and we take the back trail to Circle City. + +"It is a hard journey. December is most gone. The days are short. +It is very cold. One morning it is seventy below zero. 'Better +that we don't travel to-day,' I say, 'else will the frost be +unwarmed in the breathing and bite all the edges of our lungs. +After that we will have bad cough, and maybe next spring will come +pneumonia.' But they are CHECHA-QUO. They do not understand the +trail. They are like dead people they are so tired, but they say, +'Let us go on.' We go on. The frost bites their lungs, and they +get the dry cough. They cough till the tears run down their +cheeks. When bacon is frying they must run away from the fire and +cough half an hour in the snow. They freeze their cheeks a little +bit, so that the skin turns black and is very sore. Also, the man +freezes his thumb till the end is like to come off, and he must +wear a large thumb on his mitten to keep it warm. And sometimes, +when the frost bites hard and the thumb is very cold, he must take +off the mitten and put the hand between his legs next to the skin, +so that the thumb may get warm again. + +"We limp into Circle City, and even I, Sitka Charley, am tired. It +is Christmas Eve. I dance, drink, make a good time, for to-morrow +is Christmas Day and we will rest. But no. It is five o'clock in +the morning - Christmas morning. I am two hours asleep. The man +stand by my bed. 'Come, Charley,' he says, 'harness the dogs. We +start.' + +"Have I not said that I ask questions no more? They pay me seven +hundred and fifty dollars each month. They are my masters. I am +their man. If they say, 'Charley, come, let us start for hell,' I +will harness the dogs, and snap the whip, and start for hell. So I +harness the dogs, and we start down the Yukon. Where do we go? +They do not say. Only do they say, 'On! on! We will go on!' + +"They are very weary. They have travelled many hundreds of miles, +and they do not understand the way of the trail. Besides, their +cough is very bad - the dry cough that makes strong men swear and +weak men cry. But they go on. Every day they go on. Never do +they rest the dogs. Always do they buy new dogs. At every camp, +at every post, at every Indian village, do they cut out the tired +dogs and put in fresh dogs. They have much money, money without +end, and like water they spend it. They are crazy? Sometimes I +think so, for there is a devil in them that drives them on and on, +always on. What is it that they try to find? It is not gold. +Never do they dig in the ground. I think a long time. Then I +think it is a man they try to find. But what man? Never do we see +the man. Yet are they like wolves on the trail of the kill. But +they are funny wolves, soft wolves, baby wolves who do not +understand the way of the trail. They cry aloud in their sleep at +night. In their sleep they moan and groan with the pain of their +weariness. And in the day, as they stagger along the trail, they +cry under their breaths. They are funny wolves. + +"We pass Fort Yukon. We pass Fort Hamilton. We pass Minook. +January has come and nearly gone. The days are very short. At +nine o'clock comes daylight. At three o'clock comes night. And it +is cold. And even I, Sitka Charley, am tired. Will we go on +forever this way without end? I do not know. But always do I look +along the trail for that which they try to find. There are few +people on the trail. Sometimes we travel one hundred miles and +never see a sign of life. It is very quiet. There is no sound. +Sometimes it snows, and we are like wandering ghosts. Sometimes it +is clear, and at midday the sun looks at us for a moment over the +hills to the south. The northern lights flame in the sky, and the +sun-dogs dance, and the air is filled with frost-dust. + +"I am Sitka Charley, a strong man. I was born on the trail, and +all my days have I lived on the trail. And yet have these two baby +wolves made me very tired. I am lean, like a starved cat, and I am +glad of my bed at night, and in the morning am I greatly weary. +Yet ever are we hitting the trail in the dark before daylight, and +still on the trail does the dark after nightfall find us. These +two baby wolves! If I am lean like a starved cat, they are lean +like cats that have never eaten and have died. Their eyes are sunk +deep in their heads, bright sometimes as with fever, dim and cloudy +sometimes like the eyes of the dead. Their cheeks are hollow like +caves in a cliff. Also are their cheeks black and raw from many +freezings. Sometimes it is the woman in the morning who says, 'I +cannot get up. I cannot move. Let me die.' And it is the man who +stands beside her and says, 'Come, let us go on.' And they go on. +And sometimes it is the man who cannot get up, and the woman says, +'Come, let us go on.' But the one thing they do, and always do, is +to go on. Always do they go on. + +"Sometimes, at the trading posts, the man and woman get letters. I +do not know what is in the letters. But it is the scent that they +follow, these letters themselves are the scent. One time an Indian +gives them a letter. I talk with him privately. He says it is a +man with one eye who gives him the letter, a man who travels fast +down the Yukon. That is all. But I know that the baby wolves are +after the man with the one eye. + +"It is February, and we have travelled fifteen hundred miles. We +are getting near Bering Sea, and there are storms and blizzards. +The going is hard. We come to Anvig. I do not know, but I think +sure they get a letter at Anvig, for they are much excited, and +they say, 'Come, hurry, let us go on.' But I say we must buy grub, +and they say we must travel light and fast. Also, they say that we +can get grub at Charley McKeon's cabin. Then do I know that they +take the big cut-off, for it is there that Charley McKeon lives +where the Black Rock stands by the trail. + +"Before we start, I talk maybe two minutes with the priest at +Anvig. Yes, there is a man with one eye who has gone by and who +travels fast. And I know that for which they look is the man with +the one eye. We leave Anvig with little grub, and travel light and +fast. There are three fresh dogs bought in Anvig, and we travel +very fast. The man and woman are like mad. We start earlier in +the morning, we travel later at night. I look sometimes to see +them die, these two baby wolves, but they will not die. They go on +and on. When the dry cough take hold of them hard, they hold their +hands against their stomach and double up in the snow, and cough, +and cough, and cough. They cannot walk, they cannot talk. Maybe +for ten minutes they cough, maybe for half an hour, and then they +straighten up, the tears from the coughing frozen on their faces, +and the words they say are, 'Come, let us go on.' + +"Even I, Sitka Charley, am greatly weary, and I think seven hundred +and fifty dollars is a cheap price for the labor I do. We take the +big cut-off, and the trail is fresh. The baby wolves have their +noses down to the trail, and they say, 'Hurry!' All the time do +they say, 'Hurry! Faster! Faster!' It is hard on the dogs. We +have not much food and we cannot give them enough to eat, and they +grow weak. Also, they must work hard. The woman has true sorrow +for them, and often, because of them, the tears are in her eyes. +But the devil in her that drives her on will not let her stop and +rest the dogs. + +"And then we come upon the man with the one eye. He is in the snow +by the trail, and his leg is broken. Because of the leg he has +made a poor camp, and has been lying on his blankets for three days +and keeping a fire going. When we find him he is swearing. He +swears like hell. Never have I heard a man swear like that man. I +am glad. Now that they have found that for which they look, we +will have rest. But the woman says, 'Let us start. Hurry!' + +"I am surprised. But the man with the one eye says, 'Never mind +me. Give me your grub. You will get more grub at McKeon's cabin +to-morrow. Send McKeon back for me. But do you go on.' Here is +another wolf, an old wolf, and he, too, thinks but the one thought, +to go on. So we give him our grub, which is not much, and we chop +wood for his fire, and we take his strongest dogs and go on. We +left the man with one eye there in the snow, and he died there in +the snow, for McKeon never went back for him. And who that man +was, and why he came to be there, I do not know. But I think he +was greatly paid by the man and the woman, like me, to do their +work for them. + +"That day and that night we had nothing to eat, and all next day we +travelled fast, and we were weak with hunger. Then we came to the +Black Rock, which rose five hundred feet above the trail. It was +at the end of the day. Darkness was coming, and we could not find +the cabin of McKeon. We slept hungry, and in the morning looked +for the cabin. It was not there, which was a strange thing, for +everybody knew that McKeon lived in a cabin at Black Rock. We were +near to the coast, where the wind blows hard and there is much +snow. Everywhere there were small hills of snow where the wind had +piled it up. I have a thought, and I dig in one and another of the +hills of snow. Soon I find the walls of the cabin, and I dig down +to the door. I go inside. McKeon is dead. Maybe two or three +weeks he is dead. A sickness had come upon him so that he could +not leave the cabin. The wind and the snow had covered the cabin. +He had eaten his grub and died. I looked for his cache, but there +was no grub in it. + +"'Let us go on,' said the woman. Her eyes were hungry, and her +hand was upon her heart, as with the hurt of something inside. She +bent back and forth like a tree in the wind as she stood there. +'Yes, let us go on,' said the man. His voice was hollow, like the +KLONK of an old raven, and he was hunger-mad. His eyes were like +live coals of fire, and as his body rocked to and fro, so rocked +his soul inside. And I, too, said, 'Let us go on.' For that one +thought, laid upon me like a lash for every mile of fifteen hundred +miles, had burned itself into my soul, and I think that I, too, was +mad. Besides, we could only go on, for there was no grub. And we +went on, giving no thought to the man with the one eye in the snow. + +"There is little travel on the big cut-off. Sometimes two or three +months and nobody goes by. The snow had covered the trail, and +there was no sign that men had ever come or gone that way. All day +the wind blew and the snow fell, and all day we travelled, while +our stomachs gnawed their desire and our bodies grew weaker with +every step they took. Then the woman began to fall. Then the man. +I did not fall, but my feet were heavy and I caught my toes and +stumbled many times. + +"That night is the end of February. I kill three ptarmigan with +the woman's revolver, and we are made somewhat strong again. But +the dogs have nothing to eat. They try to eat their harness, which +is of leather and walrus-hide, and I must fight them off with a +club and hang all the harness in a tree. And all night they howl +and fight around that tree. But we do not mind. We sleep like +dead people, and in the morning get up like dead people out of +their graves and go on along the trail. + +"That morning is the 1st of March, and on that morning I see the +first sign of that after which the baby wolves are in search. It +is clear weather, and cold. The sun stay longer in the sky, and +there are sun-dogs flashing on either side, and the air is bright +with frost-dust. The snow falls no more upon the trail, and I see +the fresh sign of dogs and sled. There is one man with that +outfit, and I see in the snow that he is not strong. He, too, has +not enough to eat. The young wolves see the fresh sign, too, and +they are much excited. 'Hurry!' they say. All the time they say, +'Hurry! Faster, Charley, faster!' + +"We make hurry very slow. All the time the man and the woman fall +down. When they try to ride on sled the dogs are too weak, and the +dogs fall down. Besides, it is so cold that if they ride on the +sled they will freeze. It is very easy for a hungry man to freeze. +When the woman fall down, the man help her up. Sometimes the woman +help the man up. By and by both fall down and cannot get up, and I +must help them up all the time, else they will not get up and will +die there in the snow. This is very hard work, for I am greatly +weary, and as well I must drive the dogs, and the man and woman are +very heavy with no strength in their bodies. So, by and by, I, +too, fall down in the snow, and there is no one to help me up. I +must get up by myself. And always do I get up by myself, and help +them up, and make the dogs go on. + +"That night I get one ptarmigan, and we are very hungry. And that +night the man says to me, 'What time start to-morrow, Charley?' It +is like the voice of a ghost. I say, 'All the time you make start +at five o'clock.' 'To-morrow,' he says, 'we will start at three +o'clock.' I laugh in great bitterness, and I say, 'You are dead +man.' And he says, 'To-morrow we will start at three o'clock.' + +"And we start at three o'clock, for I am their man, and that which +they say is to be done, I do. It is clear and cold, and there is +no wind. When daylight comes we can see a long way off. And it is +very quiet. We can hear no sound but the beat of our hearts, and +in the silence that is a very loud sound. We are like sleep- +walkers, and we walk in dreams until we fall down; and then we know +we must get up, and we see the trail once more and bear the beating +of our hearts. Sometimes, when I am walking in dreams this way, I +have strange thoughts. Why does Sitka Charley live? I ask myself. +Why does Sitka Charley work hard, and go hungry, and have all this +pain? For seven hundred and fifty dollars a month, I make the +answer, and I know it is a foolish answer. Also is it a true +answer. And after that never again do I care for money. For that +day a large wisdom came to me. There was a great light, and I saw +clear, and I knew that it was not for money that a man must live, +but for a happiness that no man can give, or buy, or sell, and that +is beyond all value of all money in the world. + +"In the morning we come upon the last-night camp of the man who is +before us. It is a poor camp, the kind a man makes who is hungry +and without strength. On the snow there are pieces of blanket and +of canvas, and I know what has happened. His dogs have eaten their +harness, and he has made new harness out of his blankets. The man +and woman stare hard at what is to be seen, and as I look at them +my back feels the chill as of a cold wind against the skin. Their +eyes are toil-mad and hunger-mad, and burn like fire deep in their +heads. Their faces are like the faces of people who have died of +hunger, and their cheeks are black with the dead flesh of many +freezings. 'Let us go on,' says the man. But the woman coughs and +falls in the snow. It is the dry cough where the frost has bitten +the lungs. For a long time she coughs, then like a woman crawling +out of her grave she crawls to her feet. The tears are ice upon +her cheeks, and her breath makes a noise as it comes and goes, and +she says, 'Let us go on.' + +"We go on. And we walk in dreams through the silence. And every +time we walk is a dream and we are without pain; and every time we +fall down is an awakening, and we see the snow and the mountains +and the fresh trail of the man who is before us, and we know all +our pain again. We come to where we can see a long way over the +snow, and that for which they look is before them. A mile away +there are black spots upon the snow. The black spots move. My +eyes are dim, and I must stiffen my soul to see. And I see one man +with dogs and a sled. The baby wolves see, too. They can no +longer talk, but they whisper, 'On, on. Let us hurry!' + +"And they fall down, but they go on. The man who is before us, his +blanket harness breaks often, and he must stop and mend it. Our +harness is good, for I have hung it in trees each night. At eleven +o'clock the man is half a mile away. At one o'clock he is a +quarter of a mile away. He is very weak. We see him fall down +many times in the snow. One of his dogs can no longer travel, and +he cuts it out of the harness. But he does not kill it. I kill it +with the axe as I go by, as I kill one of my dogs which loses its +legs and can travel no more. + +"Now we are three hundred yards away. We go very slow. Maybe in +two, three hours we go one mile. We do not walk. All the time we +fall down. We stand up and stagger two steps, maybe three steps, +then we fall down again. And all the time I must help up the man +and woman. Sometimes they rise to their knees and fall forward, +maybe four or five times before they can get to their feet again +and stagger two or three steps and fall. But always do they fall +forward. Standing or kneeling, always do they fall forward, +gaining on the trail each time by the length of their bodies. + +"Sometimes they crawl on hands and knees like animals that live in +the forest. We go like snails, like snails that are dying we go so +slow. And yet we go faster than the man who is before us. For he, +too, falls all the time, and there is no Sitka Charley to lift him +up. Now he is two hundred yards away. After a long time he is one +hundred yards away. + +"It is a funny sight. I want to laugh out loud, Ha! ha! just like +that, it is so funny. It is a race of dead men and dead dogs. It +is like in a dream when you have a nightmare and run away very fast +for your life and go very slow. The man who is with me is mad. +The woman is mad. I am mad. All the world is mad, and I want to +laugh, it is so funny. + +"The stranger-man who is before us leaves his dogs behind and goes +on alone across the snow. After a long time we come to the dogs. +They lie helpless in the snow, their harness of blanket and canvas +on them, the sled behind them, and as we pass them they whine to us +and cry like babies that are hungry. + +"Then we, too, leave our dogs and go on alone across the snow. The +man and the woman are nearly gone, and they moan and groan and sob, +but they go on. I, too, go on. I have but one thought. It is to +come up to the stranger-man. Then it is that I shall rest, and not +until then shall I rest, and it seems that I must lie down and +sleep for a thousand years, I am so tired. + +"The stranger-man is fifty yards away, all alone in the white snow. +He falls and crawls, staggers, and falls and crawls again. He is +like an animal that is sore wounded and trying to run from the +hunter. By and by he crawls on hands and knees. He no longer +stands up. And the man and woman no longer stand up. They, too, +crawl after him on hands and knees. But I stand up. Sometimes I +fall, but always do I stand up again. + +"It is a strange thing to see. All about is the snow and the +silence, and through it crawl the man and the woman, and the +stranger-man who goes before. On either side the sun are sun-dogs, +so that there are three suns in the sky. The frost-dust is like +the dust of diamonds, and all the air is filled with it. Now the +woman coughs, and lies still in the snow until the fit has passed, +when she crawls on again. Now the man looks ahead, and he is +blear-eyed as with old age and must rub his eyes so that he can see +the stranger-man. And now the stranger-man looks back over his +shoulder. And Sitka Charley, standing upright, maybe falls down +and stands upright again. + +"After a long time the stranger-man crawls no more. He stands +slowly upon his feet and rocks back and forth. Also does he take +off one mitten and wait with revolver in his hand, rocking back and +forth as he waits. His face is skin and bones and frozen black. +It is a hungry face. The eyes are deep-sunk in his head, and the +lips are snarling. The man and woman, too, get upon their feet and +they go toward him very slowly. And all about is the snow and the +silence. And in the sky are three suns, and all the air is +flashing with the dust of diamonds. + +"And thus it was that I, Sitka Charley, saw the baby wolves make +their kill. No word is spoken. Only does the stranger-man snarl +with his hungry face. Also does he rock to and fro, his shoulders +drooping, his knees bent, and his legs wide apart so that he does +not fall down. The man and the woman stop maybe fifty feet away. +Their legs, too, are wide apart so that they do not fall down, and +their bodies rock to and fro. The stranger-man is very weak. His +arm shakes, so that when he shoots at the man his bullet strikes in +the snow. The man cannot take off his mitten. The stranger-man +shoots at him again, and this time the bullet goes by in the air. +Then the man takes the mitten in his teeth and pulls it off. But +his hand is frozen and he cannot hold the revolver, and it fails in +the snow. I look at the woman. Her mitten is off, and the big +Colt's revolver is in her hand. Three times she shoot, quick, just +like that. The hungry face of the stranger-man is still snarling +as he falls forward into the snow. + +"They do not look at the dead man. 'Let us go on,' they say. And +we go on. But now that they have found that for which they look, +they are like dead. The last strength has gone out of them. They +can stand no more upon their feet. They will not crawl, but desire +only to close their eyes and sleep. I see not far away a place for +camp. I kick them. I have my dog-whip, and I give them the lash +of it. They cry aloud, but they must crawl. And they do crawl to +the place for camp. I build fire so that they will not freeze. +Then I go back for sled. Also, I kill the dogs of the stranger-man +so that we may have food and not die. I put the man and woman in +blankets and they sleep. Sometimes I wake them and give them +little bit of food. They are not awake, but they take the food. +The woman sleep one day and a half. Then she wake up and go to +sleep again. The man sleep two days and wake up and go to sleep +again. After that we go down to the coast at St. Michaels. And +when the ice goes out of Bering Sea, the man and woman go away on a +steamship. But first they pay me my seven hundred and fifty +dollars a month. Also, they make me a present of one thousand +dollars. And that was the year that Sitka Charley gave much money +to the Mission at Holy Cross." + +"But why did they kill the man?" I asked. + +Sitka Charley delayed reply until he had lighted his pipe. He +glanced at the POLICE GAZETTE illustration and nodded his head at +it familiarly. Then he said, speaking slowly and ponderingly: + +"I have thought much. I do not know. It is something that +happened. It is a picture I remember. It is like looking in at +the window and seeing the man writing a letter. They came into my +life and they went out of my life, and the picture is as I have +said, without beginning, the end without understanding." + +"You have painted many pictures in the telling," I said. + +"Ay," he nodded his head. "But they were without beginning and +without end." + +"The last picture of all had an end," I said. + +"Ay," he answered. "But what end?" + +"It was a piece of life," I said. + +"Ay," he answered. "It was a piece of life." + + + +NEGORE, THE COWARD + + + +HE had followed the trail of his fleeing people for eleven days, +and his pursuit had been in itself a flight; for behind him he knew +full well were the dreaded Russians, toiling through the swampy +lowlands and over the steep divides, bent on no less than the +extermination of all his people. He was travelling light. A +rabbit-skin sleeping-robe, a muzzle-loading rifle, and a few pounds +of sun-dried salmon constituted his outfit. He would have +marvelled that a whole people - women and children and aged - could +travel so swiftly, had he not known the terror that drove them on. + +It was in the old days of the Russian occupancy of Alaska, when the +nineteenth century had run but half its course, that Negore fled +after his fleeing tribe and came upon it this summer night by the +head waters of the Pee-lat. Though near the midnight hour, it was +bright day as he passed through the weary camp. Many saw him, all +knew him, but few and cold were the greetings he received. + +"Negore, the Coward," he heard Illiha, a young woman, laugh, and +Sun-ne, his sister's daughter, laughed with her. + +Black anger ate at his heart; but he gave no sign, threading his +way among the camp-fires until he came to one where sat an old man. +A young woman was kneading with skilful fingers the tired muscles +of his legs. He raised a sightless face and listened intently as +Negore's foot crackled a dead twig. + +"Who comes?" he queried in a thin, tremulous voice. + +"Negore," said the young woman, scarcely looking up from her task. + +Negore's face was expressionless. For many minutes he stood and +waited. The old man's head had sunk back upon his chest. The +young woman pressed and prodded the wasted muscles, resting her +body on her knees, her bowed head hidden as in a cloud by her black +wealth of hair. Negore watched the supple body, bending at the +hips as a lynx's body might bend, pliant as a young willow stalk, +and, withal, strong as only youth is strong. He looked, and was +aware of a great yearning, akin in sensation to physical hunger. +At last he spoke, saying: + +"Is there no greeting for Negore, who has been long gone and has +but now come back?" + +She looked up at him with cold eyes. The old man chuckled to +himself after the manner of the old. + +"Thou art my woman, Oona," Negore said, his tones dominant and +conveying a hint of menace. + +She arose with catlike ease and suddenness to her full height, her +eyes flashing, her nostrils quivering like a deer's. + +"I was thy woman to be, Negore, but thou art a coward; the daughter +of Old Kinoos mates not with a coward!" + +She silenced him with an imperious gesture as he strove to speak. + +"Old Kinoos and I came among you from a strange land. Thy people +took us in by their fires and made us warm, nor asked whence or why +we wandered. It was their thought that Old Kinoos had lost the +sight of his eyes from age; nor did Old Kinoos say otherwise, nor +did I, his daughter. Old Kinoos is a brave man, but Old Kinoos was +never a boaster. And now, when I tell thee of how his blindness +came to be, thou wilt know, beyond question, that the daughter of +Kinoos cannot mother the children of a coward such as thou art, +Negore." + +Again she silenced the speech that rushed up to his tongue. + +"Know, Negore, if journey be added unto journey of all thy +journeyings through this land, thou wouldst not come to the unknown +Sitka on the Great Salt Sea. In that place there be many Russian +folk, and their rule is harsh. And from Sitka, Old Kinoos, who was +Young Kinoos in those days, fled away with me, a babe in his arms, +along the islands in the midst of the sea. My mother dead tells +the tale of his wrong; a Russian, dead with a spear through breast +and back, tells the tale of the vengeance of Kinoos. + +"But wherever we fled, and however far we fled, always did we find +the hated Russian folk. Kinoos was unafraid, but the sight of them +was a hurt to his eyes; so we fled on and on, through the seas and +years, till we came to the Great Fog Sea, Negore, of which thou +hast heard, but which thou hast never seen. We lived among many +peoples, and I grew to be a woman; but Kinoos, growing old, took to +him no other woman, nor did I take a man. + +"At last we came to Pastolik, which is where the Yukon drowns +itself in the Great Fog Sea. Here we lived long, on the rim of the +sea, among a people by whom the Russians were well hated. But +sometimes they came, these Russians, in great ships, and made the +people of Pastolik show them the way through the islands +uncountable of the many-mouthed Yukon. And sometimes the men they +took to show them the way never came back, till the people became +angry and planned a great plan. + +"So, when there came a ship, Old Kinoos stepped forward and said he +would show the way. He was an old man then, and his hair was +white; but he was unafraid. And he was cunning, for he took the +ship to where the sea sucks in to the land and the waves beat white +on the mountain called Romanoff. The sea sucked the ship in to +where the waves beat white, and it ground upon the rocks and broke +open its sides. Then came all the people of Pastolik, (for this +was the plan), with their war-spears, and arrows, and some few +guns. But first the Russians put out the eyes of Old Kinoos that +he might never show the way again, and then they fought, where the +waves beat white, with the people of Pastolik. + +"Now the head-man of these Russians was Ivan. He it was, with his +two thumbs, who drove out the eyes of Kinoos. He it was who fought +his way through the white water, with two men left of all his men, +and went away along the rim of the Great Fog Sea into the north. +Kinoos was wise. He could see no more and was helpless as a child. +So he fled away from the sea, up the great, strange Yukon, even to +Nulato, and I fled with him. + +"This was the deed my father did, Kinoos, an old man. But how did +the young man, Negore?" + +Once again she silenced him. + +"With my own eyes I saw, at Nulato, before the gates of the great +fort, and but few days gone. I saw the Russian, Ivan, who thrust +out my father's eyes, lay the lash of his dog-whip upon thee and +beat thee like a dog. This I saw, and knew thee for a coward. But +I saw thee not, that night, when all thy people - yea, even the +boys not yet hunters - fell upon the Russians and slew them all." + +"Not Ivan," said Negore, quietly. "Even now is he on our heels, +and with him many Russians fresh up from the sea." + +Oona made no effort to hide her surprise and chagrin that Ivan was +not dead, but went on: + +"In the day I saw thee a coward; in the night, when all men fought, +even the boys not yet hunters, I saw thee not and knew thee doubly +a coward." + +"Thou art done? All done?" Negore asked. + +She nodded her head and looked at him askance, as though astonished +that he should have aught to say. + +"Know then that Negore is no coward," he said; and his speech was +very low and quiet. "Know that when I was yet a boy I journeyed +alone down to the place where the Yukon drowns itself in the Great +Fog Sea. Even to Pastolik I journeyed, and even beyond, into the +north, along the rim of the sea. This I did when I was a boy, and +I was no coward. Nor was I coward when I journeyed, a young man +and alone, up the Yukon farther than man had ever been, so far that +I came to another folk, with white faces, who live in a great fort +and talk speech other than that the Russians talk. Also have I +killed the great bear of the Tanana country, where no one of my +people hath ever been. And I have fought with the Nuklukyets, and +the Kaltags, and the Sticks in far regions, even I, and alone. +These deeds, whereof no man knows, I speak for myself. Let my +people speak for me of things I have done which they know. They +will not say Negore is a coward." + +He finished proudly, and proudly waited. + +"These be things which happened before I came into the land," she +said, "and I know not of them. Only do I know what I know, and I +know I saw thee lashed like a dog in the day; and in the night, +when the great fort flamed red and the men killed and were killed, +I saw thee not. Also, thy people do call thee Negore, the Coward. +It is thy name now, Negore, the Coward." + +"It is not a good name," Old Kinoos chuckled. + +"Thou dost not understand, Kinoos," Negore said gently. "But I +shall make thee understand. Know that I was away on the hunt of +the bear, with Kamo-tah, my mother's son. And Kamo-tah fought with +a great bear. We had no meat for three days, and Kamo-tah was not +strong of arm nor swift of foot. And the great bear crushed him, +so, till his bones cracked like dry sticks. Thus I found him, very +sick and groaning upon the ground. And there was no meat, nor +could I kill aught that the sick man might eat. + +"So I said, 'I will go to Nulato and bring thee food, also strong +men to carry thee to camp.' And Kamo-tah said, 'Go thou to Nulato +and get food, but say no word of what has befallen me. And when I +have eaten, and am grown well and strong, I will kill this bear. +Then will I return in honor to Nulato, and no man may laugh and say +Kamo-tah was undone by a bear.' + +"So I gave heed to my brother's words; and when I was come to +Nulato, and the Russian, Ivan, laid the lash of his dog-whip upon +me, I knew I must not fight. For no man knew of Kamo-tah, sick and +groaning and hungry; and did I fight with Ivan, and die, then would +my brother die, too. So it was, Oona, that thou sawest me beaten +like a dog. + +"Then I heard the talk of the shamans and chiefs that the Russians +had brought strange sicknesses upon the people, and killed our men, +and stolen our women, and that the land must be made clean. As I +say, I heard the talk, and I knew it for good talk, and I knew that +in the night the Russians were to be killed. But there was my +brother, Kamo-tah, sick and groaning and with no meat; so I could +not stay and fight with the men and the boys not yet hunters. + +"And I took with me meat and fish, and the lash-marks of Ivan, and +I found Kamo-tah no longer groaning, but dead. Then I went back to +Nulato, and, behold, there was no Nulato - only ashes where the +great fort had stood, and the bodies of many men. And I saw the +Russians come up the Yukon in boats, fresh from the sea, many +Russians; and I saw Ivan creep forth from where he lay hid and make +talk with them. And the next day I saw Ivan lead them upon the +trail of the tribe. Even now are they upon the trail, and I am +here, Negore, but no coward." + +"This is a tale I hear," said Oona, though her voice was gentler +than before. "Kamo-tah is dead and cannot speak for thee, and I +know only what I know, and I must know thee of my own eyes for no +coward." + +Negore made an impatient gesture. + +"There be ways and ways," she added. "Art thou willing to do no +less than what Old Kinoos hath done?" + +He nodded his head, and waited. + +"As thou hast said, they seek for us even now, these Russians. +Show them the way, Negore, even as Old Kinoos showed them the way, +so that they come, unprepared, to where we wait for them, in a +passage up the rocks. Thou knowest the place, where the wall is +broken and high. Then will we destroy them, even Ivan. When they +cling like flies to the wall, and top is no less near than bottom, +our men shall fall upon them from above and either side, with +spears, and arrows, and guns. And the women and children, from +above, shall loosen the great rocks and hurl them down upon them. +It will be a great day, for the Russians will be killed, the land +will be made clean, and Ivan, even Ivan who thrust out my father's +eyes and laid the lash of his dog-whip upon thee, will be killed. +Like a dog gone mad will he die, his breath crushed out of him +beneath the rocks. And when the fighting begins, it is for thee, +Negore, to crawl secretly away so that thou be not slain." + +"Even so," he answered. "Negore will show them the way. And +then?" + +"And then I shall be thy woman, Negore's woman, the brave man's +woman. And thou shalt hunt meat for me and Old Kinoos, and I shall +cook thy food, and sew thee warm parkas and strong, and make thee +moccasins after the way of my people, which is a better way than +thy people's way. And as I say, I shall be thy woman, Negore, +always thy woman. And I shall make thy life glad for thee, so that +all thy days will be a song and laughter, and thou wilt know the +woman Oona as unlike all other women, for she has journeyed far, +and lived in strange places, and is wise in the ways of men and in +the ways they may be made glad. And in thine old age will she +still make thee glad, and thy memory of her in the days of thy +strength will be sweet, for thou wilt know always that she was ease +to thee, and peace, and rest, and that beyond all women to other +men has she been woman to thee." + +"Even so," said Negore, and the hunger for her ate at his heart, +and his arms went out for her as a hungry man's arms might go out +for food. + +"When thou hast shown the way, Negore," she chided him; but her +eyes were soft, and warm, and he knew she looked upon him as woman +had never looked before. + +"It is well", he said, turning resolutely on his heel. "I go now +to make talk with the chiefs, so that they may know I am gone to +show the Russians the way." + +"Oh, Negore, my man! my man!" she said to herself, as she watched +him go, but she said it so softly that even Old Kinoos did not +hear, and his ears were over keen, what of his blindness. + + +Three days later, having with craft ill-concealed his hiding-place, +Negore was dragged forth like a rat and brought before Ivan - "Ivan +the Terrible" he was known by the men who marched at his back. +Negore was armed with a miserable bone-barbed spear, and he kept +his rabbit-skin robe wrapped closely about him, and though the day +was warm he shivered as with an ague. He shook his head that he +did not understand the speech Ivan put at him, and made that he was +very weary and sick, and wished only to sit down and rest, pointing +the while to his stomach in sign of his sickness, and shivering +fiercely. But Ivan had with him a man from Pastolik who talked the +speech of Negore, and many and vain were the questions they asked +him concerning his tribe, till the man from Pastolik, who was +called Karduk, said: + +"It is the word of Ivan that thou shalt be lashed till thou diest +if thou dost not speak. And know, strange brother, when I tell +thee the word of Ivan is the law, that I am thy friend and no +friend of Ivan. For I come not willingly from my country by the +sea, and I desire greatly to live; wherefore I obey the will of my +master - as thou wilt obey, strange brother, if thou art wise, and +wouldst live." + +"Nay, strange brother," Negore answered, "I know not the way my +people are gone, for I was sick, and they fled so fast my legs gave +out from under me, and I fell behind." + +Negore waited while Karduk talked with Ivan. Then Negore saw the +Russian's face go dark, and he saw the men step to either side of +him, snapping the lashes of their whips. Whereupon he betrayed a +great fright, and cried aloud that he was a sick man and knew +nothing, but would tell what he knew. And to such purpose did he +tell, that Ivan gave the word to his men to march, and on either +side of Negore marched the men with the whips, that he might not +run away. And when he made that he was weak of his sickness, and +stumbled and walked not so fast as they walked, they laid their +lashes upon him till he screamed with pain and discovered new +strength. And when Karduk told him all would he well with him when +they had overtaken his tribe, he asked, "And then may I rest and +move not?" + +Continually he asked, "And then may I rest and move not?" + +And while he appeared very sick and looked about him with dull +eyes, he noted the fighting strength of Ivan's men, and noted with +satisfaction that Ivan did not recognize him as the man he had +beaten before the gates of the fort. It was a strange following +his dull eyes saw. There were Slavonian hunters, fair-skinned and +mighty-muscled; short, squat Finns, with flat noses and round +faces; Siberian half-breeds, whose noses were more like eagle- +beaks; and lean, slant-eyed men, who bore in their veins the Mongol +and Tartar blood as well as the blood of the Slav. Wild +adventurers they were, forayers and destroyers from the far lands +beyond the Sea of Bering, who blasted the new and unknown world +with fire and sword and clutched greedily for its wealth of fur and +hide. Negore looked upon them with satisfaction, and in his mind's +eye he saw them crushed and lifeless at the passage up the rocks. +And ever he saw, waiting for him at the passage up the rocks, the +face and the form of Oona, and ever he heard her voice in his ears +and felt the soft, warm glow of her eyes. But never did he forget +to shiver, nor to stumble where the footing was rough, nor to cry +aloud at the bite of the lash. Also, he was afraid of Karduk, for +he knew him for no true man. His was a false eye, and an easy +tongue - a tongue too easy, he judged, for the awkwardness of +honest speech. + +All that day they marched. And on the next, when Karduk asked him +at command of Ivan, he said he doubted they would meet with his +tribe till the morrow. But Ivan, who had once been shown the way +by Old Kinoos, and had found that way to lead through the white +water and a deadly fight, believed no more in anything. So when +they came to a passage up the rocks, he halted his forty men, and +through Karduk demanded if the way were clear. + +Negore looked at it shortly and carelessly. It was a vast slide +that broke the straight wall of a cliff, and was overrun with brush +and creeping plants, where a score of tribes could have lain well +hidden. + +He shook his head. "Nay, there be nothing there," he said. "The +way is clear." + +Again Ivan spoke to Karduk, and Karduk said: + +"Know, strange brother, if thy talk be not straight, and if thy +people block the way and fall upon Ivan and his men, that thou +shalt die, and at once." + +"My talk is straight," Negore said. "The way is clear." + +Still Ivan doubted, and ordered two of his Slavonian hunters to go +up alone. Two other men he ordered to the side of Negore. They +placed their guns against his breast and waited. All waited. And +Negore knew, should one arrow fly, or one spear be flung, that his +death would come upon him. The two Slavonian hunters toiled upward +till they grew small and smaller, and when they reached the top and +waved their hats that all was well, they were like black specks +against the sky. + +The guns were lowered from Negore's breast and Ivan gave the order +for his men to go forward. Ivan was silent, lost in thought. For +an hour he marched, as though puzzled, and then, through Karduk's +mouth, he said to Negore: + +"How didst thou know the way was clear when thou didst look so +briefly upon it?" + +Negore thought of the little birds he had seen perched among the +rocks and upon the bushes, and smiled, it was so simple; but he +shrugged his shoulders and made no answer. For he was thinking, +likewise, of another passage up the rocks, to which they would soon +come, and where the little birds would all be gone. And he was +glad that Karduk came from the Great Fog Sea, where there were no +trees or bushes, and where men learned water-craft instead of land- +craft and wood-craft. + +Three hours later, when the sun rode overhead, they came to another +passage up the rocks, and Karduk said: + +"Look with all thine eyes, strange brother, and see if the way be +clear, for Ivan is not minded this time to wait while men go up +before." + +Negore looked, and he looked with two men by his side, their guns +resting against his breast. He saw that the little birds were all +gone, and once he saw the glint of sunlight on a rifle-barrel. And +he thought of Oona, and of her words: "And when the fighting +begins, it is for thee, Negore, to crawl secretly away so that thou +be not slain." + +He felt the two guns pressing on his breast. This was not the way +she had planned. There would be no crawling secretly away. He +would be the first to die when the fighting began. But he said, +and his voice was steady, and he still feigned to see with dull +eyes and to shiver from his sickness: + +"The way is clear." + +And they started up, Ivan and his forty men from the far lands +beyond the Sea of Bering. And there was Karduk, the man from +Pastolik, and Negore, with the two guns always upon him. It was a +long climb, and they could not go fast; but very fast to Negore +they seemed to approach the midway point where top was no less near +than bottom. + +A gun cracked among the rocks to the right, and Negore heard the +war-yell of all his tribe, and for an instant saw the rocks and +bushes bristle alive with his kinfolk. Then he felt torn asunder +by a burst of flame hot through his being, and as he fell he knew +the sharp pangs of life as it wrenches at the flesh to be free. + +But he gripped his life with a miser's clutch and would not let it +go. He still breathed the air, which bit his lungs with a painful +sweetness; and dimly he saw and heard, with passing spells of +blindness and deafness, the flashes of sight and sound again +wherein he saw the hunters of Ivan falling to their deaths, and his +own brothers fringing the carnage and filling the air with the +tumult of their cries and weapons, and, far above, the women and +children loosing the great rocks that leaped like things alive and +thundered down. + +The sun danced above him in the sky, the huge walls reeled and +swung, and still he heard and saw dimly. And when the great Ivan +fell across his legs, hurled there lifeless and crushed by a down- +rushing rock, he remembered the blind eyes of Old Kinoos and was +glad. + +Then the sounds died down, and the rocks no longer thundered past, +and he saw his tribespeople creeping close and closer, spearing the +wounded as they came. And near to him he heard the scuffle of a +mighty Slavonian hunter, loath to die, and, half uprisen, borne +back and down by the thirsty spears. + +Then he saw above him the face of Oona, and felt about him the arms +of Oona; and for a moment the sun steadied and stood still, and the +great walls were upright and moved not. + +"Thou art a brave man, Negore," he heard her say in his ear; "thou +art my man, Negore." + +And in that moment he lived all the life of gladness of which she +had told him, and the laughter and the song, and as the sun went +out of the sky above him, as in his old age, he knew the memory of +her was sweet. And as even the memories dimmed and died in the +darkness that fell upon him, he knew in her arms the fulfilment of +all the ease and rest she had promised him. And as black night +wrapped around him, his head upon her breast, he felt a great peace +steal about him, and he was aware of the hush of many twilights and +the mystery of silence. + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg eText Love of Life and Other Stories + diff --git a/old/llife10.zip b/old/llife10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f7360ee --- /dev/null +++ b/old/llife10.zip |
