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diff --git a/710-h/710-h.htm b/710-h/710-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b1f6647 --- /dev/null +++ b/710-h/710-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,5676 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> + + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>Love of Life and Other Stories, by Jack London—A Project Gutenberg eBook</title> + <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> + <style type="text/css"> + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4 { + text-align: left; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + TD { vertical-align: top; } +div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + </style> +</head> +<body> + +<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook, Love of Life, by Jack London, Illustrated by +Charles Livingston Bull</p> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +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 <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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