THE WINDS OF CHANCE

By REX BEACH

Author of "THE SILVER HORDE" "THE SPOILERS" "THE IRON TRAIL" Etc. 

CHAPTER I

With an ostentatious flourish Mr. "Lucky" Broad placed a crispten-dollar bill in an eager palm outstretched across his folding-table. 

"The gentleman wins and the gambler loses!" Mr. Broad proclaimedto the world. "The eye is quicker than the hand, and the dealer'smoans is music to the stranger's ear. " With practised touch herearranged the three worn walnut-shells which constituted hisstock in trade. Beneath one of them he deftly concealed a pelletabout the size of a five-grain allopathic pill. It was the erraticbehavior of this tiny ball, its mysterious comings and goings, that had summoned Mr. Broad's audience and now held its observantinterest. This audience, composed of roughly dressed men, listenedattentively to the seductive monologue which accompanied thedealer's deft manipulations, and was greatly entertained thereby. "Three tiny tepees in a row and a little black medicine-maninside. " The speaker's voice was high-pitched and it carried likea "thirtythirty. " "You see him walk in, you open the door, and--you double your money. Awfully simple! Simpully awful! What? As Ilive! The gentleman wins ten more--ten silver-tongued song-birds, ten messengers of mirth--the price of a hard day's toil. Take it, sir, and may it make a better and a stronger man of you. Times aregood and I spend my money free. I made it packin' grub toLinderman, four bits a pound, but--easy come, easy go. Now then, who's next? You've seen me work. I couldn't baffle a sore-eyedSiwash with snow-glasses. "

Lucky Broad's three-legged table stood among some stumps besidethe muddy roadway which did service as the main street of Dyea andalong which flowed an irregular stream of pedestrians; incidentalto his practised manipulation of the polished walnut-shells hemaintained an unceasing chatter of the sort above set down. Nowhis voice was loud and challenging, now it was apologetic, alwaysit stimulated curiosity. One moment he was jubilant and gay, againhe was contrite and querulous. Occasionally he burst forth intoplaintive self-denunciations. 

Fixing a hypnotic gaze upon a bland, blue-eyed bystander who hadjust joined the charmed circle, he murmured, invitingly: "Bettertry your luck, Olaf. It's Danish dice--three chances to win andone to lose. "

The object of his address shook his head. "Aye ant Danish, Aye banNorvegen, " said he. 

"Danish dice or Norwegian poker, they're both the same. I'll dealyou a free hand and it won't cost you a cent. Fix your baby blueson the little ball and watch me close. Don't let me deceive you. Now then, which hut hides the grain?"

Noting a half-dozen pairs of eyes upon him, the Norseman becameconscious that he was a center of interest. He grinned half-heartedly and, after a brief hesitation, thrust forth a clumsypaw, lifted a shell, and exposed the object of general curiosity. 

"You guessed it!" There was commendation, there was pleasedsurprise, in Mr. Broad's tone. "You can't fool a foreigner, canyou, boys? My, my! Ain't it lucky for me that we played for fun?But you got to give me another chance, Lars; I'll fool you yet. Inwalks the little pill once more, I make the magic pass, and youfollow me attentively, knowing in your heart of hearts that I'm aslick un. Now then, shoot, Kid; you can't miss me!"

The onlookers stirred with interest; with eager fingers theartless Norwegian fumbled in his pocket. At the last moment, however, he thought better of his impulse, grunted once, thenturned his back to the table and walked away. 

"Missed him!" murmured the dealer, with no display of feeling;then to the group around him he announced, shamelessly: "You gotto lead those birds; they fly fast. "

One of Mr. Broad's boosters, he who had twice won for theNorseman's benefit, carelessly returned his winnings. "Sure!" heagreed. "They got a head like a turtle, them Swedes. "

Mr. Broad carefully smoothed out the two bills and reverently laidthem to rest in his bank-roll. "Yes, and they got bony mouths. Yougot to set your hook or it won't hold. "

"Slow pickin's, " yawned an honest miner with a pack upon his back. Attracted by the group at the table, he had dropped out of theprocession in the street and had paused long enough to win a betor two. Now he straightened himself and stretched his arms. "TheseMichael Strogoffs is hep to the old stuff, Lucky. I'm thinking ofjoining the big rush. They say this Klondike is some rich. "

Inasmuch as there were no strangers in sight at the moment, theproprietor of the deadfall gave up barking; he daintily folded andtore in half a cigarette paper, out of which he fashioned a thinsmoke for himself. It was that well-earned moment of repose, thatwelcome recess from the day's toil. Mr. Broad inhaled deeply, thenhe turned his eyes upon the former speaker. 

"You've been thinking again, have you?" He frowned darkly. With anote of warning in his voice he declared: "You ain't strong enoughfor such heavy work, Kid. That's why I've got you packing hay. "

The object of this sarcasm hitched his shoulders and the movementshowed that his burden was indeed no more than a cunningcounterfeit, a bundle of hay rolled inside a tarpaulin. 

"Oh, I got a head and I've been doing some heavy thinking withit, " the Kid retorted. "This here Dawson is going to be a goodtown. I'm getting readied up to join the parade. "

"Are you, now?" the shell-man mocked. "I s'pose you got it allframed with the Canucks to let you through? I s'pose the chief ofpolice knows you and likes you, eh? You and him is cousins, orsomething?"

"Coppers is all alike; there's always a way to square 'em--"

"Lay off that 'squaring' stuff, " cautioned a renegade crook, disguised by a suit of mackinaws and a week's growth of beard intothe likeness of a stampeder. "A thousand bucks and a ton of grub, that's what the sign says, and that's what it means. They wouldn'tlet you over the Line with nine hundred and ninety-nine fifty. "

"Right!" agreed a third capper. "It's a closed season on brokenstiffs. You can't monkey with the Mounted Police. When they putover an edict it lays there till it freezes. They'll make you showyour 'openers' at the Boundary. Gee! If I had 'em I wouldn'tbother to go 'inside. ' What's a guy want with more than a thousanddollars and a ton of grub, anyhow?"

"All the same, I'm about set to hit the trail, " stubbornlymaintained the man with the alfalfa pack. "I ain't broke. When youboys get to Dawson, just ask for Kid Bridges' saloon and I'll openwine. These woollys can have their mines; me for a hootch-mill onMain Street. "

Lucky addressed his bevy of boosters. "Have I nursed a serpent inmy breast, or has the Kid met a banker's son? Gimme room, boys. I'm going to shuffle the shells for him and let him double hismoney. Keep your eye on the magic pea, Mr. Bridges. Three tinytepees in a row--" There was a general laugh as Broad began toshift the walnut-shells, but Kid Bridges retorted, contemptuously:

"That's the trouble with all you wiseacres. You get a dollar aheadand you fall for another man's game. I never knew a faro-dealerthat wouldn't shoot craps. No, I haven't met no banker's son and Iain't likely to in this place. These pilgrims have sewed theirmoney in their underclothes, and they sleep with their eyes open. Seems like they'd go blind, but they don't. These ain't Rubes, Lucky; they're city folks. They've seen three-ringed circuses andthree-shell games, and all that farmer stuff. They've been'gypped, ' and it's an old story to 'em. "

"You're dead right, " Broad acknowledged. "That's why it's good. D'you know the best town in America for the shells? Little old NewYork. If the cops would let me set up at the corner of Broad andWall, I'd own the Stock Exchange in a week. Madison and State isanother good stand; so's Market and Kearney, or Pioneer Square, down by the totem pole. New York, Chicago, 'Frisco, Seattle, they're all hick towns. For every city guy that's been stung by abee there's a hundred that still thinks honey comes from a fruit. This rush is just starting, and the bigger it grows the betterwe'll do. Say, Kid, if you mush over to Tagish with that load oftimothy on your spine, the police will put you on the wood-pilefor the winter. "

While Mr. Lucky Broad and his business associates were thus busiedin discussing the latest decree of the Northwest Mounted Police, other townsmen of theirs were similarly engaged. Details of thisproclamation--the most arbitrary of any, hitherto--had justarrived from the International Boundary, and had caused a halt, aneddy, in the stream of gold-seekers which flowed inland toward theChilkoot Pass. A human tide was setting northward from the States, a tide which swelled and quickened daily as the news of GeorgeCarmack's discovery spread across the world, but at Healy &Wilson's log-store, where the notice above referred to had beenposted, the stream slowed. A crowd of new-comers from the bargesand steamers in the roadstead had assembled there, and now gavevoice to hoarse indignation and bitter resentment. Late arrivalsfrom Skagway, farther down the coast, brought word of similarscenes at that point and a similar feeling of dismay; theyreported a similar increase in the general excitement, too. There, as here, a tent city was springing up, the wooded hills wereawakening to echoes of unaccustomed life, a thrill and a stir wererunning through the wilderness and the odor of spruce fires wasgrowing heavier with every ship that came. 

Pierce Phillips emerged from the trading-post and, drawn by theforce of gravitation, joined the largest and the most excitedgroup of Argonauts. He was still somewhat dazed by his perusal ofthat Police edict; the blow to his hopes was still too stunning, his disappointment was still too keen, to permit of clear thought. 

"A ton of provisions and a thousand dollars!" he repeated, blankly. Why, that was absurd, out of all possible reason! Itwould bar the way to fully half this rushing army; it would turnmen back at the very threshold of the golden North. Nevertheless, there stood the notice in black and white, a clear and unequivocalwarning from the Canadian authorities, evidently designed toforestall famine on the foodless Yukon. From the loud argumentsround about him Phillips gathered that opinion on the justice ofthe measure was about evenly divided; those fortunate men who hadcome well provided commended it heartily, those less fortunatefellows who were sailing close-hauled were equally noisy in theirdenunciation of it. The latter could see in this precautionaryruling nothing except the exercise of a tyrannical power aimed attheir ruin, and in consequence they voiced threats, and promisesof violence the which Phillips put down as mere resentfulmouthings of no actual significance. As for himself, he had neverpossessed anything like a thousand dollars at one time, thereforethe problem of acquiring such a prodigious sum in the immediatefuture presented appalling difficulties. He had come north to getrich, only to find that it was necessary to be rich in order toget north. A fine situation, truly! A ton of provisions would costat least five hundred dollars and the expense of transporting itacross summer swamps and tundras, then up and over that mysteriousand forbidding Chilkoot of which he had heard so much, would bringthe total capital required up to impossible proportions. Theprospect was indeed dismaying. Phillips had been ashore less thanan hour, but already he had gained some faint idea of the countrythat lay ahead of him; already he had noted the almost absolutelack of transportation; already he had learned the price ofpackers, and as a result he found himself at an impasse. 

One thousand dollars and two hundred pounds! It was enough to dashhigh hopes. And yet, strangely enough, Phillips was notdiscouraged. He was rather surprised at his own rebound after thefirst shock; his reasonless optimism vaguely amazed him, until, incontemplating the matter, he discovered that his thoughts wererunning somewhat after this fashion:

"They told me I couldn't make it; they said something was sure tohappen. Well, it has. I'm up against it--hard. Most fellows wouldquit and go home, but I sha'n't. I'm going to win out, somehow, for this is the real thing. This is Life, Adventure. It will bewonderful to look back and say: 'I did it. Nothing stopped me. Ilanded at Dyea with one hundred and thirty-five dollars, but lookat me now!'"

Thoughts such as these were in his mind, and their resolute naturemust have been reflected in his face, for a voice aroused him fromhis meditations. 

"It don't seem to faze you much, partner. I s'pose you cameheeled?" Phillips looked up and into a sullen, angry face. 

"It nearly kills me, " he smiled. "I'm the worst-heeled man in thecrowd. "

"Well, it's a darned outrage. A ton of grub? Why, have you seenthe trail? Take a look; it's a man-killer, and the rate is fortycents a pound to Linderman. It'll go to fifty now--maybe a dollar--and there aren't enough packers to handle half the stuff. "

"Things are worse at Skagway, " another man volunteered. "I came upyesterday, and they're losing a hundred head of horses a day--bogging 'em down and breaking their legs. You can walk on deadcarcasses from the Porcupine to the Summit. "

A third stranger, evidently one of the well-provided few, laughedcarelessly. "If you boys can't stand the strain you'd better staywhere you are, " said he. "Grub's sky-high in Dawson, and mightyshort. I knew what I was up against, so I came prepared. Better gohome and try it next summer. "

The first speaker, he of the sullen visage, turned his back, muttering, resentfully: "Another wise guy! They make me sick! I'vea notion to go through anyhow. "

"Don't try that, " cautioned the man from Skagway. "If you got pastthe Police they'd follow you to hell but what they'd bring youback. They ain't like our police. "

Still meditating his plight, Pierce Phillips edged out of thecrowd and walked slowly down the street. It was not a street atall, except by courtesy, for it was no more than an openwaterfront faced by a few log buildings and a meandering line ofnew white tents. Tents were going up everywhere and all of thembore painful evidence of their newness. So did the clothes oftheir owners for that matter--men's garments still bore theirprice-tags. The beach was crowded with piles of merchandise overwhich there was much wrangling, barges plying regularly back andforth from the anchored ships added hourly to the confusion. Asoutfits were dumped upon the sand their owners assembled them andbore them away to their temporary camp sites. In this occupationevery man faced his own responsibilities single-handed, for therewere neither drays nor carts nor vehicles of any sort. 

As Phillips looked on at the disorder along the water's edge, ashe stared up the fir-flanked Dyea valley, whither a steady streamof traffic flowed, he began to feel a fretful eagerness to join init, to be up and going. 'Way yonder through those hills toweredthe Chilkoot, and beyond that was the mighty river rushing towardDawson City, toward Life and Adventure, for that was what thegold-fields signified to Phillips. Yes, Life! Adventure! He hadset out to seek them, to taste the flavor of the world, and thereit lay--his world, at least--just out of reach. A fierceimpatience, a hot resentment at that senseless restriction whichchained him in his tracks, ran through the boy. What right had anyone to stop him here at the very door, when just inside greatthings were happening? Past that white-and-purple barrier which hecould see against the sky a new land lay, a radiant land ofpromise, of mystery, and of fascination; Pierce vowed that hewould not, could not, wait. Fortunes would reward the firstarrivals; how, then, could he permit these other men to precedehim? The world was a good place--it would not let a person starve. 

To the young and the foot-free Adventure lurks just over the hill;Life opens from the crest of the very next divide. It matters notthat we never quite come up with either, that we never quiteattain the summit whence our promises are realized; the ever-present expectation, the eager straining forward, is the breath ofyouth. It was that breath which Phillips now felt in his nostrils. It was pungent, salty. 

He noted a group of people gathered about some center ofattraction whence issued a high-pitched intonation. 

"Oh, look at the cute little pea! Klondike croquet, the packer'spastime. Who'll risk a dollar to win a dollar? It's a healthysport. It's good for young and old--a cheeild can understand it. Three Eskimo igloos and an educated pill!"

"A shell-game!" Pierce Phillips halted in his tracks and staredincredulously, then he smiled. "A shell-game, running wide open onthe main street of the town!" This WAS the frontier, the very edgeof things. With an odd sense of unreality he felt the world turnback ten years. He had seen shell-games at circuses andfairgrounds when he was much younger, but he supposed they hadlong since been abandoned in favor of more ingenious and lessdiscreditable methods of robbery. Evidently, however, there weresome gulls left, for this device appeared to be well patronized. Still doubting the evidence of his ears, he joined the group. 

"The gentleman wins and the gambler loses!" droned the dealer ashe paid a bet. "Now then, we're off for another journey. Who'llride with me this time?"

Phillips was amazed that any one could be so simple-minded as tosquander his money upon such a notoriously unprofitable form ofentertainment. Nevertheless, men were playing, and they did notseem to suspect that the persons whom the dealer occasionally paidwere his confederates. 

The operator maintained an incessant monologue. At the moment ofPierce's arrival he was directing it at an ox-eyed individual, evidently selected to be the next victim. The fellow was stupid, nevertheless he exercised some caution at first. He won a fewdollars, then he lost a few, but, alas! the gambling fever mountedin him and greed finally overcame his hesitation. With an eagergesture he chose a shell and Phillips felt a glow of satisfactionat the realization that the man had once more guessed aright. Drawing forth a wallet, the fellow laid it on the table. 

"I'll bet the lump, " he cried. 

The dealer hesitated. "How much you got in that alligator valise?"

"Two hundred dollars. "

"Two hundred berries on one bush!" The proprietor of the game wasincredulous. "Boys, he aims to leave me cleaner than a snow-bird. "Seizing the walnut-shell between his thumb and forefinger, heturned it over, but instead of exposing the elusive pellet hemanaged, by an almost imperceptible forward movement, to roll itout from under its hiding-place and to conceal it between histhird and fourth fingers. The stranger was surprised, dumfounded, at sight of the empty shell. He looked on open-mouthed while hiswallet was looted of its contents. 

"Every now and then I win a little one, " the gambler announced ashe politely returned the bill-case to its owner. He lifted anothershell, and by some sleight-of-hand managed to replace the pelletupon the table, then gravely flipped a five-dollar gold piece toone of his boosters. 

Phillips's eyes were quick; from where he stood he had detectedthe maneuver and it left him hot with indignation. He feltimpelled to tell the victim how he had been robbed, but thoughtbetter of the impulse and assured himself that this was none ofhis affair. For perhaps ten minutes he looked on while the sheep-shearing proceeded. 

After a time there came a lull and the dealer raised his voice toentice new patrons. Meanwhile, he paused to roll a cigarette thesize of a wheat straw. While thus engaged there sounded the hoarseblast of a steamer's whistle in the offing and he turned his head. Profiting by this instant of inattention a hand reached across thetable and lifted one of the walnut-shells. There was nothing underit. 

"Five bucks on this one!" A soiled bill was placed beside one ofthe two remaining shells, the empty one. 

Thus far Phillips had followed the pea unerringly, therefore hewas amazed at the new better's mistake. 

The dealer turned back to his layout and winked at the bystanders, saying, "Brother, I'll bet you ten more that you've made a badbet. " His offer was accepted. Simultaneously Phillips was seizedwith an intense desire to beat this sharper at his own game;impulsively he laid a protecting palm over the shell beneath whichhe knew the little sphere to lie. 

"I'll pick this one, " he heard himself say. 

"Better let me deal you a new hand, " the gambler suggested. 

"Nothing of the sort, " a man at Phillips' shoulder broke in. "Hangon to that shell, kid. You're right and I'm going down for thesize of his bankroll. " The speaker was evidently a miner, for hecarried a bulky pack upon his shoulders. He placed a heavy palmover the back of Phillips' hand, then extracted from the depths ofhis overalls a fat roll of paper money. 

The size of this wager, together with the determination of itsowner, appeared briefly to nonplus the dealer. He voiced aprotest, but the miner forcibly overbore it:

"Say, I eat up this shell stuff!" he declared. "It's my meat, andI've trimmed every tinhorn that ever came to my town. There'sthree hundred dollars; you cover it, and you cover this boy's bet, too. " The fellow winked reassuringly at Phillips. "You heard himsay the sky was his limit, didn't you? Well, let's see how highthe sky is in these parts!"

There was a movement in the crowd, whereupon the speaker cried, warningly: "Boosters, stand back! Don't try to give us the elbow, or I'll close up this game!" To Pierce he murmured, confidentially: "We've got him right. Don't let anybody edge youout. " He put more weight upon Phillips' hand and forced the youngman closer to the table. 

Pierce had no intention of surrendering his place, and now thesatisfaction of triumphing over these crooks excited him. Hecontinued to cover the walnut-shell while with his free hand hedrew his own money from his pocket. He saw that the owner of thegame was suffering extreme discomfort at this checkmate, and heenjoyed the situation. 

"I watched you trim that farmer a few minutes ago, " Phillips'companion chuckled. "Now I'm going to make you put up or shut up. There's my three hundred. I can use it when it grows to six. "

"How much are you betting?" the dealer inquired of Phillips. 

Pierce had intended merely to risk a dollar or two, but now therecame to him a thrilling thought. That notice at Healy

"Business appears to be picking up, " murmured the proprietor ofthe game. 

Phillips' neighbor continued to hold the boy's hand in a vicelikegrip. Now he leaned forward, saying:

"Look here! Are you going to cover our coin or am I going to smokeyou up?"

"The groans of the gambler is sweet music in their ears!" Thedealer shrugged reluctantly and counted out four hundred andthirty-five dollars, which he separated into two piles. 

A certain shame at his action swept over Phillips when he felt hiscompanion's grasp relax and heard him say, "Turn her over, kid. "

This was diamond cut diamond, of course; nevertheless, it was alow-down trick and--

Pierce Phillips started, he examined the interior of the walnut-shell in bewilderment, for he had lifted it only to find it quiteempty. 

"Every now and then I win a little one, " the dealer intoned, gravely pocketing his winnings. "It only goes to show you that thehand--"

"Damnation!" exploded the man at Phillips' side. "Trimmed forthree hundred, or I'm a goat!"

As Pierce walked away some one fell into step with him; it was thesullen, black-browed individual he had seen at the trading-post. 

"So they took you for a hundred and thirty-five, eh? You must berolling in coin, " the man observed. 

Even yet Pierce was more than a little dazed. "Do you know, " saidhe, "I was sure I had the right shell. "

"Why, of course you had the right one. " The stranger laughedshortly. "They laid it up for you on purpose, then Kid Bridgesworked a shift when he held your hand. You can't beat 'em. "

Pierce halted. "Was he--was THAT fellow with the pack a booster?"

"Certainly. They're all boosters. The Kid carries enough hay onhis back to feed a team. It's his bed. I've been here a week and Iknow 'em. " The speaker stared in surprise at Phillips, who hadbroken into a hearty laugh. "Look here! A little hundred andthirty-five must be chicken feed to you. If you've got any more totoss away, toss it in my direction. "

"That's what makes it so funny. You see, I haven't any more. Thatwas my last dollar. Well, it serves me right. Now I can start fromscratch and win on my own speed. "

The dark-browed man studied Phillips curiously. "You're certain'ygame, " he announced. "I s'pose now you'll be wanting to sell someof your outfit. That's why I've been hanging around that game. I've picked up quite a bit of stuff that way, but I'm still shorta few things and I'll buy--"

"I haven't a pound of grub. I came up second-class. "

"Huh! Then you'll go back steerage. "

"Oh no, I won't! I'm going on to Dawson. " There was a momentarysilence. "You say you've been here a week? Put me up for thenight--until I get a job. Will you?"

The black-eyed man hesitated, then he grinned. "You've got yournerve, but--I'm blamed if I don't like it, " said he. "My brotherJim is cooking supper now. Suppose we go over to the tent and askhim. "

CHAPTER II

The headwaters of the Dyea River spring from a giant's punch-bowl. Three miles above timber-line the valley bottom widens out into aflinty field strewn with boulders which in ages past have losttheir footing on the steep hills forming the sides of the cup. Between these boulders a thin carpet of moss is spread, but theslopes themselves are quite naked; they are seamed and cracked andweather-beaten, their surfaces are split and shattered from theplay of the elements. High up toward the crest of one of themrides a glacier--a pallid, weeping sentinel which stands guard forthe great ice-caps beyond. Winter snows, summer fogs and rainshave washed the hillsides clean; they are leached out and theypresent a lifeless, forbidding front to travelers. In many placesthe granite fragments which still encumber them lie piled oneabove another in such titanic chaos as to discourage man's punyefforts to climb over them. Nevertheless, men have done so, and bythe thousands, by the tens of thousands. On this particularmorning an unending procession of human beings was straining upand over and through the confusion. They lifted themselves by footand by hand; where the slope was steepest they crept on all-fours. They formed an unbroken, threadlike stream extending fromtimberline to crest, each individual being dwarfed to microscopicproportions by the size of his surroundings. They flowed acrossthe floor of the valley, then slowly, very slowly, they flowed upits almost perpendicular wall. Now they were lost to sight; againthey reappeared clambering over glacier scars or toiling up steep, rocky slides; finally they emerged away up under the arch of thesky. 

Looking down from the roof of the pass itself, the scene wasdoubly impressive, for the wooded valley lay outstretched clear tothe sea, and out of it came that long, wavering line of ants. Theydid, indeed, appear to be ants, those men, as they draggedthemselves across the meadow and up the ascent; they resemblednothing more than a file of those industrious insects creepingacross the bottom and up the sides of a bath-tub, and the likenesswas borne out by the fact that all carried burdens. That was intruth the marvel of the scene, for every man on the Chilkoot wasbent beneath a back-breaking load. 

Three miles down the gulch, where the upward march of the forestshad been halted, there, among scattered outposts of scrubby spruceand wind-twisted willow, stood a village, a sprawling, formlessaggregation of flimsy tents and green logs known as Sheep Camp. Although it was a temporary, makeshift town, already it bulked bigin the minds of men from Maine to California, from the Great Lakesto the Gulf, for it was the last outpost of civilization, andbeyond it lay a land of mystery. Sheep Camp had become famous byreason of the fact that it was linked with the name of that ViaDolorosa, that summit of despair, the Chilkoot. Already it hadcome to stand for the weak man's ultimate mile-post, the end ofmany journeys. 

The approach from the sea was easy, if twelve miles of boulder andbog, of swamp and nigger-head, of root and stump, can be calledeasy under the best of circumstances; but easy it was as comparedwith what lay beyond and above it. Nevertheless, many Argonautshad never penetrated even thus far, and of those who had, aconsiderable proportion had turned back at the giant pit threemiles above. One look at the towering barrier had been enough forthem. The Chilkoot was more than a mountain, more than an obstacleof nature; it was a Presence, a tremendous and a terrifyingPersonality which overshadowed the minds of men and could neitherbe ignored at the time nor forgotten later. No wonder, then, thatSheep Camp, which was a part of the Chilkoot, represented, a sortof acid test; no wonder that those who had moved their outfitsthus far were of the breed the Northland loves--the stout of heartand of body. 

Provisions were cached at frequent intervals all the way up fromthe sea, but in the open meadow beneath the thousand-foot wall animmense supply depot had sprung up. This pocket in the hills hadbecome an open-air commissary, stocked with every sort ofprovender and gear. There were acres of sacks and bundles, ofboxes and bales, of lumber and hardware and perishable stuffs, andall day long men came and went in relays. One relay staggered upand out of the canon and dropped its packs, another picked up thebundles and ascended skyward. Pound by pound, ton by ton, thisvast equipment of supplies went forward, but slowly, oh, soslowly! And at such effort! It was indeed fit work for ants, forit arrived nowhere and it never ended. Antlike, these burden-bearers possessed but one idea--to fetch and to carry; theytraveled back and forth along the trail until they wore it into abottomless bog, until every rock, every tree, every landmark alongit became hatefully familiar and their eyes grew sick from seeingthem. 

The character of then--labor and its monotony, even in this shorttime, had changed the men's characters--they had become pack-animals and they deported themselves as such. All labor-savingdevices, all mechanical aids, all short cuts to comfort and toaccomplishment, had been left behind; here was the wilderness, primitive, hostile, merciless. Every foot they moved, every ouncethey carried, was at the cost of muscular exertion. It was onlynatural that they should take on the color of their surroundings. 

Money lost its value a mile above Sheep Camp said became a thingof weight, a thing to carry. The standard of value was the pound, and men thought in hundredweights or in tons. Yet there was norelief, no respite, for famine stalked in the Yukon and theNorthwest Mounted were on guard, hence these unfortunates werechained to their grub-piles as galley-slaves are shackled to theirbenches. 

Toe to heel, like peons rising from the bowels of a mine, theybent their backs and strained up that riven rock wall. Blasphemyand pain, high hopes and black despair, hearts overtaxed and eyesblind with fatigue, that was what the Chilkoot stood for. Permeating the entire atmosphere of the place, so that even thedullest could feel it, was a feverish haste, an apprehensivedemand for speed, more speed, to keep ahead of the pressingthousands coming on behind. 

Pierce Phillips breasted the last rise to the Summit, slipped hispack-straps, and flung himself full length upon the ground. Hislungs felt as if they were bursting, the blood surged through hisveins until he rocked, his body streamed with sweat, and his legswere as heavy as if molded from solid iron. He was pumped out, winded; nevertheless, he felt his strength return with magicswiftness, for he possessed that marvelous recuperative power ofyouth, and, like some fabled warrior, new strength flowed into himfrom the earth. Round about him other men were sprawled; some laylike corpses, others were propped against their packs, a fewstirred and sighed like the sorely wounded after a charge. Thosewho had lain longest rose, took up their burdens, and wentgroaning over the sky-line and out of sight. Every moment newfaces, purple with effort or white with exhaustion, rose out ofthe depths--all were bitten deep with lines of physical suffering. On buckled knees their owners lurched forward to find resting-places; in their eyes burned a sullen rage; in their mouths werefoul curses at this Devil's Stairway. There were striplings andgraybeards in the crowd, strong men and weak men, but here at theSummit all were alike in one particular--they lacked breath foranything except oaths. 

Here, too, as in the valley beneath, was another great depot ofprovision piles. Near where Phillips had thrown himself down therewas one man whose bearing was in marked contrast to that of theothers. He sat astride a bulging canvas bag in a leather harness, and in spite of the fact that the mark of a tump-line showedbeneath his cap he betrayed no signs of fatigue. He was not at allexhausted, and from the interest he displayed it seemed that hehad chosen this spot as a vantage-point from which to study theupcoming file rather than as a place in which to rest. This he didwith a quick, appreciative eye and with a genial smile. In face, in dress, in manner, he was different. For one thing, he was offoreign birth, and yet he appeared to be more a piece of thecountry than any man Pierce had seen. His clothes were of apattern common among the native packers, but he wore them with afree, unconscious grace all his own. From the peak of his Canadiantoque there depended a tassel which bobbed when he talked; hisboots were of Indian make, and they were soft and light andwaterproof; a sash of several colors was knotted about his waist. But it was not alone his dress which challenged the eye--there wassomething in this fellow's easy, open bearing which arrestedattention. His dark skin had been deepened by windburn, his well-set, well-shaped head bore a countenance both eager andintelligent, a countenance that fairly glowed with confidence andgood humor. 

Oddly enough, he sang as he sat upon his pack. High up on thishillside, amid blasphemous complaints, he hummed a gay littlesong:

 "Chante, rossignol, chante! Toi qui a le coeur gai! Tu as le coeur a rire Mai j'l'ai-t-a pleurer, "

ran his chanson. 

Phillips had seen the fellow several times, and the circumstancesof their first encounter had been sufficiently unusual to impressthemselves upon his mind. Pierce had been resting here, at thisvery spot, when the Canuck had come up into sight, bearing ahundred-pound pack without apparent effort. Two flour-sacks upon aman's back was a rare sight on the roof of the Chilkoot. Therewere not many who could master that slope with more than one, butthis fellow had borne his burden without apparent effort; and whatwas even more remarkable, what had caused Pierce Phillips to openhis eyes in genuine astonishment, was the fact that the manclimbed with a pipe in his teeth and smoked it with relish. Onthat occasion the Frenchman had not stopped at the crest tobreathe, but had merely paused long enough to admire the sceneoutspread beneath him; then he had swung onward. Of all the sightsyoung Phillips had beheld in this new land, the vision of thathuge, unhurried Canadian, smoking, had impressed him deepest. Ithad awakened his keen envy, too, for Pierce was beginning to gloryin his own strength. A few days later they had rested near eachother on the Long Lake portage. That is, Phillips had rested; theCanadian, it seemed, had a habit of pausing when and where thefancy struck him. His reason for stopping there had been theantics of a peculiarly fearless and impertinent "camp-robber. "With a crust of bread he had tolled the bird almost within hisreach and was accepting its scolding with intense amusement. Having both teased and made friends with the creature, he finallygave it the crust and resumed his journey. 

This was a land where brawn was glorified; the tales told oftenestaround the stoves at Sheep Camp had to do with feats of strengthor endurance, they were stories of mighty men and mighty packs, oflong marches and of grim staying powers. Already the names ofcertain "old-timers" like Dinsmore and McDonald and Peterson andStick Jim had become famous because of some conspicuous exploit. Dinsmore, according to the legend, had once lugged a hundred andsixty pounds to the Summit; McDonald had bent a horseshoe in hishands; Peterson had lifted the stem-piece out of a poling-boatlodged on the rocks below White Horse; Stick Jim had run down amoose and killed it with his knife. 

From what Phillips had seen of this French Canadian it was plainthat he, too, was an "old-timer, " one of that Jovian band ofsupermen who had dared the dark interior and robbed the bars ofForty Mile in the hard days before the El Dorado discovery. Sincethis was their first opportunity of exchanging speech, Phillipsventured to address the man. 

"I thought I had a load this morning, but I'd hate to swap packswith you, " he said. 

The Frenchman flashed him a smile which exposed a row of teethsnow-white against his tan. "Ho! You're stronger as me. I see youplenty tams biffore. "

This was indeed agreeable praise, and Pierce showed his pleasure. "Oh no!" he modestly protested. "I'm just getting broken in. "

"Look out you don' broke your back, " warned the other. "DisChilkoot she's bad bizness. She's keel a lot of dese sof' fellers. Dey get seeck in de back. You hear 'bout it?"

"Spinal meningitis. It's partly from exposure. "

"Dat's him! Don' never carry too moch; don' be in soch hurry. "

Phillips laughed at this caution. "Why, we have to hurry, " saidhe. "New people are coming all the time and they'll beat us in ifwe don't look out. "

His comrade shrugged. "Mebbe so; but s'posin' dey do. Wat's dehodds? She's beeg countree; dere's plenty claims. "

"Are there, really?" Phillips' eyes brightened. "You're an old-timer; you've been 'inside. ' Do you mean there's plenty of goldfor all of us?"

"Dere ain't 'nuff gold in all de worl' for some people. "

"I mean is Dawson as rich as they say it is?"

"Um--m! I don' know. "

"Didn't you get in on the strike?"

"I hear 'bout 'im, but I'm t'inkin' 'bout oder t'ings. "

Phillips regarded the speaker curiously. "That's funny. Whatbusiness are you in?"

"My bizness? Jus' livin'. " The Canadian's eyes twinkled. "You don'savvy, eh--? Wal, dat's biccause you're lak dese oder feller--you're in beeg hurry to be reech. Me--?" He shrugged his brawnyshoulders and smiled cheerily. "I got plenty tam. I'm loafer. Ienjoy myse'f--"

"So do I. For that matter, I'm enjoying myself now. I think thisis all perfectly corking, and I'm having the time of my younglife. Why, just think, over there"--Pierce waved his hand towardthe northward panorama of white peaks and purple valleys--"everything is unknown!" His face lit up with some restless desirewhich the Frenchman appeared to understand, for he noddedseriously. "Sometimes it scares me a little. "

"Wat you scare' 'bout, you?"

"Myself, I suppose. Sometimes I'm afraid I haven't the stuff in meto last. "

"Dat's good sign. " The speaker slipped his arms into his pack-harness and adjusted the tumpline to his forehead preparatory torising. "You goin' mak' good 'sourdough' lak me. You goin' love dewoods and de hills wen you know 'em. I can tell. Wal, I see youbimeby at Wite 'Orse. "

"White Horse? Is that where you're going?"

"Yes. I'm batteau man; I'm goin' be pilot. "

"Isn't that pretty dangerous work? They say those rapids areawful. "

"Sure! Everybody scare' to try 'im. W'en I came up dey pay mefifty dollar for tak' one boat t'rough. By gosh! I never mak' somoch money--tree hondred dollar a day. I'm reech man now. You lakget reech queeck? I teach you be pilot. Swif' water, beeg noise!Plenty fun in dat!" The Canadian threw back his head and laughedloudly. "W'at you say?"

"I wouldn't mind trying it, " Pierce confessed, "but I have nooutfit. I'm packing for wages. I'll be along when I get my grub-stake together. "

"Good! I go purty queeck now. W'en you come, I tak' you t'rough decanyon free. In one day I teach you be good pilot. You ask for'Poleon Doret. Remember?"

"I say!" Phillips halted the cheerful giant as he was about torise. "Do you know, you're the first man who has offered to do mea favor; you're the only one who hasn't tried to hold me back andclimb over me. You're the first man I've seen with--with a smileon his face. "

The speaker nodded. "I know! It's peety, too. Dese poor feller isscare', lak' you. Dey don' onderstan'. But bimeby, dey get wise;dey learn to he'p de oder feller, dey learn dat a smile will carrya pack or row a boat. You remember dat. A smile and a song, she'llshorten de miles and mak' fren's wid everybody. Don' forget w'at Itell you. "

"Thank you, I won't, " said Pierce, with a flicker of amusement atthe man's brief sermon. This Doret was evidently a sort ofbackwoods preacher. 

"Adieu!" With another flashing smile and a wave of his hand thefellow joined the procession and went on over the crest. 

It had been pleasant to exchange even these few friendly words, for of late the habit of silence had been forced upon PiercePhillips. For weeks now he had toiled among reticent men whoregarded him with hostility, who made way for him with reluctance. Haste, labor, strain had numbed and brutalized them; fatigue hadrendered them irritable, and the strangeness of their environmenthad made them both fearful and suspicious. There was no good-fellowship, no consideration on the Chilkoot. This was a raceagainst time, and the stakes went to him who was most ruthless. Phillips had not exaggerated. Until this morning, he had receivedno faintest word of encouragement, no slightest offer of help. Notonce had a hand been outstretched to him, and every inch he hadgained had been won at the cost of his own efforts and by reasonof his own determination. 

He was yet warm with a wordless gratitude at the Frenchman's cheerwhen a figure came lurching toward him and fell into the spaceDoret had vacated. This man was quite the opposite of the one whohad just left; he was old and he was far from robust. He fell facedownward and lay motionless. Impulsively Phillips rose and removedthe new-comer's pack. 

"That last lift takes it out of you, doesn't it?" he inquired, sympathetically. 

After a moment the stranger lifted a thin, colorless faceovergrown with a bushy gray beard and began to curse in a gaspingvoice. 

The youth warned him. "You're only tiring yourself, my friend. It's all down-hill from here. "

The sufferer regarded Phillips from a pair of hard, smoky-blueeyes in which there lurked both curiosity and surprise. 

"I say!" he panted. "You're the first white man I've met in twoweeks. "

Pierce laughed. "It's the result of a good example. A fellow wasdecent to me just now. "

"This is the kind of work that gives a man dead babies, " groanedthe stranger. "And these darned trail-hogs!" He ground his teethvindictively. "'Get out of the way!' 'Hurry up, old man!' 'Steplively, grandpa!' That's what they say. They snap at your heelslike coyotes. Hurry? You can't force your luck!" The speakerstruggled into a sitting posture and in an apologetic toneexplained: "I dassent lay down or I'll get rheumatism. Tough guys--frontiersmen--Pah!" He spat out the exclamation with disgust, then closed his eyes again and sank back against his burden. "Coyotes! That's what they are! They'd rob a carcass, they'd gnaweach other's bones to get through ahead of the ice. "

Up out of the chasm below came a slow-moving file of Indianpackers. Their eyes were bent upon the ground, and they steppednoiselessly into one another's tracks. The only sound they madecame from their creaking pack-leathers. They paused briefly tobreathe and to take in their surroundings, then they went on andout of sight. 

When they had disappeared the stranger spoke in a changed tone. "Poor devils! I wonder what they've done. And you?" he turned toPhillips. "What sins have you committed?"

"Oh, just the ordinary ones. But I don't look at it that way. Thisis a sort of a lark for me, and I'm having a great time. It'spretty fierce, I'll admit, but--I wouldn't miss it for anything. Would you?"

"WOULD I? In a minute! You're young, I'm old. I've got rheumatismand--a partner. He can't pack enough grub for his own lunch, and Ihave to do it all. He's a Jonah, too--born on Friday, orsomething. Last night somebody stole a sack of our bacon. Sixtypounds, and every pound had cost me sweat!" Again the speakerground his teeth vindictively. "Lord! I'd like to catch the fellowthat did it! I'd take a drop of blood for every drop of sweat thatbacon cost. Have you lost anything?"

"I haven't anything to lose. I'm packing for wages to earn moneyenough to buy an outfit. "

After a brief survey of Phillips' burden, the stranger said, enviously: "Looks like you wouldn't have to make more than a tripor two. I wish I could pack like you do, but I'm stove up. Atthat, I'm better than my partner! He couldn't carry a tune. " Therewas a pause. "He eats good, though; eats like a hired man and hesnores so I can't sleep. I just lie awake nights and groan at thejoints and listen to him grow old. He can't even guard our grub-pile. "

"The Vigilantes will put a stop to this stealing, " Pierceventured. 

"Think so? Who's going to keep an eye on them? Who's going tostrangle the Stranglers? Chances are they're the very ones thatare lifting our grub. I know these citizens' committees. " Whateverthe physical limitations of the rheumatic Argonaut, it was plainthat his temper was active and his resentment strong. 

Phillips had cooled off by this time; in fact, the chill breath ofthe snow-fields had begun to penetrate his sodden clothing, therefore he prepared to take up his march. 

"Going through to Linderman?" queried the other man. "So am I. Ifyou'll wait a second I'll join you. Maybe we can give each other ahand. "

The speaker's motive was patent; nevertheless, Phillips obliginglyacceded to his request, and a short time later assisted him intohis harness, whereupon they set out one behind the other. Pierce'spack was at least double the weight of his companion's, and itgave him a pleasurable thrill to realize that he was one of thestrong, one of the elect; he wondered pityingly how long thisfeeble, middle-aged man could last. 

Before they had tramped far, however, he saw that the object ofhis pity possessed a quality which was lacking in many of theyounger, stronger stampeders--namely, a grim determination, adogged perseverance--no poor substitute, indeed, for youth andbrawn. Once the man was in motion he made no complaint, and hemanaged to maintain a very good pace. 

Leaving the crest of Chilkoot behind them, the travelers bore tothe right across the snowcap, then followed the ridge above CraterLake. Every mile or two they rested briefly to relieve theirchafed and aching shoulders. They exchanged few words while theywere in motion, for one soon learns to conserve his forces on thetrail, but when they lay propped against their packs they talked. 

Phillips' abundant vigor continued to evoke the elder man's frankadmiration; he eyed the boy approvingly and plied him withquestions. Before they had traveled many miles he had learned whatthere was to learn, for Pierce answered his questions frankly andtold him about the sacrifice his family had made in order to sendhim North, about the trip itself, about his landing at Dyea, andall the rest. When he came to the account of that shell-game thegrizzled stranger smiled. 

"I've lived in wide-open countries all my life, " said the latter, "but this beats anything I ever saw. Why, the crooks outnumber thehonest men and they're running things to suit themselves. One of'em tried to lay me. ME!" He chuckled as if the mere idea wasfantastically humorous. "Have you heard about this Soapy Smith?He's the boss, the bell-cow, and he's made himself mayor ofSkagway. Can you beat it? I'll bet some of his men are on ourCitizens' Committee at Sheep Camp. They need a lot of killing, they do, and they'll get it. What did you do after you lost yourmoney?"

"I fell in with two brothers and went to packing. "

"Went partners with them?'

"No, they--" Phillips' face clouded, he hesitated briefly. "Imerely lived with them and helped them with their outfit from timeto time. We're at Sheep Camp now, and I share their tent wheneverI'm there. I'm about ready to pull out and go it alone. " "Right!And don't hook up with anybody. " The old man spoke with feeling. "Look at me. I'm nesting with a dodo--darned gray-whiskeredmilliner! He's so ornery I have to hide the ax every time I seehim. I just yearn to put him out of his misery, but I dassent. Ofcourse he has his points--everybody has; he's a game old roosterand he loves me. That's all that saves him. "

Phillips was greatly interested to learn that two men so unfittedfor this life, this country, should have essayed the hardships ofthe Chilkoot trail. It amazed him to learn that already most oftheir outfit was at Linderman. 

"Do you mean to say that you have done all the packing foryourself and your partner?" he inquired. 

"N--no. Old Jerry totters across with a package of soda-crackersonce in a while. You must have heard him; he creaks like a gate. Of course he eats up all the crackers before he gets to Lindermanand then gorges himself on the heavy grub that I've lugged over, but in spite of that we've managed to make pretty good time. "After a moment of meditation he continued: "Say! You ought to seethat old buzzard eat! It's disgusting, but it's interesting. Itain't so much the expense that I care about as the work. Old Jerryought to be in an institution--some place where they've got wheel-chairs and a big market-garden. But he's plumb helpless, so Ican't cut him loose and let him bleach his bones in a strangeland. I haven't got the heart. "

They were resting at the Long Lake outlet, some time later, whenthe old man inquired:

"I presume you've got a camp at Linderman, eh?"

"No. I have some blankets cached there and I sleep out whenever Ican't make the round trip. "

"Round trip? Round trip in one day? Why, that's thirty miles!"

"Real miles, too. This country makes a man of a fellow. I wouldn'tmind sleeping out if I were sure of a hot meal once in a while, but money is no good this side of the Summit, and these peoplewon't even let a stranger use their stoves. "

"You can't last long at that, my boy. "

Phillips smiled cheerfully. "I don't have to last much longer. Isent a thousand dollars to Dyea this morning by Jim McCaskey, oneof the fellows I live with. He's going to put it in Healy he'saltogether different to us tenderfeet. He made me rather ashamedof myself. "

The elderly man nodded. "Most pioneers are big-calibered. I'm asort of pioneer myself, but that infernal partner of mine hasabout ruined my disposition. Take it by and large, though, it paysa man to be accommodating. "

CHAPTER III

Having crossed the high barrens, Phillips and his companiondropped down to timber-line and soon arrived at Linderman, theirjourney's end. This was perhaps the most feverishly busy camp onthe entire thirty-mile Dyea trail, but, unlike the coast towns, there was no merrymaking, no gaiety, no gambling here. Linderman'sfever came from overwork, not from overplay. A tent village hadsprung up at the head of the lake, and from dawn until dark itechoed to the unceasing sound of ax and hammer, of plane and saw. The air was redolent with the odor of fresh-cut spruce and ofboiling tar, for this was the shipyard where an army of Jasonshewed and joined and fitted, each upon a bark of his own making. Half-way down the lake was the Boundary, and a few miles belowthat again was the customs station with its hateful red-jacketedpolice. Beyond were uncharted waters, quite as perilous, becausequite as unknown, as those traversed by that first band ofArgonauts. Deep lakes, dark canons, roaring rapids lay betweenLinderman and the land of the Golden Fleece, but the nearer thesemen approached those dangers the more eagerly they pressed on. 

Already the weeding-out process had gone far and the citizens ofLinderman were those who had survived it. The weak and theirresolute had disappeared long since; these fellows who laboredso mightily to forestall the coming winter were the strong and thefit and the enduring--the kind the North takes to herself. 

In spite of his light pack, Phillips' elderly trailmate was allbut spent. He dragged his feet, he stumbled without reason, thelines in his face were deeply set, and his bearded lips hadretreated from his teeth in a grin of exhaustion. 

"Yonder's the tent, " he said, finally, and his tone was eloquentof relief. 

In and out among canvas walls and taut guy-ropes the travelerswound their way, emerging at length upon a gravelly beach wherevast supplies of provisions were cached. All about, in variousstages of construction, were skeletons of skiffs, of scows, and ofbarges; the ground was spread with a carpet of shavings andsawdust. 

Pierce's companion paused; then, after an incredulous stare, hesaid: "Look! Is that smoke coming from my stovepipe?"

"Why, yes!"

There could be no mistake about it; from the tent in questionarose the plain evidence that a lively fire was burning inside. 

"Well, I'll be darned!" breathed the elder man. "Somebody's jumpedthe cache. "

"Perhaps your partner--"

"He's in Sheep Camp. " The speaker laboriously loosened his packand let it fall, then with stiff, clumsy fingers he undid the topbuttons of his vest and, to Pierce's amazement, produced a large-calibered revolver, which he mechanically cocked and uncockedseveral times, the while his eyes remained hypnotically fixed uponthe telltale streamer of smoke. Not only did his action appear tobe totally uncalled for, but he himself had undergone a startlingtransformation and Phillips was impelled to remonstrate. 

"Here! What the deuce--?" he began. 

"Listen to me!" The old man spoke in a queer, suppressed tone, andhis eyes, when he turned them upon his fellow-packer, were evensmokier than usual. "Somebody's up to a little thievin', mostlikely, and it looks like I had 'em red-handed. I've been layin'for this!"

Pierce divested himself of his pack-harness, then said, simply, "If that's the case, I'll give you a hand. "

"Better stand back, " the other cautioned him. "I don't need anyhelp--this is my line. " The man's fatigue had fallen from him; ofa sudden he had become surprisingly alert and forceful. He stoleforward, making as little noise as possible, and Phillips followedat his back. They came to a pause within arm's-length of the tentflaps, which they noted were securely tied. 

"Hello inside!" The owner spoke suddenly and with his free hand hejerked at one of the knots. 

There came an answering exclamation, a movement; then the flapswere seized and firmly held. 

"You can't come in!" cried a voice. 

"Let go! Quick!" The old man's voice was harsh. 

"You'll have to wait a minute. I'm undressed. "

Phillips retreated a step, as did the other man; they stared ateach other. 

"A woman!" Pierce breathed. 

"Lord!" The owner of the premises slowly, reluctantly sheathed hisweapon under his left arm. 

"I invited myself in, " the voice explained--it was a deep-pitchedcontralto voice. "I was wet and nobody offered to let me dry out, so I took possession of the first empty tent I came to. Is ityours?"

"It is--half of it. I'm mighty tired and I ain't particular howyou look, so hurry up. " As the two men returned for their loadsthe speaker went on, irritably. "She's got her nerve! I s'poseshe's one of these actresses. There's a bunch of 'em on the trail. Actresses!" He snorted derisively. "I bet she smells of cologne, and, gosh! how I hate it!"

When he and Pierce returned they were admitted promptly enough, and any lingering suspicions of the trespasser's intent wereinstantly dissipated. The woman was clad in a short, dampunderskirt which fell about to her knees; she had drawn on theonly dry article of apparel in sight, a man's sweater jacket; shehad thrust her bare feet into a pair of beaded moccasins; on aline attached to the ridgepole over her head sundry outer garmentswere steaming. Phillips' first thought was that this womanpossessed the fairest, the whitest, skin he had ever seen; it waslike milk. But his first impressions were confused, forembarrassment followed quickly upon his entrance and he felt animpulse to withdraw. The trespasser was not at all the sort ofperson he had expected to find, and her complete self-possessionat the intrusion, her dignified greeting, left him not a littlechagrined at his rudeness. She eyed both men coolly from a pair ofice-blue eyes--eyes that bespoke her nationality quite as plainlyas did her features, her dazzling complexion, and her head offine, straight flaxen hair. She was Scandinavian, she was aNorsewoman; that much was instantly apparent. She appeared toderive a certain malicious pleasure now from the consternation herappearance evoked; there was a hint of contempt, of defiance, inher smile. In a voice so low-pitched that its quality alone savedit from masculinity, she said:

"Pray don't be distressed; you merely startled me, that's all. MyIndians managed to get hold of some hootch at Tagish and upset ourcanoe just below here. It was windy and of course they couldn'tswim--none of them can, you know--so I had hard work to save them. I've already explained how I happened to select this particularrefuge. Your neighbors--" her lip curled disdainfully, then sheshrugged. "Well, I never got such a reception as they gave me, butI suppose they're cheechakos. I'll be off for Dyea early in themorning. If you can put me up for the night I'll pay you well. "

During this speech, delivered in a matter-of-fact, business-liketone, the owner of the tent had managed to overcome his firstsurprise; he removed his hat now and began with an effort:

"I'm a bad hand at begging pardons, miss, but you see I've beensuffering the pangs of bereavement lately over some dear, departedgrub. I thought you were a thief and I looked forward to thepleasure of seeing you dance. I apologize. Would you mind tellingme where you came from?"

"From Dawson. " There was a silence the while the flaxen-hairedwoman eyed her interrogator less disdainfully. "Yes, by poling-boat and birch-bark. I'm not fleeing the law; I'm not a cache-robber. "

"You're--all alone?"

The woman nodded. "Can you stow me away for the night? You mayname your own price. "

"The price won't cripple you. I'm sorry there ain't some morewomen here at Linderman, but--there ain't. We had one--a doctor'swife, but she's gone. "

"I met her at Lake Marsh. "

"We've a lot more coming, but they're not here. My name is Linton. The more-or-less Christian prefix thereto is Tom. I've got apartner named Jerry. Put the two together, and drink hearty. Thisyoung man is Mr. --" The speaker turned questioningly uponPhillips, who made himself known. "I'm a family man. Mr. Phillipsis a--well, he's a good packer. That's all I know about him. I'msafe and sane, but he's about the right age to propose marriage toyou as soon as he gets his breath. A pretty woman in this countryhas to expect that, as you probably know. "

The woman smiled and shook hands with both men, exchanging a gripas firm and as strong as theirs. "I am the Countess Courteau, "said she. 

"The--which?" Mr. Linton queried, with a start. 

The Countess laughed frankly. "It is French, but I'm a Dane. Ithink my husband bought the title--they're cheap in his country. He was a poor sort of count, and I'm a poor sort of countess. ButI'm a good cook--a very good cook indeed--and if you'll excuse mylooks and permit me to wear your sweater I'll prepare supper. "

Linton's eyes twinkled as he said, "I've never et with thenobility and I don't know as I'd like their diet, for a steadything, but--the baking-powder is in that box and we fry with bacongrease. "

Wood and water were handy, the Countess Courteau had a quick andcapable way, therefore supper was not long delayed. The tent wasnot equipped for housekeeping, hence the diners held their platesin their laps and either harpooned their food from the frying-panor ladled it from tin cans, but even so it had a flavor to-nightso unaccustomed, so different, that both men grasped the poignantfact that the culinary art is mysteriously wedded to female hands. Mr. Linton voiced this thought in his own manner. 

"If a countess cooks like this, " he observed, "I'd sure love toboard with a duke. " Later, while the dishes were being washed andwhen his visitor had shown no intention of explaining her presencein further detail, he said, whimsically: "See here, ma'am, ouryoung friend has been watching you like he was afraid you'ddisappear before he gets an eyeful, and it's plain to be seen thathe's devoured by curiosity. As for me, I'm totally lacking in thatmiserable trait, and I abhor it in others; but all the same, ifyou don't see fit to tell us pretty quick how you came to pole upfrom Dawson and what in Heaven's name a woman like you is doinghere, a lone and without benefit of chaperon, I shall pass away indreadful agony. "

"It's very simple, " the Countess told him. "I have importantbusiness 'outside. ' I couldn't go down the river, for the Yukon islow, the steamers are aground on the flats, and connections at St. Michael's are uncertain at best. Naturally I came up against thestream. I've been working 'up-stream' all my life. " She flashedhim a smile at this latter statement. "As for a chaperon--I'venever felt the need of one. Do you think they're necessary in thiscountry?"

"Does your husband, Count--"

"My husband doesn't count. That's the trouble. " The speakerlaughed again and without the faintest trace of embarrassment. "Hehas been out of the picture for years. " She turned to Phillips andinquired, abruptly, "What is the packing price to Sheep Camp?"

"Fifty cents a pound, coming this way. Going back it is nothing, "he told her, gallantly. 

"I haven't much to carry, but if you'll take it I'll pay you theregular price. I'd like to leave at daylight. "

"You seem to be in a rush, " Mr. Linton hazarded, mildly. 

"I am. Now, then, if you don't mind I'll turn in, for I must be inDyea to-morrow night. "

Pierce Phillips had said little during the meal or thereafter, tobe sure, nevertheless, he had thought much. He had indeed used hiseyes to good purpose, and now he regretted exceedingly that theevening promised to be so short. The more he saw of thisunconventional countess the more she intrigued his interest. Shewas the most unusual woman he had ever met and he was eager tolearn all about her. His knowledge of women was peculiarlyelemental; his acquaintance with the sex was extremely limited. Those he had known in his home town were one kind, a familiarkind; those he had encountered since leaving home were, for themost part, of a totally different class and of a type that awokehis disapproval. To a youth of his training and of his worldlyexperience the genus woman is divided into two species--old womenand young women. The former are interesting only in a motherlyway, and demand nothing more than abstract courtesy. They do notmatter. The latter, on the contrary, separate themselves againinto two families or suborders--viz. , good women and bad women. The demarcation between the two branches of the suborder isdistinct; there is nothing common to the two. Good women are goodthrough and through--bad ones are likewise thoroughly bad. Thereare no intermediate types, no troublesome variations, no hybridsnor crosses. 

The Countess Courteau, it seemed to him, was a unique specimen andextremely hard to classify, in that she was neither old nor young--or, what was even more puzzling, in that she was both. In yearsshe was not far advanced--little older than he, in fact--but inexperience, in wisdom, in self-reliance she was vastly hissuperior; and experience, he believed, is what makes women old. Asto the family, the suborder to which she belonged, he was at anutter loss to decide. For instance, she accepted her presentsituation with a sang-froid equaling that of a camp harpy, a fewof whom Pierce had seen; then, too, she was, or had been, marriedto a no-account foreigner to whom she referred with a callousedand most unwifely flippancy; moreover, she bore herself with afreedom, a boldness, quite irreconcilable to the modesty of so-called "good women. " Those facts were enough to classify herdefinitely, and yet despite them she was anything but common, andit would have taken rare courage indeed to transgress thatindefinable barrier of decorum with which she managed to surroundherself. There was something about her as cold and as pure as blueice, and she gave the same impression of crystal clarity. All inall, hers was a baffling personality and Phillips fell asleep withthe riddle of it unanswered. He awoke in the morning with it stillupon his mind. 

The Countess Courteau had been first to arise; she was fullydressed and the sheet-iron stove was glowing when her companionsroused themselves. By the time they had returned from the lake shehad breakfast ready. 

"Old Jerry is going to be awful sore at missing this courtfunction, " Mr. Linton told her during the meal. "He's a greatladies' man, Old Jerry is. "

"Perhaps I shall meet him. "

"You wouldn't like him if you did; nobody likes him, except me, and I hate him. " Linton sighed. "He's a handicap to a young manlike me. "

"Why don't you send him home?"

"Home? Old Jerry would die before he'd turn back. He'd lift hismuzzle and bay at the very idea until some stranger terminatedhim. Well, he's my cross; I s'pose I've got to bear him. "

"Who is Mr. Linton?" the Countess inquired, as she and Pierce leftthe village behind them. 

"Just an ordinary stampeder, like the rest of us. I think. "

"He's more than that. He's the kind who'll go through and makegood. I dare say his partner is just like him. "

Phillips approved of the Countess Courteau this morning even morethoroughly than he had on the evening previous, and they had notwalked far before he realized that as a traveler she was the equalof him or of any man. She was lithe and strong and light of foot;the way she covered ground awoke his sincere admiration. She didnot trouble to talk much and she dispensed with small talk inothers; she appeared to be absorbed in her own affairs, and onlywhen they rested did she engage in conversation. The more Phillipsstudied her and the better acquainted he became with her thelarger proportions did she assume. Not only was she completelymistress of herself, but she had a forceful, compelling way withothers; there was a natural air of authority about her, and shemanaged in some subtle manner to invest herself and her words withimportance. She was quite remarkable. 

Now, the trail breeds its own peculiar intimacy; although the twotalked little, they nevertheless got to know each other quitewell, and when they reached the Summit, about midday, Phillipsfelt a keen regret that their journey was so near its end. 

A mist was drifting up from the sea; it obscured the valley belowand clung to the peaks like ragged garments. Up and out of thisfog came the interminable procession of burden-bearers. TheCountess paused to observe them and to survey the accumulation ofstores which crowned the watershed. 

"I didn't dream so many were coming, " said she. 

"It's getting worse daily, " Pierce told her. "Dyea is jammed, andso is Skagway. The trails are alive with men. "

"How many do you think will come?"

"There's no telling. Twenty, thirty, fifty thousand, perhaps. About half of them turn back when they see the Chilkoot. "

"And the rest will wish they had. It's a hard country; not one ina hundred will prosper. "

They picked their way down the drunken descent to the Scales, thenbreasted the sluggish human current to Sheep Camp. 

A group of men were reading a notice newly posted upon the wall ofthe log building which served as restaurant and hotel, and afterscanning it Pierce explained:

"It's another call for a miners' meeting. We're having quite atime with cache-robbers. If we catch them we'll hang them. "

The Countess nodded. "Right! They deserve it. You know we don'thave any stealing on the 'inside. ' Now, then, I'll say good-by. "She paid Pierce and extended her hand to him. "Thank you forhelping me across. I'll be in Dyea by dark. "

"I hope we'll meet again, " he said, with a slight flush. 

The woman favored him with one of her generous, friendly smiles. "I hope so, too. You're a nice boy. I like you. " Then she steppedinto the building and was gone. 

"A nice boy!" Phillips was pained. A boy! And he the sturdiestpacker on the pass, with perhaps one exception! That was hardlyjust to him. If they did meet again--and he vowed they would--he'dshow her he was more than a boy. He experienced a keen desire toappear well in her eyes, to appear mature and forceful. He askedhimself what kind of man Count Courteau could be; he wondered ifhe, Pierce Phillips, could fall in love with such a woman as this, an older woman, a woman who had been married. It would be queer tomarry a countess, he reflected. 

As he walked toward his temporary home he beheld quite a gatheringof citizens, and paused long enough to note that they were beingharangued by the confidence-man who had first initiated him intothe subtleties of the three-shell game. Mr. Broad had climbed upona raised tent platform and was presenting an earnest argumentagainst capital punishment. Two strangers upon the fringe of thecrowd were talking, and Pierce heard one of them say:

"Of course he wants the law to take its course, inasmuch as thereisn't any law. He's one of the gang. "

"The surest way to flush a covey of crooks is to whistle for oldJudge Lynch, " the other man agreed. "Listen to him!"

"Have they caught the cache-robbers?" Phillips made bold toinquire. 

"No, and they won't catch them, with fellows like that on thecommittee. The crooks hang together and we don't. If I had my waythat's just what they'd do--hang together. I'd start in by bendinga limb over that rascal. "

Phillips had attended several of these indignation meetings and, remembering that all of them bad proved purposeless, he went ontoward the McCaskey brothers' tent. He and the McCaskeys were notthe closest of friends, in spite of the fact that they had donehim a favor--a favor, by the way. For which he had paid many timesover--nevertheless, they were his most intimate acquaintances andhe felt an urgent desire to tell them about his unusualexperience. His desire to talk about the Countess Courteau wasirresistible. 

But when he entered the tent his greeting fell flat, for Joe, theelder McCaskey, addressed him sharply, almost accusingly:

"Say, it's about time you showed up!"

"What's the matter?" Pierce saw that the other brother wasstretched out in his blankets and that his head was bandaged. "Hello!" he cried. "What ails Jim? Is he sick?"

"Sick? Worse than sick, " Joe grumbled. "That money of yours is toblame for it. It's a wonder he isn't dead. "

"My money? How?" Phillips was both mystified and alarmed. 

Jim raised himself in his blankets and said, irritably: "Afterthis you can run your own pay-car, kid. I'm through, d'you hear?"

"Speak out. What's wrong?"

"Jim was stuck up, that's what's wrong. That's enough, isn't it?They bent a six-gun over his head and grabbed your coin. He's gota dent in his crust the size of a saucer!"

Phillips' face whitened slowly. "My money! Robbed!" he gasped. "JIM! Who did it? How could you let them?"

The younger McCaskey fell back weakly; he waved a feeble gestureat his brother. "Joe'll tell you. I'm dizzy; my head ain't rightyet. "

"A stranger stopped him--asked him something or other--and anotherguy flattened him from behind. That's all he remembers. When hecame to he found he'd been frisked. He was still dippy when he gothome, so I put him to bed. He got up and moved around a bit thismorning, but he's wrong in his head. "

Phillips seated himself upon a candle-box. "Robbed!" he exclaimed, weakly. "Broke--again! Gee! That was hard money! It was the firstI ever earned!"

Joe McCaskey's dark face was doubly unpleasant as he frowned downupon the youth. "Thinking about nothing except your coin, eh? Whydon't you think about Jim? He did you a favor and 'most lost hislife. "

"Oh, I'm sorry--of course!" Phillips rose heavily and crossed tothe bed. "I didn't mean to appear selfish. I don't blame you, Jim. I'll get a doctor for you, then you must describe the hold-ups. Give me a hint who they are and I'll go after them. "

The younger brother rolled his head in negation and mumbled, sullenly: "I'm all right. I don't want a doctor. "

Joe explained for him: "He never saw the fellows before and hedon't seem to remember much about them. That's natural enough. Your money's gone clean, kid, and a yelp won't get you anything. The crooks are organized and if you set up a holler they'll getall of us. They'll alibi anybody you accuse--it's no trick toalibi a pal--"

"Isn't it?" The question was uttered unexpectedly; it came fromthe front of the tent and startled the occupants thereof, whoturned to behold a stranger just entering their premises. He wasan elderly man; he possessed a quick, shrewd eye; he had poked thetent flap aside with the barrel of a Colt's revolver. Through thedoor-opening could be seen other faces and the bodies of other menwho had likewise stolen up unheard. During the moment of amazementfollowing his first words these other men crowded in behind him. 

"Maybe it 'll be more of a trick than you figure on. " Thestranger's gray mustache lifted in a grin that was not at allfriendly. 

"What the blazes--?" Joe McCaskey exploded. 

"Go easy!" the intruder cautioned him. "We've been laying around, waiting for your pal to get back. " With a movement of the revolvermuzzle he indicated Phillips. "Now then, stretch! On your toes andreach high. You there, get up!" He addressed himself to Jim, whorose from his bed and thrust his hands over his bandaged head. "That's nice!" the stranger nodded approvingly. "Now don't startleme; don't make any quick moves or I may tremble this gun off--she's easy on the trigger. " To his friends he called, "Come in, gentlemen; they're gentle. "

There were four of the latter; they appeared to be substantialmen, men of determination. All were armed. 

Pierce Phillips' amazement gave way to indignation. "What is this, an arrest or a hold-up?" he inquired. 

"It's right smart of both, " the leader of the posse drawled, in avoice which betrayed the fact that he hailed from somewhere in thefar Southwest. "We're in quest of a bag of rice--a bag with a ripin it and 'W. K. ' on the side. While I slap your pockets, just tosee if you're ironed, these gentlemen are goin' to look over youroutfit. "

"This is an outrage!" Jim McCaskey complained. "I'm just gettingover one stick-up. I'm a sick man. "

"Sure!" his brother exclaimed, furiously. "You're a pack of fools!What d'you want, anyhow?"

"We want you to shut up! See that you do. " The old man's eyessnapped. "If you've got to say something, tell us how therehappens to be a trail of rice from this man's cache"--he indicatedone of his companions--"right up to your tent. "

The McCaskeys exchanged glances. Phillips turned a startled faceupon them. 

"It isn't much of a trail, but it's enough to follow. "

For a few moments nothing was said, and meanwhile the search ofthe tent went on. When Pierce could no longer remain silent hebroke out:

"There's some mistake. These boys packed this grub from Dyea and Ihelped with some of it. "

"Aren't you partners?" some one inquired. 

Joe McCaskey answered this question. "No. He landed broke. We feltsorry for him and took him in. "

Joe was interrupted by an exclamation from one of the searchers. "Here it is!" said the man. He had unearthed a bulging canvas sackwhich he flung down for inspection. "There's my mark, 'W. K. , ' andthere's the rip. I knew we had 'em right!"

After a brief examination the leader of the posse turned to hisprisoners, whose hands were still held high, saying:

"Anything you can think of in the way of explanations you'd bettersave for the miners' meeting. It's waitin' to welcome you. We'llput a guard over this plunder till the rest of it is identified. Now, then, fall in line and don't crowd. After you, gentlemen. "

Pierce Phillips realized that it was useless to argue, for hiswords would not be listened to, therefore he followed theMcCaskeys out into the open air. The odium of this accusation washard to bear; he bitterly resented his situation and somethingtold him he would have to fight to clear himself; nevertheless, hewas not seriously concerned over the outcome. Public feeling washigh, to be sure; the men of Sheep Camp were in a dangerous frameof mind and their actions were liable to be hasty, ill-considered--their verdict was apt to be fantastic--but, secure in theknowledge of his innocence, Pierce felt no apprehension. Rather heexperienced a thrill of excitement at the contretemps and at theordeal which he knew was forthcoming. 

The Countess Courteau had called him a boy. This wasn't a boy'sbusiness; this was a real man-sized adventure. 

"Gee! What a day this has been!" he said to himself. 

CHAPTER IV

The story of the first trial at Sheep Camp is an old one, but itdiffers with every telling. In the hectic hurry of that gold-rushmany incidents were soon forgotten and such salient facts as didsurvive were deeply colored, for those were colorful days. Thattrial marked an epoch in early Yukon history, for, although itstrue significance was unsensed at the time, it really signalizedthe dawn of common honesty on the Chilkoot and the Chilkat trails, and it was the first move taken toward the disruption of organizedoutlawry--a bitter fight, by the way, which ended only in thetragic death of Soapy Smith and the flight of his notorioushenchmen. Although the circumstances of the Sheep Campdemonstration now seem shocking, they did not seem so at the time, and they served a larger purpose than was at first apparent; notonly did theft become an unprofitable and an uninterestingoccupation thereafter, but also the men who shaped a code and drewfirst blood in defense of it experienced a beneficial reaction andlearned to fit the punishment to the crime--no easy lesson tolearn where life runs hot and where might is right. 

The meeting was in session and it had been harangued into adangerous frame of mind when Pierce Phillips and the two McCaskeyswere led before it. A statement by the leader of the posse, corroborated by the owner of the missing sack of rice, roused theaudience to a fury. Even while these stories were being told therecame other men who had identified property of theirs among theprovision piles inside the McCaskey tent, and when they, too, hadmade their reports the crowd began to mill; there were demands fora speedy trial and a swift vengeance. 

These demands found loudest echo among the outlaw element forwhich Lucky Broad had acted as mouthpiece. Although the members ofthat band were unknown--as a matter of fact, no man knew hisneighbor--nevertheless it was plain that there was an organizationof crooks and that a strong bond of understanding existed betweenthem. Now, inasmuch as the eye of suspicion had been turned awayfrom them, now that a herring had been dragged across the trail, their obstructive tactics ended and they, too, became noisy intheir clamor that justice be done. 

The meeting was quickly organized along formal lines and acommittee of three was appointed to conduct the hearing. Thechairman of this committee-he constituted himself chairman byvirtue of the fact that he was first nominated--made a ringingspeech in which he praised his honesty, his fairness, and hisknowledge of the law. He complimented the miners for their acumenin selecting for such a position of responsibility a man of hisdistinguished qualifications. It was plain that he believed theyhad chosen wisely. Then, having inquired the names of his twocommitteemen, he likewise commended them in glowing terms, although of course he could not praise them quite as unstintedlyas he had praised himself. Still, he spoke well of them andconcluded by stating that so long as affairs were left in hishands justice would be safeguarded and the rights of thismiserable, cringing trio of thieves would be protected, albeitkilling, in his judgment, was too mild a punishment for people oftheir caliber. 

"Hear! Hear!" yelled the mob. 

Pierce Phillips listened to this speech with a keenly personal andyet a peculiarly detached interest. The situation struck him asunreal, grotesque, and the whole procedure as futile. Under othercircumstances it would have been grimly amusing; now he wasuncomfortably aware that it was anything but that. There was nolaw whatever in the land save the will of these men; in theirhands lay life or death, exoneration or infamy. He searched thefaces round about him, but could find signs neither of friendshipnor of sympathy. This done, he looked everywhere for a glimpse ofa woman's straw-colored hair and was relieved to discover that theCountess Courteau was not in the audience. Doubtless she had leftfor Dyea and was already some distance down the trail. He breathedeasier, for he did not wish her to witness his humiliation, andher presence would have merely added to his embarrassment. 

The prosecution's case was quickly made, and it was a strong one. Even yet the damning trickle of rice grains could be tracedthrough the moss and mire directly to the door of the prisoners'tent, and the original package, identified positively by itsowner, was put in evidence. This in itself was enough; testimonyfrom the other men who had likewise recovered merchandise they hadmissed and mourned merely strengthened the case and furtherinflamed the minds of the citizens. 

From the first there had never been a doubt in Phillips' mind thatthe McCaskeys were guilty. The facts offered in evidence servedonly to explain certain things which had puzzled him at varioustimes; nevertheless, his indignation and his contempt for themwere tempered with regrets, for he could not but remember thatthey had befriended him. It was of course imperative that heestablish his own innocence, but he determined that in so doing hewould prejudice their case as little as possible. That was no morethan the merest loyalty. 

When it came tune to hear the defense, the McCaskeys stared atPierce coolly; therefore he climbed to the tent platform and facedhis accusers. 

He made known his name, his birthplace, the ship which had bornehim north. He told how he had landed at Dyea, how he had lost hislast dollar at the gambling-table, how he had appealed to theMcCaskey boys, and how they had given him shelter. That chanceassociation, he took pains to explain, had continued, but hadnever ripened into anything more, anything closer; it was in nowise a partnership; he had nothing to do with them and they hadnothing to do with him. Inasmuch as the rice had been stolenduring the previous night, he argued that he could have had nohand in the theft, for he had spent the night in Linderman, whichfact he offered to prove by two witnesses. 

"Produce them, " ordered the chairman. 

"One of them is still at Linderman, the other was here in SheepCamp an hour ago. She has probably started for Dyea by this time. "

"A woman?"

"Yes, sir. I brought her across. "

"What is her name?"

Phillips hesitated. "The Countess Courteau, " said he. There was amurmur of interest; the members of the committee conferred withone an other. 

"Do you mean to tell us that you've got a titled witness?" theself-appointed spokesman inquired. His face wore a smile ofdisbelief; when the prisoner flushed and nodded he called out overthe heads of the crowd:

"Countess Courteau!" There was no answer. "Do any of you gentlemenknow the Countess Courteau?" he inquired. 

His question was greeted by a general laugh. 

"Don't let him kid you, " cried a derisive voice. 

"Never heard of her, but I met four kings last night, " yelledanother. 

"Call the Marquis of Queensberry, " shouted still a third. 

"Countess Courteau!" repeated the chairman, using his hands for amegaphone. 

The cry was taken up by other throats. "Countess Courteau!Countess Courteau!" they mocked. "Come, Countess! Nice Countess!Pretty Countess!" There was a ribald note to this mockery whichcaused Phillips' eyes to glow. 

"She and the count have just left the palace. Let's get along withthe hangin', " one shrill voice demanded. 

"You won't hang me!" Phillips retorted, angrily. 

"Be not so sure, " taunted the acting judge. "Inasmuch as yourcountess appears to be constituted of that thin fabric of whichdreams are made; inasmuch as there is no such animal--"

"Hol' up!" came a peremptory challenge. "M'sieu Jodge!" It was thebig French Canadian whom Pierce had met on the crest of thedivide; he came forward now, pushing his resistless way throughthe audience. "Wat for you say dere ain't nobody by dat name, eh?"He turned his back to the committee and addressed the meeting. "Wat for you hack lak dis, anyhow? By gosh! I heard 'bout dislady! She's ol'-timer lak me. "

"Well, trot her out! Where is she?"

"She's on her way to Dyea, " Pierce insisted. "She can't be far--"

'Poleon Doret was angry. "I don' listen to no woman be joke 'bout, you hear? Dis boy spik true. He was in Linderman las' night, for Iseen him on top of Chilkoot yesterday myse'f, wit' pack on hisback so beeg as a barn. "

"Do you know the accused?" queried the spokesman. 

'Poleon turned with a shrug. "Non! No! But--yes, I know him li'lbit. Anybody can tell he's hones' boy. By Gar! She's strongfeller, too--pack lak hell!"

Pierce Phillips was grateful for this evidence of faith, inconclusive as it was in point of law. He was sorry, therefore, to see the Frenchman, after replying shortly, impatiently, toseveral senseless cross-questions, force his way out of the crowdand disappear, shaking his head and muttering in manifest disgustat the temper of his townsmen. 

But although one friend had gone, another took his place--achampion, by the way, whom Pierce would never have suspected ofbeing such. Profiting by the break in the proceedings, Lucky Broadspoke up. 

"Frenchy was right--this kid's on the square, " he declared. "I'mthe gentleman who gathered his wheat at Dyea--he fairly fed it tome, like he said--so I guess I'm acquainted with him. We're allassembled up to mete out justice, and justice is going to be met, but, say! a sucker like this boy wouldn't KNOW enough to steal!"

It was doubtful if this witness, well-intentioned as he was, carried conviction, for, although his followers took their cuefrom him and applauded loudly, their very manifestations of faitharoused suspicion among the honest men present. 

One of the latter, a red-faced, square-shouldered person, thrust adetermined countenance close to Broad's and cried, angrily: "Isthat so? Well, I'm for hangin' anybody you boost!"

This sentiment met with such instantaneous second that theconfidence-man withdrew precipitately. "Have it your own way, " hegave in, with an airy gesture. "But take it from me you're a bunchof boobs. Hangin' ain't a nice game, and the guy that hollersloudest for it is usually the one that needs it worst. "

It took some effort on the part of the chairman to bring themeeting to order so that the hearing could be resumed. 

Phillips went on with his story and told of spending the nightwith Tom Linton, then of his return to Sheep Camp to learn that hehad been robbed of all his savings. Corroboration of thismisfortune he left to the oral testimony of the two brothersMcCaskey and to the circumstantial evidence of Jim's bandagedhead. 

While it seemed to him that he had given a simple, straightforwardaccount of himself which would establish his innocence, so far, atleast, as it applied to the theft of the sack of rice, he wasuncomfortably aware that evidence of systematic pilfering had beenintroduced and that evidence he had not met except indirectly. Hisproof seemed good so far as it went, but it did not go far, and hebelieved it all too likely that his hearers still considered himan accomplice, at the best. 

Jim McCaskey was next called and Pierce made way for him. Theyounger brother made a poor start, but he warmed up to his owndefense, gaining confidence and ease as he talked. 

In the first place, both he and Joe were innocent of thisoutrageous charge--as innocent as unborn babes--and this air ofsuspicion was like to smother them. This Jim declared upon hishonor. The evidence was strong, he admitted, but it was purelycircumstantial, and he proposed to explain it away. He proposed totell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth;letting the blame fall where it would and leaving the verdictentirely up to his hearers. Joe would substantiate his everystatement. 

It was quite true that he and his brother had been GoodSamaritans; they had opened their doors and had taken in thisyoung man when he was hungry and homeless, but that was theirhabit. They had fed him, they had shared their blankets with him, they had helped him in a thousand ways, not without seriousinconvenience to themselves. Why, only on the day before thespeaker himself had volunteered to take the young man's earningsto Dyea for safekeeping, thereby letting himself in for anunmerciful mauling, and suffering a semi-fractured skull, themarks of which would doubtless stay with him for a long time. 

Phillips had left camp early the previous morning, to be sure, andhe had not come home until an hour or two ago, but where he hadgone, how he had occupied himself during his absence, where he hadspent the night, of course the speaker had no way of knowing. Phillips was often absent at night; he came and he went at allhours, and neither Joe nor the witness ever questioned him, believing his statements that he was packing for hire. Neither hisbrother nor he had ever seen that sack of rice antil it wasuncovered by the posse, and as for the other plunder, it was allpart and parcel of an outfit which their guest had been assemblingfor some time. They supposed, of course, that he had bought it, bit by bit, with his earnings. 

Pierce Phillips listened in speechless amazement, scarcelybelieving his own ears, the while Jim McCaskey struck the fettersfrom his own and his brother's limbs and placed them upon his. Itseemed impossible that such a story could carry weight, but fromall indications it did. When Joe McCaskey took the center of thestage and glibly corroborated his brother's statements Pierceinterrupted him savagely, only to be warned that he'd better besilent. 

"That's all we've got to say, " concluded the elder of the preciouspair when he had finished. "You can judge for yourselves who didthe stealing. Jim and I've got all the grub we want; this fellowhasn't any. "

"Have you anything to say for yourself?" The chairman addressedhimself to Phillips. 

"I have. " Pierce again took the stand. "You're making a greatmistake, " he said, earnestly. "These men have lied; they're tryingto save themselves at my expense. I've told you everything, now Idemand that you wait to hear the Countess Courteau or Mr. Linton. They'll prove where I spent last night, at least. "

"Mr. Chairman!" A stranger claimed general attention. "I'velistened to the evidence and it's strong enough for me. The grubdidn't get up and walk away by itself; somebody took it. Grub ismore than grub in this country; it's more than money; it's a man'slife, that's what it is. Now, then, the McCaskeys had an outfitwhen they landed; they didn't need to steal; but this fellow, thisdirty ingrate, he hadn't a pound. I don't swallow his countessstory and I don't care a hoot where he was last night. Let'sdecide first what punishment a thief gets, then let's give it tohim. "

"Hear! Hear!" came the cry. 

"Hanging is good enough for thieves!" shouted the cholericindividual who had so pointedly made known his distrust of LuckyBroad. "I say stretch 'em. "

"Right! Let's make an example!"

"Hang him!" There rose a hoarse chorus of assent to thissuggestion, whereupon the chairman stepped forward. 

"All those in favor of hanging--" he began. But again he wasinterrupted by 'Poleon Doret, who once more bored his way into thecrowd, crying:

"Wait! I got somet'ing to say. " He was breathing heavily, as iffrom a considerable exertion; perspiration stood upon his face;his eyes were flashing. He vaulted lightly to the platform, thenflung out his long arms, crying: "You hack lak crazee mans. Wattalk is dis 'bout hangin'? You ain't wild hanimals!"

The red-faced advocate of the noose who had spoken a moment beforeanswered him in a loud voice:

"I paid hard money for my grub and I've packed every pound of iton my back. You can take a mark's life by stealing his matches thesame as by shooting him. I want to see thieves on the end of arope. "

Doret bent down to him. "All right, m'sieu! You want blood; wegive it to you. Bring on dat rope. I'll put it on dis boy's neckif you'll do de pullin'. For me, I ain't care 'bout killin' no-body, but you--you're brave man. You hang on tight w'ile dis boyhe keeck, an' strangle, an' grow black in de face. It's goin' makyou feel good all over!"

"Rats! _I_ won't do the trick, but--"

"Somebody mus' do de pullin'. " 'Poleon grinned. "He ain't goin'hang himse'f. Mebbe you got pardner w'at lak give you hand, eh?"He raised his head and laughed at the crowd. "Messieurs, you seehow 'tis. It tak' brave man to hang a feller lak dis. Some daypoliceman's goin' come along an' say: 'By Gar, I been lookin' foryou long tarn. De new jodge at Dyea he tell me you murder a boy atSheep Camp. S'pose you come wit' me an' do little hangin'yourse'f. ' No, messieurs! We ain't Hinjuns; we're good sensiblepeoples, eh?"

A member of the committee, one who had hitherto acted a passivepart, now stepped forward. 

"Frenchy has put it right, " he acknowledged. "We'll have courts inthis country some day, and we'll have to answer to them. Miners'law is all right, so far as it goes, but I won't be a party to amurder. That's what this would be, murder. If you're going to talkhanging, you can take me off of your committee. "

Lucky Broad uttered a yelp of encouragement. "Hangin' soundsbetter 'n it feels, " he declared. "Think it over, you family men. When you make your stakes and go home, little Johnny's going toclimb onto your knee and say, 'Papa, tell me why you hung that manat Sheep Camp, ' and you'll say, 'Why, son, we hung him because hestole a sack of rice. ' Like hell you will!"

'Poleon Doret regained public attention by saying, "Messieurs, Igot s'prise for you. " He lifted himself to his toes and calledloudly over the heads of the assembled citizens, "Dis way, madame. " From the direction he was looking there came a swiftlymoving figure, the figure of a tall woman with straw-gold hair. Men gave way before her. She hurried straight to the tentplatform, where 'Poleon leaned down, took her beneath her arms, and swung her lightly up beside him. "Madame de CountessCourteau, " he announced; then with a flourish he swept off hisknitted cap and bowed to the new-comer. To those beneath him hecried, sharply, "Tak' off dose hat or I knock dem off. "

The Countess, too, had evidently made haste, for she was breathingdeeply. She flashed a smile at Pierce Phillips, then said, so thatall could hear:

"I understand you accuse this young man of stealing something lastnight. Well, he was in Linderman. He brought me over to-day. "

"We don't care so much about the rice; this stealing has beengoing on for a long time, " a bystander explained. 

"True. But the rice was stolen last night, wasn't it? The man whostole it probably stole the other stuff. "

"They're two to one, " Pierce told her. "They're trying to saw itoff on me. "

The Countess turned and stared at the McCaskey brothers, who mether look defiantly. "Ban!" she exclaimed. "I haven't heard theevidence, for I was on my way to Dyea when Mr. --" She glancedinquiringly at 'Poleon. 

He bowed again. "Doret, " said he. "Napoleon Doret. "

"--when Mr. Doret overtook me, but I'm willing to wager my lifethat this boy isn't a thief. " Again she smiled at Phillips, and heexperienced a tumult of conflicting emotions. Never had he seen awoman like this one, who radiated such strength, such confidence, such power. She stood there like a goddess, a splendid creaturefashioned of snow and gold; she dominated the assembly. He wasembarrassed that she should find him in this predicament, shamedthat she should be forced to come to his assistance; nevertheless, he was thrilled at her ready response. 

It was the elder McCaskey who next claimed attention. "We've madeour spiel, " he began; then he launched into a repetition of hisformer statement of facts. 

The Countess stepped to Pierce's side, inquiring, quickly, "Whatis this, a joke?"

"I thought so at first, but it looks as if I'll be cutting figureeights on the end of a tent-rope. "

"What makes them think you did the stealing?"

"The McCaskeys swear I did. You see, I had no outfit of my own--"

"Are you broke?"

"N--no! I wasn't yesterday. I am now. " In a few sentences Piercemade known the facts of his recent loss, and pointed to JimMcCaskey's bandaged head. 

When the elder brother had concluded, the Countess again addressedthe meeting. "You men take it for granted that Phillips did thestealing because he needed grub, " said she. "As a matter of facthe wasn't broke, he had a thousand dollars, and--"

"Say! Who hired you to argue this case?" It was Jim McCaskeyspeaking. He had edged his way forward and was scowling darkly atthe woman. "What's the idea, anyhow? Are you stuck on this kid?"

The Countess Courteau eyed her interrogator coolly, her cheeksmaintained their even coloring, her eyes were as icy blue as ever. It was plain that she was in no wise embarrassed by hisinsinuation. 

Very quietly she said: "I'll tell you whether I am if you'll tellme who got his thousand dollars. Was it your brother?" JimMcCaskey recoiled; his face whitened. "Who hit you over the head?"the woman persisted. "Did he?"

"That's none of your business, " Jim shouted. "I want to know whatyou're doing in this case. You say the kid was in Linderman lastnight. Well, I say--you're a--! How d'you know he was there? Howd'you know he didn't steal that rice before he left, for thatmatter?"

"I know he was in Linderman because I was with him. "

"With him? All night?" The speaker grinned insultingly. 

"Yes, all night. I slept in the same tent with him and--"

"Now I've got your number, " the younger McCaskey cried, intriumph. 

"Bah!" The Countess shrugged unconcernedly. "As for the rice beingstolen before he--"

"'Countess. ' Ha!" Jim burst forth again. "Swell countess you are!The Dyea dance-halls are full of 'countesses' like you--countingpercentage checks. Boys, who are you going to believe? She sleptall night--"

McCaskey got no further, for with a cry of rage Pierce Phillipsset his muscles and landed upon him. It was a mighty blow and itfound lodgment upon the side of its victim's face. 

Jim McCaskey went down and his assailant, maddened completely bythe feel of his enemy's flesh, lunged forward to stamp him beneathhis heels. But stout arms seized him, bodies intervened, and hewas hurled backward. A shout arose; there was a general scramblefor the raised platform. There were yells of:

"Shame!"

"Hang on to him!"

"Stretch him up!"

"Dirty ingrate!"

Phillips fought with desperation; his struggles caused thestructure to creak and to strain; men piled over it and joined inthe fight. He was whining and sobbing in his fury. 

Meanwhile ready hands had rescued Jim from the trampling feet andnow held his limp body erect. 

It was the clarion call of the Countess Courteau which first madeitself heard above the din. She had climbed to the railing and waspoised there with one arm outflung, a quivering finger leveled atJim McCaskey's head. 

"Look!" she cried. "Look, men--AT HIS HEAD! There's proof thathe's been lying!" The victim of the assault had lost his cap inthe scuffle, and with it had gone the bandage. His head was barenow, and, oddly enough, it showed no matted hair, no cut, nobruise, no swelling. It was, in fact, a perfectly normal, healthy, well-preserved cranium. 

Phillips ceased his struggles; he passed a shaking hand over hiseyes to clear his vision; his captors released him and crowdedcloser to Jim McCaskey, who was now showing the first signs ofreturning consciousness. 

"He told you he was held up--that his skull was cracked, didn'the?" The Countess threw back her head and laughed unrestrainedly. "My! But you men are fools! Now, then, who do you suppose gotyoung Phillips' money? Use your wits, men. "

There was a great craning of necks, a momentary hush, the whileJim McCaskey rolled his head loosely, opened his eyes, and staredwildly about. 

The Countess bent down toward him, and now her cheeks had grownwhite, her blue eyes were flaming. 

"Well, my man, " she cried, in a shaking voice, "now you know whatkind of a woman I am. 'Counting percentage checks, ' eh?" Sheseemed upon the point of reaching out and throttling Jim with herlong strong fingers. "Let's see you and your precious brother do alittle counting. Count out a thousand dollars for this boy. Quick!"

It was 'Poleon Doret who searched the palsied victim. While otherhands restrained the older brother he went through the younger oneand, having done so, handed Pierce Phillips a bulky envelopeaddressed in the latter's handwriting. 

"She's yours, eh?" 'Poleon inquired. 

Phillips made a hasty examination, then nodded. 

The Countess turned once more to the crowd. "I move that youapologize to Mr. Phillips. Are you game?" Her question met with ayell of approval. "Now, then, there's a new case on the docket, and the charge is highway robbery. Are you ready to vote averdict?" Her face was set, her eyes still flashed. 

"Guilty!" came with a roar. 

"Very well. Hang the ruffians if you feel like it!"

She leaped down from her vantage-point, and without a word, without a glance behind her set out along the Dyea trail. 

CHAPTER V

"Looked kind of salty for a spell, didn't it?" The grizzled leaderof the posse, he who had effected the capture of the thieves, wasspeaking to Pierce. "Well, I'm due for a private apology. I hopeyou cherish no hard feelings. Eh?"

"None whatever, sir. I'm only too glad to get out whole and get mymoney back. It was quite an experience. " Already Phillips' mindhad ranged the events of the last crowded hour into some sort oforder; his fancy had tinged them with a glamour already turningrosy with romance, and he told himself that his thrills had beenworth their price. 

"Lucky that woman showed up. Who is she?" Phillips shook his head. In his turn he inquired, "What are you going to do with theMcCaskeys?"

The elder man's face hardened. "I don't know. This talk abouthangin' makes me weary. I'd hang 'em; I'd kick a bar'l out fromunder either of 'em. I've done such things and I never had any baddreams. "

But it was plain that the sentiment favoring such extremepunishment had changed, for a suggestion was made to flog thethieves and send them out of the country. This met with instantresponse. A motion was put to administer forty lashes and it wascarried with a whoop. 

Preparations to execute the sentence were immediately instituted. A scourge was prepared by wiring nine heavy leather thongs to awhip-handle, the platform was cleared, and a call was issued for aman to administer the punishment. Some delay ensued at this point, but finally a burly fellow volunteered, climbed to the stage, andremoved his canvas coat. 

Since the younger McCaskey appeared to be still somewhat dazedfrom the rough handling he had suffered, his brother was thrustforward. The latter was stripped to the waist, his wrists werefirmly bound, then trussed up to one of the stout end-poles of thetent-frame which, skeleton-like, stood over the platform. Thisdone, the committee fell back, and the wielder of the whip steppedforward. 

The crowd had watched these grim proceedings intently; it becamequite silent now. The hour was growing late, the day had beenovercast, and a damp chill that searched the marrow was settlingas the short afternoon drew to a close. The prisoner's naked bodyshowed very white beneath his shock of coal-black hair; his fleshseemed tender and the onlookers stared at it in fascination. 

Joe McCaskey was a man of nerve; he held himself erect; there wasdefiance in the gaze which he leveled at the faces below him. Buthis brother Jim was not made of such stern, stuff--he was themeaner, the more cowardly of the pair--and these methodicalpreparations, the certainty of his own forthcoming ordeal, bred inhim a desperate panic. The sight of his brother's flesh bared tothe bite of the lash brought home to him the horrifyingsignificance of a flogging, and then, as if to emphasize thatsignificance, the executioner gave his cat-o'-nine-tails apractice swing. As the lashes hissed through the air the victim atthe post stiffened rigidly, but his brother, outside theinclosure, writhed in his tracks and uttered a faint moan. Profiting by the inattention of his captors, Jim McCaskey summonedhis strength and with an effort born of desperation wrenchedhimself free. Hands grasped at him as he bolted, bodies barred hisway, but he bore them down; before the meaning of the commotionhad dawned upon the crowd at large he had fought his way out andwas speeding down the street. But fleet-footed men were at hisheels, a roar of rage burst from the mob, and in a body it took upthe chase. Down the stumpy, muddy trail went the pursuit, andevery command to halt spurred the fleeing man to swifter flight. Cabin doors opened; people came running from their tents; sometried to fling themselves in the way of the escaping criminal;packers toiling up the trail heard the approaching clamor, shookoff their burdens and endeavored to seize the figure that camebounding ahead of it. But Jim dodged them all. Failing in theirattempt to intercept him, these newcomers joined the chase, andthe fugitive, once the first frenzy of excitement had died in him, heard their footsteps gaining on him. He was stark mad by now;black terror throttled him. Then some one fired a shot; that shotwas followed by others; there came a scattered fusillade, and witha mighty leap Jim McCaskey fell. He collapsed in midair; he wasdead when his pursuers reached him. 

Mob spirit is a peculiar thing; its vagaries are difficult toexplain or to analyze. Some trivial occurrence may completelydestroy its temper, or again merely serve to harden it and give itedge. In this instance the escape, the flight, the short, swiftpursuit and its tragic ending, had the effect, not of sobering theassembled citizens of Sheep Camp, not of satisfying their long-slumbering rage, but of inflaming it, of intoxicating them to astate of insane triumph. Like the Paris mobs that followedshouting, in the wake of the tumbrels bound for the guillotine, these men came trooping back to the scene of execution, and asthey came they bellowed hoarsely and they waved their arms. 

Men react powerfully to environment; they put on rough ways withrough clothes. Smooth pavements, soap and hot water, safety-razors, are strong civilizing agents, but a man begins to revertin the time it takes his beard to grow. These fellows had left theworld they knew behind them; they were in a world they knew not. Old standards had fallen, new standards had been reared, newvalues had attached to crime, therefore they demanded that thebusiness in hand go on. Such was the spirit of the Chilkoot trail. 

At the first stroke of the descending whip a howl went up--amerciless howl, a howl of fierce exultation. Joe McCaskey rockedforward upon the balls of his feet; his frame was racked by aspasm of agony; he strained at his thongs until his shouldermuscles swelled. The flesh of his back knotted and writhed; lividstreaks leaped out upon it, then turned crimson and began totrickle blood. 

"ONE!" roared the mob. 

The wielder of the scourge swung his weapon again; again theleather strips wrapped around the victim's ribs and laid opentheir defenseless covering. 

"TWO!"

McCaskey lunged forward, then strained, backward; the tent-framecreaked as he pulled at it. His head was drawn far back betweenhis shoulders, his face was convulsed, and his gums were bared ina skyward grin. If he uttered any sound it was lost in the uproar. 

"THREE!"

It was a frightful punishment. The man's flesh was being strippedfrom his bones. 

"FOUR!"

"FIVE!"

The count went on monotonously, for the fellow with the whip swungslowly, putting his whole strength behind every blow. When it hadclimbed to eight the prisoner's body was dripping with blood, histrousers-band was sodden with it. When it had reached ten he hungsuspended by his wrists and only a fierce involuntary muscularreaction answered the caress of the nine lashes. 

Forty stripes had been voted as the penalty, but 'Poleon Doretvaulted to the platform, seized the upraised whip, and tore itfrom the executioner's hand. He turned upon the crowd acountenance white with fury and disgust. 

"Enough!" he shouted. "By Gar! You keel him next! If you mus' w'ipsomebody, w'ip me; dis feller is mos' dead. " He strode to the postand with a slash of his hunting-knife cut McCaskey down. Thisaction was greeted by an angry yell of protest; there was a rushtoward the platform, but 'Poleon was joined by the leader of theposse, who scrambled through the press and ranged himself inopposition to the audience. The old man was likewise satiated withthis torture; his face was wet with sweat; beneath his droopinggray mustache his teeth were set. 

"Back up, you hyenas!" he cried, shrilly. "The show's over. Theman took his medicine and he took it like a man. He's had enough. "

"Gimme the whip. I'll finish the job, " some one shouted. 

The former speaker bent forward abristle with defiance. 

"You try it!" he spat out. "You touch that whip, and by God, I'llkill you!" He lent point to this threat by drawing and cocking hissix-shooter. "If you men ain't had enough blood for one day, I'lllet a little more for you. " His words ended in a torrent ofprofanity. "Climb aboard!" he shrilled. "Who's got the guts totry?"

Doret spoke to him shortly, "Dese men ain't goin' mak' no trouble, m'sieu'. " With that he turned his back and, heedless of theclamor, began to minister to the bleeding man. He had providedhimself with a bottle of lotion, doubtless some antisepticsnatched from the canvas drugstore down the street, and with thishe wet a handkerchief; then he washed McCaskey's lacerated back. Amember of the committee joined him in this work of mercy; soonothers came to their assistance, and gradually the crowd beganbreaking up. Some one handed the sufferer a drink of whisky, whichrevived him considerably, and by the time he was ready to receivehis upper garments he was to some extent master of himself. 

Joe McCaskey accepted these attentions without a word of thanks, without a sign of gratitude. He appeared to be numbed, paralyzed, by the nervous shock he had undergone, and yet he was notparalyzed, for his eyes were intensely alive. They were wild, baleful; his roving glance was like poison to the men it fellupon. 

"You're due to leave camp, " he was told, "and you're going to takethe first boat from Dyea. Is there anything you want to say. Anything you want to do, before you go?"

"I--want something to--eat, " Joe answered, hoarsely. "I'm hungry. "These were the first words he had uttered; they met withastonishment; nevertheless he was led to the nearest restaurant. Surrounded by a silent, curious group, he crouched over the boardcounter and wolfed a ravenous meal. When he had finished he rose, turned, and stared questioningly at the circle of hostile faces;his eyes still glittered with that basilisk glare of hatred anddefiance. There was something huge, disconcerting, about the man. Not once had he appealed for mercy, not once had he complained, not once had he asked about his brother; he showed neithercuriosity nor concern over Jim's fate, and now he betrayed theutmost indifference to his own. He merely shifted that venomousstare from one face to another as if indelibly to photograph eachand every one of them upon his mind. 

But the citizens of Sheep Camp were not done with him yet. Hishands were again bound, this time behind him; a blanket roll wasroped upon his shoulders, upon his breast was hung a staringplacard which read:

"I am a thief! Spit on me and send me along. "

Thus decorated, he met his crowning indignity. Extending from thesteps of the restaurant far down the street twin rows of men hadformed, and this gauntlet Joe McCaskey was forced to run. He borethis ordeal as he had borne the other. Men jeered at him, theyflung handfuls of wet moss and mud at him, they spat upon him, some even struck him, bound as he was. 

Sickened at the sight, Pierce Phillips witnessed the final chapterof this tragedy into which the winds of chance had blown him. Forone instant only did his eyes meet those of his former tentmate, but during that brief glance the latter made plain his undyinghatred. McCaskey's gaze intensified, his upper lip drew back in agrimace similar to that which he had lifted to the sky when agonyran through his veins like fire; he seemed to concentrate the lastounce of his soul's energy in the sending of some wordlessmessage. Hellish fury, a threat too baneful, too ominous, forexpression dwelt in that stare; then a splatter of mire struck himin the face and blotted it out. 

When the last jeer had died away, when the figure of Joe McCaskeyhad disappeared into the misty twilight, Phillips drew a deepbreath. What a day this had been, what a tumult he had livedthrough, what an experience he had undergone! This was anadventure! He had lived, he had made an enemy. Life had come hisway, and the consciousness of that fact caused him to tingle. Thiswould be something to talk about; what would the folks back homesay to this? And the Countess--that wonderful woman of ice andfire! That superwoman who could sway the minds of men, whose witwas quicker than light. Well, she had saved him, saved his goodname, if not his neck, and his life was hers. Who was she? Whatmission brought her here? What hurry crowded on her heels? Whatidle chance had flung them into each other's arms? Or was it idlechance? Was there such a thing as chance, after all? Were notmen's random fortunes all laid out in conformity with some obscurepurpose to form a part of some intricate design? Dust he was, dustblown upon the breath of the North, as were these other humanatoms which had been borne thither from the farthest quarters ofthe earth; but when that dust had settled would it not arrangeitself into patterns mapped out at the hour of birth or longbefore? Somehow he believed that such would be the case. 

As for the Countess, his way was hers, her way was his; he couldnot bear to think of losing her. She was big, she was great, shedrew him by the spell of some strange magic. 

The peppery old man who, with Doret's help, had defied the miners'meeting approached him to inquire:

"Say, why didn't old Tom come back with you from Linderman?"

"Old Tom?"

"Sure! Old Tom Linton. We're pardners. I'm Jerry Quirk. "

"He was tired out. "

"Tired!" Mr. Quirk snorted derisively. "What tired him? He can'ttote enough grub to satisfy his own hunger. Me, I'm double-trippin'--relayin' our stuff to the Summit and breakin' my back atit. I can't make him understand we'd ought to keep the outfittogether; he's got it scattered like a mad woman's hair. But oldTom's in the sere and yellow leaf: he's onnery. Like all old men. I try to humor him, but--here's a limit. " The speaker looked Pierceover shrewdly. "You said you was packin' for wages. Well, old Tomain't any help to me. You look strong. Mebbe I could hire you. "

Phillips shook his head. "I don't want work just now, " said he. "I'm going to Dyea in the morning. "

Jim McCaskey was buried where he had fallen, and there beside thetrail, so that all who passed might read and ponder, the men ofSheep Camp raised a board with this inscription:

"Here lies the body of a thief. "

CHAPTER VI

A certain romantic glamour attaches to all new countries, but notevery man is responsive to it. To the person who finds enjoyment, preoccupation, in studying a ruin or in contemplating glories, triumphs, dramas long dead and gone, old buildings, old cities, and old worlds sound a resistless call. The past is peopled withimpressive figures, to be sure; it is a tapestry into which arewoven scenes of tremendous significance and events of the greatestmoment, and it is quite natural, therefore, that the majority ofpeople should experience greater fascination in studying it thanin painting new scenes upon a naked canvas with colors of theirown imagining. To them new countries are crude, uninteresting. Butthere is another type of mind which finds a more absorbing spellin the contemplation of things to come than of things long past;another temperament to which the proven and the tried possess aflat and tasteless flavor. They are restless, anticipative people;they are the ones who blaze trails. To them great cities, established order, the intricate structure of well-settled life, are both monotonous and oppressive; they do not thrive wellthereunder. But put them out on the fringe of things, transplantthem to wild soil, and the sap runs, they flower rankly. 

To Pierce Phillips the new surroundings into which he had beenprojected were intensely stimulating; they excited him as he hadnever been excited, and each day he awoke to the sense of newadventures. Life, as he had known it, had always been good--andfull, too, for that matter--and he had hugely enjoyed it;nevertheless, it had impressed upon him a sense of his owninsignificance. He had been lost, submerged, in it. Here, on thethreshold of a new world, he had begun to find himself, and theexperience was delightful. By some magic he had been lifted to acommon level with every other man, and no one had advantage overhim. The momentous future was as much his as theirs and the God ofLuck was in charge of things. 

There was a fever in the very air he breathed, the food he ate, the water he drank. Life ran at a furious pace and it inspired inhim supreme exhilaration to be swept along by it. Over all thisnew land was a purple haze of mystery--a sense of the Unknownright at hand. The Beyond was beckoning; it was as if greatcurtains had parted and he beheld vistas of tremendous promise. Keenest of all, perhaps, was his joy at discovering himself. 

Appreciation of this miraculous rebirth was fullest when, at rareintervals, he came off the trail and back to Dyea, for then herenewed his touch with that other world, and the contrast becamemore evident. 

Dyea throbbed nowadays beneath a mighty head of steam; it hadgrown surprisingly and it was intensely alive. Phillips never cameback to it without an emotional thrill and a realization of greatissues, great undertakings, in process of working out. Theknowledge that he had a part in them aroused in him anintoxicating pleasure. 

Dyea had become a metropolis of boards and canvas, of logs andcorrugated iron. Stores had risen, there were hotels and lodging-houses, busy restaurants and busier saloons whence came the soundsof revelry by night and by day. It was a healthy revelry, by theway, like the boisterous hilarity of a robust boy. Dyea was justthat--an overgrown, hilarious boy. There was nothing querulous orsickly about this child; it was strong, it was sturdy, it wasrough; it romped with everybody and it grew out of its clothesovernight. Every house, every tent, in the town was crowded;supply never quite overtook demand. 

Pack-animals were being imported, bridges were being built, theswamps were being hastily corduroyed; there was talk of a tramwayup the side of the Chilkoot, but the gold rush increased daily, and, despite better means of transportation, the call for packerswent unanswered and the price per pound stayed up. New tribes ofIndians from down the coast had moved thither, babies and baggage, and they were growing rich. The stampede itself resembled thespring run of the silver salmon--it was equally mad, equallyresistless. It was equally wasteful, too, for birds and beasts ofprey fattened upon it and the outsetting current bore a burden ofderelicts. 

Values were extravagant; money ran like water; the town was wideopen and it took toll from every new-comer. The ferment was keptactive by a trickle of outgoing Klondikers, a considerable numberof whom passed through on their way back to the States. These menhad been educated to the liberal ways of the "inside" country andwere prodigal spenders. The scent of the salt sea, the sight ofnew faces, the proximity of the open world, were like strong drinkto them, hence they untied their mooseskin "pokes" and scatteredthe contents like sawdust. Their tales of the new El Doradostimulated a similar recklessness among their hearers. 

To a boy like Pierce Phillips, in whom the spirit of youth was aflaming torch, all this spelled glorious abandon, a supreme riotof Olympic emotions. 

Precisely what reason he had for coming to town this morning hedid not know; nevertheless, he was drawn seaward as by a mightymagnet. He told himself that ordinary gratitude demanded that hethank the Countess Courteau for her service to him, but as amatter of fact he was less interested in voicing his gratitudethan in merely seeing her again. He was not sure but that shewould resent his thanks; nevertheless, it was necessary to seekher out, for already her image was nebulous, and he could notpiece together a satisfactory picture of her. She obsessed histhoughts, but his intense desire to fix her indelibly therein haddefeated its purpose and had blurred the photograph. Who was she?What was she? Where was she going? What did she think of him? Thepossibility that she might leave Dyea before answering thosequestions spurred him into a gait that devoured the miles. 

But when he turned into the main street of the town his hastevanished and a sudden embarrassment overtook him. What would hesay to her, now that he was here? How would he excuse or explainhis obvious pursuit? Would she see through him? If so, what lightwould kindle in those ice-blue eyes? The Countess was an unusualwoman. She knew men, she read them clearly, and she knew how tofreeze them in their tracks. Pierce felt quite sure that she wouldguess his motives, therefore he made up his mind to dissemblecunningly. He decided to assume a casual air and to let chancearrange their actual meeting. When he did encounter her, a quicksmile of pleased surprise on his part, a few simple words ofthanks, a manly statement that he was glad she had not left beforehis duties permitted him to look her up, and she would becompletely deceived. Thereafter fate would decree how well or howbadly they got acquainted. Yes, that was the way to go about it. 

Having laid out this admirable program, he immediately defied itby making a bee-line for the main hotel, a big board structurestill in process of erection. His feet carried him thither inspite of himself. Like a homing-pigeon he went, and instinctguided him unerringly, for he found the Countess Courteau in theoffice. 

She was dressed as on the day before, but by some magic she hadmanaged to freshen and to brighten herself. In her hand she heldher traveling-bag; she was speaking to the proprietor as Piercestepped up behind her. 

"Fifteen thousand dollars as it stands, " he heard her say. "That'smy price. I'll make you a present of the lumber. The Queen leavesin twenty minutes. "

The proprietor began to argue, but she cut him short: "That's mylast word. Three hundred per cent, on your money. "

"But--"

"Think it over!" Her tone was cool, her words were crisp. "I takethe lighter in ten minutes. " She turned to find Phillips at hershoulder. 

"Good morning!" Her face lit up with a smile; she extended herhand, and he seized it as a fish swallows a bait. He blushedredly. 

"I'm late, " he stammered. "I mean I--I hurried right in to tellyou--"

"So they didn't hang you?"

"No! You were wonderful! I couldn't rest until I had told you howdeeply grateful--"

"Nonsense!" The Countess shrugged her shoulders. "I'm glad youcame before I left. "

"You're not--going away?" he queried, with frank apprehension. 

"In ten minutes. "

"See here!" It was the hotel proprietor who addressed the woman. "You can't possibly make it before snow flies, and the boats areoverloaded coming north; they can't handle the freight they'vegot. "

"I'll be back in three weeks, " the Countess asserted, positively. "I'll bring my own pack-train. If something should delay me, I'llopen up here and put you out of business. This town will be goodfor a year or two. "

"You can't threaten me, " the fellow blustered. "Twenty thousand ismy price. "

"Good-by!" The Countess turned once more to Pierce. 

"Are you leaving for good?" he inquired, despondently, unable todissemble. 

"Bless you, no! I'll probably die in this country. I'm going outon business, but I'll be back in Dawson ahead of the ice. You'llbe going across soon, I dare say. Come, walk down to the beachwith me. "

Together they left the building and found their way to thelanding-place, where a lighter was taking on passengers for thesteamship Queen. 

"I suppose you know how sorry I am for what happened yesterday, "Pierce began. 

The Countess looked up from her abstracted contemplation of thescene; there was a faint inquiry in her face. 

"Sorry? I should think you'd be about the happiest boy in Dyea. "

"I mean what Jim McCaskey said. I'd have--killed him if I could. Itried to!"

"Oh!" The woman nodded; her teeth gleamed in a smile that was notat all pleasant. "I heard about the shooting this morning; I meantto ask you about it, but I was thinking of other things. " Shemeasured the burly frame of the young man at her side and thevindictiveness died out of her expression. Phillips was good tolook at; he stood a full six feet in height, his close-croppedhair displayed a shapely head, and his features were well molded. He was a handsome, open lad, the Countess acknowledged. Aloud shesaid: "I dare say every woman loves to have a man fight for her. Ido my own fighting, usually, but it's nice to have a champion. "Her gaze wandered back to the hotel, then up the pine-flankedvalley toward the Chilkoot; her abstraction returned; she appearedto weigh some intricate mathematical calculation. 

With his hands in his pockets the hotel-keeper came idling down tothe water's edge and, approaching his departing guest, said, carelessly:

"I've been thinking it over, ma'am. There isn't room for two of ushere. I might make it seventeen thousand five hundred, if--"

"Fifteen! No more. "

There came a signal from the steamer in the offing; the Countessextended her hand to Pierce. 

"Good-by! If you're still here three weeks from now you may beable to help me. " Then she joined the procession up the gang-plank. 

But the hotel-keeper halted her. "Fifteen is a go!" he said, angrily. 

The Countess Courteau stepped back out of the line. "Very well. Make out the bill of sale. I'll meet you at Healy & Wilson's inten minutes. "

A moment later she smiled at Pierce and heaved a sigh of relief. 

"Well, I brought him to time, didn't I? I'd never have goneaboard. I'd have paid him twenty-five thousand dollars, as amatter of fact, but he hadn't sense enough to see it. I knew I hadhim when he followed me down here. "

"What have you bought?"

"That hotel yonder--all but the lumber. "

"All BUT the lumber! Why, there isn't much else!" Pierce was morethan a little astonished. 

"Oh yes, there is! Dishes, hardware, glass, beds, bedding, windows, fixtures--everything inside the building, that's what Ibought. That's all I wanted. I'll have the place wrecked and thestuff packed up and on men's backs in two days. It cost--I don'tknow what it cost, and I don't care. The fellow was perfectlyright, though; I haven't time to get to Seattle and back again. Know any men who want work?"

"I want it. "

"Know any others?" Pierce shook his head. "Find some--the more thebetter. Carpenters first, if there are any. " The speaker was allbusiness now. "You're working for me from this minute, understand?Treat me right and I'll treat you right. I'll take you through toDawson. I want carpenters, packers, boatmen; they must work fast. Long hours, long chances, big pay, that's what it will mean. Thatoutfit must be in Dawson ahead of the ice. Such a thing has neverbeen done; it can't be done! But I'll do it! Do you want to tacklethe job?"

Phillips' eyes were dancing. "I'll eat it up!" he cried, breathlessly. 

"Good! I think you'll do. Wait for me at the hotel. " With a brisknod she was off, leaving him in a perfect whirl of emotions. 

Her man! She had called him that. "Fast work, long hours, longchances"; an impossible task! What happy impulse had sped him totown this morning? Ten minutes was the narrow margin by which hehad won his opportunity, and now the door to the North had openedat a woman's touch. Inside lay--everything! She thought he'd do?Why, she must KNOW he'd do. She must know he'd give up his lifefor her!

He pinched himself to ascertain if he were dreaming. 

The Northern Hotel was less than three-quarters built, but withinan hour after it had changed ownership it was in process ofdemolition. The Countess Courteau was indeed a "lightningstriker"; while Phillips went through the streets offering doublewages to men who could wield hammer and saw, and the possibilityof transportation clear to Dawson for those who could handle anoar, she called off the building crew and set them to new tasks, then she cleared the house of its guests. Rooms were invaded withperemptory orders to vacate; the steady help was put to undoingwhat they had already done, and soon the premises were in tumult. Such rooms as had been completed were dismantled even while theprotesting occupants were yet gathering their belongings together, Beds were knocked down, bedding was moved out; windows, door-knobs, hinges, fixtures were removed; dishes, lamps, mirrors, glassware were assembled for packing. 

Through all this din and clatter the Countess Courteau passed, spurring the wreckers on to speed. Yielding to Phillips' knowledgeof transportation problems and limitations, she put him in generalcharge, and before he realized it he found that he was in realityher first lieutenant. 

Toward evening a ship arrived and began to belch forth freight andpassengers, whereupon there ensued a rush to find shelter. 

Pierce was engaged in dismantling the office fixtures when astranger entered and accosted him with the inquiry:

"Got any rooms?"

"No, sir. We're moving this hotel bodily to Dawson. "

The new-comer surveyed the littered premises with some curiosity. He was a tall, gray-haired man, with a long, impassive face ofpeculiar ashen color. He had lost his left hand somewhere abovethe wrist and in place of it wore a metal hook. With this hegestured stiffly in the direction of a girl who had followed himinto the building. 

"She's got to have a bed, " he declared. "I can get along somehowtill my stuff is landed to-morrow. "

"I'm sorry, " Pierce told him, "but the beds are all down and thewindows are out. I'm afraid nobody could get much sleep here, forwe'll be at work all night. "

"Any other hotels?"

"Some bunk-houses. But they're pretty full. "

"Money no object, I suppose?" the one-armed man ventured. 

"Oh, none. "

The stranger turned to his companion. "Looks like we'd have to situp till our tents come off. I hope they've got chairs in thistown. "

"We can stay aboard the ship. " The girl had a pleasant voice--shewas, in fact, a pleasant sight to look upon, for her face wasquiet and dignified, her eyes were level and gray, she wore a headof wavy chestnut hair combed neatly back beneath a trim hat. 

Alaska, during the first rush, was a land of pretty women, owingto the fact that a large proportion of those who came North did sofor the avowed purpose of trading upon that capital, but even insuch company this girl was noticeable and Pierce Phillips regardedher with distinct approval. 

"You can have my part of that, " the man told her, with a slightgrimace. "This racket is music, to the bellow of those steers. Andit smells better here. If I go aboard again I'll be hog-tied. Why, I'd rather sit up all night and deal casino to a mad Chinaman!"

"We'll manage somehow, dad. " The girl turned to the door and herfather followed her. He paused for a moment while he ran his eyeup and down the busy street. 

"Looks like old times, doesn't it, Letty?" Then he stepped out ofsight. 

When darkness came the wrecking crew worked on by the light oflamps, lanterns, and candles, for the inducement of double pay waspotent. 

Along about midnight Mr. Lucky Broad, the shell-man, picked hisway through the bales and bundles and, recognizing Phillips, greeted him familiarly:

"Hello, kid! Where's her nibs, the corn-tassel Countess?"

"Gone to supper. "

"Well, she sprung you, didn't she? Some gal! I knew you was allright, but them boys was certainly roily. "

Pierce addressed the fellow frankly: "I'm obliged to you fortaking my part. I hardly expected it. "

"Why not? I got nothing against you. I got a sort of tendernessfor guys like you--I hate to see 'em destroyed. " Mr. Broad grinnedwidely and his former victim responded in like manner. 

"I don't blame you, " said the latter. "I was an awful knot-head, but you taught me a lesson. "

"Pshaw!" The confidence-man shrugged his shoulders carelessly. "The best of 'em fall for the shells. I was up against it and hadto get some rough money, but--it's a hard way to make a living. These pilgrims squawk so loud it isn't safe--you'd think theircoin was soldered onto 'em. That's why I'm here. I understand herGrace is hiring men to go to Dawson. "

"Yes. "

"Well, take a flash at me. " Mr. Broad stiffened his back, archedhis chest, and revolved slowly upon his heels. "Pretty nifty, eh?What kind of men does she want?"

"Packers, boatmen--principally boatmen--fellows who can run whitewater. "

The new applicant was undoubtedly in a happy and confident mood, for he rolled his eyes upward, exclaiming, devoutly: "I'm a giftfrom heaven! Born in a batteau and cradled on the waves--that'sme!"

The Countess herself appeared out of the night at this moment andPierce somewhat reluctantly introduced the sharper to her. "Here'san able seaman in search of a job, " said he. 

"Able seaman?" The woman raised her brows inquiringly. 

"He said it. " Mr. Broad nodded affirmatively. "I'm a jolly tar, abo'sun's mate, a salt-horse wrangler. I just jumped a full-riggedship--thimble-rigged!" He winked at Phillips and thrust his tongueinto his cheek. "Here's my papers. " From his shirt pocket he tooka book of brown rice-papers and a sack of tobacco, then deftlyfashioned a tiny cigarette. 

"Roll one for me, " said the Countess. 

"Why, sure!" Mr. Broad obliged instantly and with a flourish. 

"Are you really a boatman?" the woman inquired. "Don't stall, forI'll find you out. " Pierce undertook to get her eye, but she wasregarding Broad intently and did not see his signal. 

"I'm all of that, " the latter said, seriously. 

"I'm going to move this outfit in small boats, two men to a boat, double crews through the canon and in swift water. Can you get agood man to help you?"

"He's yours for the askin'--Kid Bridges. Ain't his name enough?He's a good packer, too; been packin' hay for two months. Pierceknows him. " Again Mr. Broad winked meaningly at Phillips. 

"Come and see me to-morrow, " said the Countess. 

Lucky nodded agreement to this arrangement. "Why don't you loadthe whole works on a scow?" he asked. "You'd save men and we couldall be together--happy family stuff. That's what Kirby's going todo. "

"Kirby?"

"Sam Kirby. 'One-armed' Kirby--you know. He got in to-day with a bigliquor outfit. Him and his gal are down at the Ophir now, playing faro. "

"No scow for mine, " the Countess said, positively. "I know whatI'm doing. "

After the visitor had gone Pierce spoke his mind, albeit with somehesitancy. "That fellow is a gambler, " said he, "and Kid Bridgesis another. Bridges held my hand for a minute, the day I landed, and his little display of tenderness cost me one hundred andthirty-five dollars. Do you think you want to hire them?"

"Why not?" the Countess inquired. Then, with a smile, "They won'thold my hand, and they may be very good boatmen indeed. " Shedropped her cigarette, stepped upon it, then resumed her labors. 

Phillips eyed the burnt-offering with disfavor. Until just now hehad not known that his employer used tobacco, and the discoverycame as a shock. He had been reared in a close home-circle, therefore he did not approve of women smoking; in particular hedisapproved of the Countess, his Countess, smoking. After a momentof consideration, however, he asked himself what good reason therecould be for his feeling. It was her own affair; why shouldn't awoman smoke if she felt like it? He was surprised at theunexpected liberality of his attitude. This country was indeedworking a change in him; he was broadening rapidly. As a matter offact, he assured himself, the Countess Courteau was an exceptionalwoman; she was quite different from the other members of her sexand the rules of decorum which obtained for them did not obtainfor her. She was one in ten thousand, one in a million. Yes, andhe was "her man. "

While he was snatching a bit of midnight supper Pierce again heardthe name of Kirby mentioned, and a reference to the big game inprogress at the Ophir. Recalling Lucky Broad's words, he wonderedif it were possible that Kirby and his girl were indeed the fatherand daughter who had applied at the Northern for shelter. Itseemed incredible that a young woman of such apparent refinementcould be a gambler's daughter, but if it were true she was notonly the daughter of a "sporting man, " but a very notorious one, judging from general comment. Prompted by curiosity, Piercedropped in at the Ophir on his way back to work. He found theplace crowded, as usual, but especially so at the rear, where thegames were running. When he had edged his way close enough tocommand a view of the faro-table he discovered that Sam Kirby was, for a fact, the one-armed man he had met during the afternoon. Hewas seated, and close at his back was the gray-eyed, brown-hairedgirl with the pleasant voice. She was taking no active part in thegame itself except to watch the wagers and the cases carefully. Now and then her father addressed a low-spoken word to her and sheanswered with a nod, a smile, or a shake of her head. She wasquite at ease, quite at home; she was utterly oblivious to theclose-packed ring of spectators encircling the table. 

The sight amazed Phillips. He was shocked; he was mildly angeredand mildly amused at the false impression this young woman hadgiven. It seemed that his judgment of female types was exceedinglypoor. 

"Who is Mr. Kirby?" he inquired of his nearest neighbor. 

"Big sport. He's rich--or he was; I heard he just lost a string ofrace-horses. He makes a fortune and he spends it overnight. He'son his way 'inside' now with a big saloon outfit. That's Letty, his girl. "

Another man laughed under his breath, saying: "Old Sam won't bet anickel unless she's with him. He's superstitious. "

"I guess he has reason to be. She's his rudder, " the first speakerexplained. 

Mr. Kirby rapped sharply upon the table with the steel hook thatserved as his left hand, then, when a waiter cleared a passagewaythrough the crowd, he mutely invited the house employees to drink. The dealer declined, the lookout and the case-keeper orderedwhisky, and Kirby signified by a nod that the same would do forhim. But his daughter laid a hand upon his arm. He argued with herbriefly, then he shrugged and changed his order. 

"Make it a cigar, " he said, with a smile. "Boss's orders. "

There was a ripple of laughter. 

"Sam's a bad actor when he's drinking, " one of Pierce's informantstold him. "Letty keeps him pretty straight, but once in a while hegets away. When he does--oh, BOY!"

Long after he had returned to his tasks the memory of that still-faced girl in the foul, tobacco-laden atmosphere of the gambling-hall remained to bother Pierce Phillips; he could not get over hisamazement and his annoyance at mistaking her for a--well, for agood girl. 

Early in the morning, when he wearily went forth in quest ofbreakfast and a bed, he learned that the game at the Ophir wasstill going on. 

"I want you to hire enough packers to take this stuff over in onetrip--two at the most. Engage all you can. Offer any price. " TheCountess was speaking. She had snatched a few hours' sleep and wasnow back at the hotel as fresh as ever. 

"You must take more rest, " Pierce told her. "You'll wear yourselfout at this rate. "

She smiled brightly and shook her head, but he persisted. "Go backto sleep and let me attend to the work. I'm strong; nothing tiresme. "

"Nor me. I'll rest when we get to Dawson. Have those packers hereday after to-morrow morning. "

There were numerous freighters in Dyea, outfits with animals, too, some of them, but inquiry developed the fact that none were freeto accept a contract of this size at such short notice, thereforePierce went to the Indian village and asked for the chief. Failingto discover the old man, he began a tent-to-tent search, and whileso engaged he stumbled upon Joe McCaskey. 

The outcast was lying on a bed of boughs; his face was flushed andhis eyes were bright with fever. Evidently, in avoiding the townhe had sought shelter here and the natives had taken him inwithout question. 

Overcoming his first impulse to quietly withdraw, Pierce bent downto the fellow and said, with genuine pity: "I'm sorry for you, Joe. Is there anything I can do?"

McCaskey stared up at him wildly; then a light of recognitionkindled in his black eyes. It changed to that baleful gleam ofhatred. His hair lay low upon his forehead and through it heglared. His face was covered with a smut of beard which made himeven more repellent. 

"I thought you were Jim, " he croaked. "But Jim's--dead. "

"You're sick. Can I help you? Do you want money or--"

"Jim's dead, " the man repeated. "You killed him!"

"I? Nonsense. Don't talk--"

"You killed him. YOU!" McCaskey's unblinking stare becamepositively venomous; he showed his teeth in a frightful grin. "Youkilled him. But there's more of us. Plenty more. We'll get you. "He appeared to derive a ferocious enjoyment from this threat, forhe dwelt upon it. He began to curse his visitor so foully thatPierce backed out of the tent and let the flap fall. It had beenan unwelcome encounter; it left an unpleasant taste in his mouth. 

As he went on in search of the village shaman he heard Joemuttering: "Jim's dead! Dead! Jim's dead!"

CHAPTER VII

Sam Kirby's outfit was one of the largest, one of the costliest, and one of the most complete that had ever been landed on the Dyeabeach, for Kirby was a man who did things in a large way. He was aplunger; he had long since become case-hardened to risks and heknew how to weigh probabilities; hence the fact that he had stakedhis all upon one throw did not in the least disturb him. Many atime he had done the same and the dice had never failed to comeout for him. Possessing a wide practical knowledge of newcountries, he had shrewdly estimated the Klondike discovery at itstrue worth and had realized that the opportunity for a crowningtriumph, a final clean-up, had come his way. This accounted forthe energetic manner in which he had set about improving it. 

Most men are successful in direct proportion to their ability toselect and retain capable assistants. Fortune had favored SamKirby by presenting him with a daughter whose caution and goodsense admirably supplemented his own best qualities, and he wasdoubly blessed in possessing the intense, nay, the ferocious, loyalty of one Danny Royal, a dependable retainer who hadgraduated from various minor positions into a sort of castellan, an Admirable Crichton, a good left hand to replace that missingmember which Kirby had lost during the white-hot climax of acertain celebrated feud--a feud, by the way, which had added anotch to the ivory handle of Sam's famous six-shooter. This DannyRoyal was all things. He could take any shift in a gambling-house, he was an accomplished fixer, he had been a jockey and had handledthe Kirby string of horses. He was a miner of sorts, too, havingsuperintended the Rouletta Mine during its brief and prosperoushistory; as a trainer he was without a peer. He had made book onmany tracks; he it was who had brought out the filly Rouletta, SamKirby's best-known thoroughbred, and "mopped up" with her. Bothmine and mare Danny had named after Kirby's girl, and underDanny's management both had been quick producers. All in all, Royal was considered by those who knew him best as a master ofmany trades and a Jack of none. He was an irreligious man, but hepossessed a code which he lived up to strictly; epitomized it ranas follows, "Sam Kirby's will be done!" He believed in but onegod, and that Rouletta Kirby was his profit. 

Equipped with the allegiance of such a man as Royal, together withseveral tons of high-proof spirits, a stock of case-goods andcigars, some gambling paraphernalia, and a moderate bank roll withwhich to furnish the same, old Sam felt safe in setting out forany country where gold was mined and where the trails were new. 

Of course he took his daughter with him. Sooner than leave herbehind he would have severed his remaining hand. Rouletta andAgnes, they constituted the foundation upon which the Kirbyfortunes rested, they were the rocks to which Sam clung, they werehis assets and his liabilities, his adjuncts and his adornments. Agnes was his gun. 

Having seen his freight safely ashore, Kirby left Royal in chargeof it, first impressing upon him certain comprehensive andexplicit instructions; then he and Rouletta and Agnes went up thetrail and over the Chilkoot. Somehow, between the three of them, they intended to have a scow built and ready when Danny landed thelast pound of merchandise at Linderman. 

Mr. Royal was an energetic little person. He began an immediatehunt for packers, only to discover that another outfit was aheadof his and that no men were immediately available. He wasresourceful, he was in the habit of meeting and overcomingobstacles, hence this one did not greatly trouble him, once hebecame acquainted with the situation. 

Two days and nights enabled the Countess Courteau to strip theNorthern Hotel, to assemble the movable appurtenances thereto, andto pack them into boxes, bales, and bundles, none of which weighedmore than one hundred pounds. This lapse of time likewise enabledthe Indians whom Pierce had hired to finish their contracts andreturn to the coast. In spite of the appalling amount of freight, Pierce believed he had enough men to move it in two trips, andwhen the hour came to start the Countess complimented him upon histhorough preparations. As swiftly as might be he formed hispackers in line, weighed their burdens, and sent them on theirjourney. These preparations occasioned much confusion and aconsiderable crowd assembled. Among the onlookers was a bright-eyed, weazened little man who attached himself to the chief andengaged him in conversation. 

When the last burden-bearer had departed the Countess directedLucky Broad and Kid Bridges to stay in the hotel and stand guardover the remainder of her goods. 

"Take six-hour shifts, " she told them. "I'll hold you responsiblefor what's here. "

"It's as safe as wheat, " Broad assured her. 

"I'll camp at the Scales with the stuff that has gone forward, andPierce will bring the Indians back. "

"D'you think you can ride herd on it?" Bridges inquired. "Iunderstand there's a lawless element at large. "

The Countess smiled. "I'm sort of a lawless element myself when Istart, " she said. Her eyes twinkled as she measured Mr. Bridges'burly proportions. "You're going to miss your alfalfa bed before Iget you to Linderman. "

The Kid nodded seriously. "I know, " said he. "Serves me right forquittin' a profession for a trade, but I got to look over thisDawson place. They say it's soft pickin'. Lucky is taking hisstock in trade along, all three of 'em, so maybe we'll tear off apenny or two on the way. "

Pierce's pack consisted of a tent for the Countess, some bedding, and food; with this on his back he and his employer set out toovertake their train. This they accomplished a short distancebelow the first crossing of the river. Already the white packers, of whom there were perhaps a score, had drawn together; theIndians were following them in a long file. Having seen hiscompanion safely across the stream, Pierce asked her, somewhatdoubtfully:

"Do you think Broad and his partner are altogether trustworthy?"

"Nobody is that, " she told him. "But they're at least intelligent. In this kind of a country I prefer an intelligent crook to anhonest fool. Most people are honest or dishonest when and as theythink it is to their advantage to be so. Those men want to get toDawson, and they know the Police would never let them across theLine. I'm their only chance. They'll stand assay. "

It was mid-forenoon when the Countess halted Pierce, who was ashort distance ahead of her, saying: "Wait! Didn't you hearsomebody calling us?"

They listened. They were about to move onward when there came afaint hallo, and far down the trail behind them they saw a figureapproaching. After a moment of scrutiny Pierce declared:

"Why, it's Broad!"

"Something has happened!" The Countess stepped upon a fallen logand through her cupped palms sent forth an answering call. Mr. Broad waved his hat and broke into a run. He was wet with sweat, he was muddy and out of breath, when he finally overtook them. 

"Whew!" he panted. "Thought I'd never run you down . .. Well, setyourselves. "

"What's wrong?" demanded the woman. 

"Plenty. You've been double-crossed, whip-sawed. Your noble redmen have quit you; they dumped your stuff at the river and made adeal at double rates to move Sam Kirby's freight. They're back inDyea now, the whole works. "

The Countess Courteau exploded with a man's oath. Her face waspurple; her eyes were blazing. 

"Danny Royal, Kirby's man, done it. Sam's gone on to Linderman tobuild a boat. I saw Danny curled up on the chief's ear while youwere loading. After you'd gone him and the old pirate followed. Me'n' Bridges never thought anything about it until by and by backcame the whole party, empty. Danny trooped 'em down to the beachand begun packin' 'em. I know him, so I asked him what the devil. 'Hands off!' says he. 'Sam Kirby's got a rush order in ahead ofyours, and these refreshments is going through by express. I'veraised your ante. Money no object, understand? I'll boost theprice again if I have to, and keep on boosting it. ' Then he warnedme not to start anything or he'd tack two letters onto the frontof my name. He'd do it, too. I took it on the run, and here I am. "

"Sam Kirby, eh?" The Countess' flaming rage had given place to acool, calculating anger. 

Pierce protested violently. "I hired those Indians. We agreed on aprice and everything was settled. "

"Well, Danny unsettled it. They're workin' for him and he intendsto keep 'em. "

"What about our white packers?" the woman inquired of Broad. 

"They must have crossed before Danny caught up, or he'd have hadthem, too. 'Money no object, ' he said. I'm danged if I'd turn atrick like that. "

"Where's our stuff?"

"At the Crossing. "

The Countess turned back down the trail and Pierce followed her. "I'll settle this Royal, " he declared, furiously. 

"Danny's a bad boy, " Lucky Broad warned, falling into step. "Ifold Sam told him to hold a buzz-saw in his lap he'd do it. Maybethere wouldn't be much left of Danny, but he'd of hugged it somewhile he lasted. "

Little more was said during the swift return to the river. It wasnot a pleasant journey, for the trail was miserable, the mud wasdeep, and there was a steady upward flow of traffic which it wasnecessary to stem. There were occasional interruptions to thisstream, for here and there horses were down and a blockade hadresulted. Behind it men lay propped against logs or tree-trunks, resting their tired frames and listening apathetically to theprofanity of the horse-owners. Rarely did any one offer to lend ahelping hand, for each man's task was equal to his strength. Inone place a line of steers stood belly deep in the mire, waitingthe command to plow forward. 

Broken carts, abandoned vehicles of various patterns, lined theway; there were many swollen carcasses underfoot, and notinfrequently pedestrians crossed mud-holes by stepping from one toanother, holding their breaths and battling through swarms offlies. Much costly impedimenta strewed the roadside--each articlea milestone of despair, a monument to failure. There were stoves, camp furniture, lumber, hardware, boat fittings. The wreckage andthe wastage of the stampede were enormous, and every ounce, everydollar's worth of it, spoke mutely of blasted hopes. Now and thenone saw piles of provisions, some of which had been entirelyabandoned. The rains had ruined most of them. 

When the Countess came to her freight she paused. "You said Royalwas loading his men when you left?" She faced Broad inquiringly. 

"Right!"

"Then he'll soon be along. We'll wait here. " Of Phillips sheasked, "Do you carry a gun?"

Pierce shook his head. "What are you going to do?" He could seethat she was boiling inwardly, and although his own anger hadincreased at every moment during the return journey, her questioncaused him genuine apprehension. 

Avoiding a direct answer, the woman said: "If Royal is with theIndians, you keep your eye on him. I want to talk to them. "

"Don't inaugurate any violent measures, " Mr. Broad cautioned, nervously. "Danny's a sudden sort of a murderer. Of course, ifworse comes to worst, I'll stick, but--my rating in the communityain't A 1. There's a lot of narrow-minded church members wouldlike to baptize me at high tide. As if that would get their moneyback!"

A suggestion of a smile crept to the Countess' lips and she said, "I knew you'd stick when I hired you. " Then she seated herselfupon a box. 

Danny Royal did accompany his packers. He did so as a precautionagainst precisely such a coup as he himself had engineered, and inorder to be doubly secure he brought the head Indian with him. Theold tribesman had rebelled mildly, but Royal had been firm, and inconsequence they were the first two to appear when the processioncame out of the woods. 

The chief halted at sight of Phillips, the man who had hired himand his people, but at a word from Royal he resumed his march. Heaverted his eyes, however, and he held his head low, showing thatthis encounter was not at all to his liking. Royal, on thecontrary, carried off the meeting easily. He grinned at LuckyBroad and was about to pass on when the Countess Courteau rose toher feet and stepped into the trail. 

"Just a minute!" she said. Of Royal's companion she sternlydemanded, "What do you mean by this trick?"

The old redskin shot her a swift glance; then his face becameexpressionless and he gazed stolidly at the river. 

"What do you mean?" the woman repeated, in a voice quivering withfury. 

"Him people--" the chief began, but Royal spoke for him. Removinghis hat, he made a stiff little bow, then said, courteouslyenough:

"I'm sorry to hold you up, ma'am, but--"

"You're not holding me up; I'm holding you up, " the woman brokein. "What do you take me for, anyhow?" She stared at the white manso coldly, there was such authority and such fixity of purpose inher tone and her expression, that his manner changed. 

"I'm on orders, " said he. "There's no use to argue. I'd talkplainer to you if you was a man. "

But she had turned her eyes to the chief again. "You lyingscoundrel!" she cried, accusingly. "I made a straight deal withyou and your people and I agreed to your price. I'm not going tolet you throw me down!"

The wooden-faced object of her attack became inexplicably stupid;he strove for words. "Me no speak good, " he muttered. "Me nosavvy--"

"Perhaps you'll savvy this. " As the Countess spoke she took fromher pocket a short-barreled revolver, which she cocked andpresented in a capable and determined manner so close to the oldnative's face that he staggered backward, fending off the attack. The woman followed him. 

"Look here!" Danny Royal exploded. He made a movement with hisright hand, but Pierce Phillips and Lucky Broad stepped close tohim. The former said, shortly:

"If you make a move I'll brain you!"

"That's me, " seconded Mr. Broad. "Lift a finger, Danny, and we goto the mat. "

Royal regarded the two men searchingly. "D'you think I'll let youpeople stick me up?" he queried. 

"You're stuck up!" the Countess declared, shortly. "Make sure ofthis--I'm not bluffing. I'll shoot. Here--you!" she called to oneof the packers at the rear of the line who had turned and wasmaking off. "Get back where you were and stay there. " Sheemphasized this command with a wave of her weapon and the Indianobeyed with alacrity. "Now then, Mr. Royal, not one pound of SamKirby's freight will these people carry until mine is over thepass. I don't recognize you in this deal in any way. I made abargain with the chief and I'll settle it with him. You keep out. If you don't, my men will attend to you. "

It was surprising what a potent effect a firearm had upon the agedshaman. His mask fell off and his knowledge of the Englishlanguage was magically refreshed. He began a perfectlyintelligible protest against the promiscuous display of loadedweapons, particularly in crowded localities. He was a peacefulman, the head of a peaceful people, and violence of any sort wascontrary to his and their code. "This was no way in which tosettle a dispute--"

"You think not, eh? Well, it's my way, " stormed the Countess. "I'll drop the first man who tries to pass. If you think I won't, try me. Go ahead, try me!" Mr. Royal undertook to say somethingmore, but without turning her head the woman told Phillips, "Knockhim down if he opens his mouth. "

"WILL I?" Pierce edged closer to his man, and in his face therewas a hunger for combat which did not look promising to the objectof his attentions. 

Lucky Broad likewise discouraged the ex-jockey by saying, "If youcall her hand, Danny, I'll bust you where you're biggest. "

The Countess still held the muzzle of her revolver close to thechief's body. Now she said, peremptorily: "You're going to endthis joke right now. Order their packs off, QUICK!"

This colloquy had been short, but, brief as the delay had been, ithad afforded time for newcomers to arrive. Amazed at the sight ofa raging woman holding an army of red men at bay, several"mushers" dropped their burdens and came running forward to learnthe meaning of it. The Countess explained rapidly, whereupon oneexclaimed:

"Go to it, sister!"

Another agreed heartily. "When you shoot, shoot low. We'll see youthrough. "

"I don't need any assistance, " she told them. "They'll keep theiragreement or they'll lose their head man. Give the word, Chief. "

The old redskin raised his voice in expostulation, but one of thelate-comers broke in upon him:

"Aw, shut up, you robber! You're gettin' what you need. "

"I'm going to count three, " the woman said, inflexibly. Her facehad grown very white; her eyes were shining dangerously. "At fourI shoot. One! Two--!"

The wrinkled Indian gave a sign; his tribesmen began to divestthemselves of their loads. 

"Pile it all up beside the trail. Now get under my stuff and don'tlet's have any more nonsense. The old price goes and I sha'n'traise it a penny. " Turning to Danny Royal, she told him: "Youcould have put this over on a man, but women haven't any sense. Ihaven't a bit. Every cent I own is tied up in this freight andit's going through on time. I think a lot of it, and if you try todelay it again I'm just foolish enough to blow a hole in thissavage--and you, too. Yes, and a miners' meeting would cheer mefor doing it. "

There was a silence; then Mr. Royal inquired: "Are you waiting forme to speak? Well, all I've got to say is if the James boys hadhad a sister they'd of been at work yet. I don't know how totackle a woman. "

"Are you going to keep hands off?"

"Sure! I'm licked. You went about it in the right way. You got metied. "

"I don't know whether you're lying or not. But just to make sureI'm going to have Lucky walk back to town with you to see that youdon't get turned around. "

Danny removed his hat and made a sweeping bow; then he departed incompany with his escort. The Indians took up those burdens whichthey had originally shouldered, and the march to the Chilkoot wasresumed. Now, however, the Countess Courteau brought up the rearof the procession and immediately in advance of her walked thehead man of the Dyea tribe. 

CHAPTER VIII

It was a still, clear morning, but autumn was in the air and apale sun lacked the necessary heat to melt a skin of ice which, during the night, had covered stagnant pools. The damp moss whichcarpets northern forests was hoary with frost and it crackledunderfoot. Winter was near and its unmistakable approach could beplainly felt. 

A saw-pit had been rigged upon a sloping hillside--it consisted offour posts about six feet long upon which had been laid fourstringers, like the sills of a house; up to this scaffold led apair of inclined skids. Resting upon the stringers was a sizablespruce log which had been squared and marked with parallel chalk-lines and into which a whip-saw had eaten for several feet. Balanced upon this log was Tom Linton; in the sawdust directlyunder him stood Jerry Quirk. Mr. Linton glared downward, Mr. Quirksquinted fiercely upward. Mr. Linton showed his teeth in an uglygrin and his voice was hoarse with fury; Mr. Quirk's gray mustachebristled with rage, and anger had raised his conversational toneto a high pitch. Both men were perspiring, both were shaken to thecore. 

"DON'T SHOVE!" Mr. Quirk exclaimed, in shrill irritation. "Howmany times d'you want me to tell you not to shove? You bend theinfernal thing. "

"I never shoved, " Linton said, thickly. "Maybe we'd do better ifyou'd quit hanging your weight on those handles every time I lift. If you've got to chin yourself, take a limb--or I'll build you atrapeze. You pull down, then lemme lift--"

Mr. Quirk danced with fury. "Chin myself? Shucks! You're peteredout, that's what ails you. You 'ain't got the grit and you'vethrowed up your tail. Lift her clean--don't try to saw goin' up, the teeth ain't set that way. Lift, take a bite, then leggo. Lift, bite, leggo. Lift, bite--"

"Don't say that again!" shouted Linton. "I'm a patient man, but--"He swallowed hard, then with difficulty voiced a solemn, vibrantwarning, "Don't say it again, that's all!"

Defiance instantly flamed in Jerry's watery eyes. "I'll say it ifI want to!" he yelled. "I'll say anything I feel like sayin'! Somefolks can't understand English; some folks have got lignumvityheads and you have to tell 'em--"

"You couldn't tell me anything!"

"Sure! That's just the trouble with you--NOBODY can tell youanything!"

"I whip-sawed before you was born!"

Astonishment momentarily robbed Mr. Quirk of speech, then he brokeout more indignantly than ever. "Why, you lyin' horse-thief, younever heard of a whip-saw till we bought our outfit. You was fortying one end to a limb and the other end to a root and thenrubbin' the log up and down it. "

"I never meant that. I was fooling and you know it. That's justlike you, to--"

"Say, if you'd ever had holt of a whip-saw in all your uselesslife, the man on the other end of it would have belted you withthe handle and buried you in the sawdust. I'd ought to, but I'ain't got the heart!" The speaker spat on his hands and in acalmer, more business-like tone said: "Well, come on. Let's go. This is our last board. "

Tom Linton checked an insulting remark that had just occurred tohim. It had nothing whatever to do with the subject under dispute, but it would have goaded Jerry to insanity, therefore it clamoredfor expression and the temptation to hurl it forth was almostirresistible. Linton, however, prided himself upon his self-restraint, and accordingly he swallowed his words. He clicked histeeth, he gritted them--he would have enjoyed sinking them intohis partner's throat, as a matter of fact--then he growled, "Lether whiz!"

In unison the men resumed their interrupted labors; slowly, rhythmically, their arms moved up and down, monotonously theiraching backs bent and straightened, inch by inch the saw blade atealong the penciled line. It was killing work, for it called intoplay unused, under-developed muscles, yes, muscles which did notand never would or could exist. Each time Linton lifted the saw itgrew heavier by the fraction of a pound. Whenever Quirk looked upto note progress his eyes were filled with stinging particles ofsawdust. His was a tearful job: sawdust was in his hair, hisbeard, it had sifted down inside his neckband and it itched hismoist body. It had worked into his underclothes and he could notescape it even at night in his bed. He had of late acquired thehabit of repeating over and over, with a pertinacity intenselyirritating to his partner, that he could taste sawdust in hisfood--a statement manifestly false and well calculated to offend acamp cook. 

After they had sawed for a while Jerry cried: "Hey! She's runnin'out again. " He accompanied this remark by an abrupt cessation ofeffort. As a result the saw stopped in its downward course andTom's chin came into violent contact with the upper handle. 

The man above uttered a cry of pain and fury; he clapped a hand tohis face as if to catch and save his teeth. 

Jerry giggled with a shameless lack of feeling. "Spit 'em out, " hecackled. "They ain't no more good to you than a mouthful ofpopcorn. " He was not really amused at his partner's mishap; on thecontrary, he was more than a little concerned by it, but fatiguehad rendered him absurdly hysterical, and the constant friction ofmental, spiritual, and physical contact with Tom had fretted hissoul as that sawdust inside his clothes had fretted his body. "He, he! Ho, ho!" he chortled. "You don't shove. Oh no! All the same, whenever I stop pullin' you butt your brains out. "

"I didn't shove!" The ferocity of this denial was modified andmuffled by reason of the fact that a greater part of the speaker'shand was inside his mouth and his fingers were taking stock of itscontents. 

"All right, you didn't shove. Have it your own way. I said she wasrunnin' out again. We ain't cuttin' wedges, we're cuttin' boat-seats. "

"Well, why don't you pull straight? I can't follow a line with youskinning the cat on your end. "

"My fault again, eh?" Mr. Quirk showed the whites of his eyes andhis face grew purple. "Lemme tell you something, Tom. I've studiedyou, careful, as man and boy, for a matter of thirty years, but Inever seen you in all your hideousness till this trip. I got younow, though; I got you all added up and subtracted and I'll tellyou the answer. It's my opinion, backed by figgers, that you're adam'--" He hesitated, then with a herculean effort be managed togulp the remainder of his sentence. In a changed voice he said:"Oh, what's the use? I s'pose you've got feelin's. Come on, let'sget through. "

Linton peered down over the edge of the log. "It's your opinionI'm a what?" he inquired, with vicious calmness. 

"Nothing. It's no use to tell you. Now then, lift, bite, leg--Whydon't you lift?"

"I AM lifting. Leggo your end!" Mr. Linton tugged violently, butthe saw came up slowly. It rose and fell several times, but withthe same feeling of dead weight attached to it. Tom wiped thesweat out of his eyes and once again in a stormy voice headdressed his partner: "If you don't get off them handles I'lltake a stick and knock you off. What you grinnin' at?"

"Why, she's stuck, that's all. Drive your wedge--" Jerry's wordsended in an agonized yelp; he began to paw blindly. "You did thata-purpose. "

"Did what?"

"Kicked sawdust in my eyes. I saw you!"

Mr. Linton's voice when he spoke held that same sinister note ofrestrained ferocity which had characterized it heretofore. "When Istart kicking I won't kick sawdust into your eyes! I'll kick youreyes into that sawdust. That's what I'll do. I'll stomp 'em outlike a pair of grapes. "

"You try it! You try anything with me, " Jerry chattered, in asimian frenzy. "You've got a bad reputation at home; you're a malohombre--a side-winder, you are, and your bite is certain death. That's what they say. Well, ever see a Mexican hog eat a rattler?That's me--wild hog!"

"'Wild hog. ' What's wild about you?" sneered the other. "Youpicked the right animal but the wrong variety. Any kind of a hogmakes a bad partner. "

For a time the work proceeded in silence, then the latter speakerresumed: "You said I was a dam' something or other. What was it?"The object of this inquiry maintained an offensive, nay aninsulting, silence. "A what?" Linton persisted. 

Quirk looked up through his mask of sawdust. "If you're gettin'tired again why don't you say so? I'll wait while you rest. " Heopened his eyes in apparent astonishment, then he cried: "Hello!Why, it's rainin'. "

"It ain't raining, " Tom declared. 

"Must be--your face is wet. " Once more the speaker cackled shrillyin a manner intended to be mirthful, but which was in realityinsulting beyond human endurance. "I never saw moisture on yourbrow, Tom, except when it rained or when you set too close to afire. "

"What was it you wanted to call me and was scared to?" Mr. Lintonurged, venomously. "A dam' what?"

"Oh, I forget the precise epithet I had in mind. But a new onerises to my lips 'most every minute. I think I aimed to call you adam' old fool. Something like that. "

Slowly, carefully, Mr. Linton descended from the scaffold, leavingthe whip-saw in its place. He was shaking with rage, withweakness, and with fatigue. 

"'Old'? ME old? I'm a fool, I admit, or I wouldn't have luggedyour loads and done your work the way I have. But, you see, I'mstrong and vigorous and I felt sorry for a tottering wreck likeyou--"

"'Lugged MY loads'?" snorted the smaller man. "ME a wreck? MyGawd!"

"--I did your packing and your washing and your cooking, and mine, too, just because you was feeble and because I've gotconsideration for my seniors. I was raised that way. I honoredyour age, Jerry. I knew you was about all in, but I never CALLEDyou old. I wouldn't hurt your feelings. What did you do? You setaround on your bony hips and criticized and picked at me. Butyou've picked my last feather off and I'm plumb raw. Right here wesplit!"

Jerry Quirk staggered slightly and leaned against a post forsupport. His knees were wobbly; he, too, ached in every bone andmuscle; he, too, had been goaded into an insane temper, but thatwhich maddened him beyond expression was this unwarranted chargeof incompetency. 

"Split it is, " he agreed. "That'll take a load off my shoulders. "

"We'll cut our grub fifty-fifty, then I'll hit you a clout withthe traces and turn you a-loose. "

Jerry was still dazed, for his world had come to an end, but hepretended to an extravagant joy and managed to chirp: "Good news--the first I've had since we went pardners. I'll sure kick up myheels. What'll we do with the boat?"

"Cut her in two. "

"Right. We'll toss up for ends. We'll divide everything the sameway, down to the skillet. "

"Every blame' thing, " Linton agreed. 

Side by side they set off heavily through the woods. 

Quarrels similar to this were of daily occurrence on the trail, but especially common were they here at Linderman, for of all thedevices of the devil the one most trying to human patience is awhip-saw. It is a saying in the North that to know a man one musteat a sack of flour with him; it is also generally recognized thata partnership which survives the vexations of a saw-pit is timeand weather proof--a predestined union more sacred and moreperfect even than that of matrimony. Few indeed have stood thetest. 

It was in this loosening of sentimental ties, in the breach offriendships and the birth of bitter enmities, where lay thedeepest tragedy of the Chilkoot and the Chilkat trails. Underordinary, normal circumstances men of opposite temperaments maylive with each other in harmony and die in mutual accord, butcircumstances here were extraordinary, abnormal. Hardship, monotony, fatigue score the very soul; constant close associationrenders men absurdly petulant and childishly quarrelsome. Many arethe heartaches charged against those early days and those earlytrails. 

Of course there was much less internal friction in outfits likeKirby's or the Countess Courteau's, where the men worked underorders, but even there relations were often strained. Both DannyRoyal and Pierce Phillips had had their troubles, their problems--nobody could escape them--but I on the whole they had held theirmen together pretty well and had made fast progress, all thingsconsidered. Royal had experience to draw upon, while Phillips hadnone; nevertheless, the Countess was a good counselor and thisbrief training in authority was of extreme value to the youngerman, who developed some of the qualities of leadership. As aresult of their frequent conferences a frank, free intimacy hadsprung up between Pierce and his employer, an intimacy bothgratifying and disappointing to him. Just how it affected thewoman he could not tell. As a matter of fact he made little effortto learn, being for the moment too deeply concerned in the greatchange that had come over him. 

Pierce Phillips made no effort to deceive himself: he was in love, yes, desperately in love, and his infatuation grew with everyhour. It was his first serious affair and quite naturally itsnewness took his breath. He had heard of puppy love and he scornedit, but this was not that kind, he told himself; his was an epicadoration, a full-grown, deathless man's affection such as comesto none but the favored of the gods and then but once in alifetime. The reason was patent--it lay in the fact that theobject of his soul-consuming worship was not an ordinary woman. No, the Countess was cast in heroic mold and she inspired love ofa character to match her individuality; she was one of those rare, flaming creatures the like of whom illuminate the pages ofhistory. She was another Cleopatra, a regal, matchless creature. 

To be sure, she was not at all the sort of woman he had expectedto love, therefore he loved her the more; nor was she the sort hehad chosen as his ideal. But it is this abandonment of old idealsand acceptance of new ones which marks development, whichsignalizes youth's evolution into maturity. She was a never-endingsurprise to Pierce, and the fact that she remained a well ofmystery, an unsounded deep that defied his attempts atexploration, excited his imagination and led him to clothe herwith every admirable trait, in no few of which she was, of course, entirely lacking. 

He was very boyish about this love of his. Lacking confidence tomake known his feelings, he undertook to conceal them and believedhe had succeeded. No doubt he had, so far as the men in his partywere concerned--they were far too busy to give thought to affairsother than their own--but the woman had marked his very firstsurrender and now read him like an open page, from day to day. Hisblind, unreasoning loyalty, his complete acquiescence to herdesires, his extravagant joy in doing her will, would have toldher the truth even without the aid of those numerous little thingswhich every woman understands. Now, oddly enough, the effect uponher was only a little less disturbing than upon him, for thisfirst boy-love was a thing which no good woman could have treatedlightly: its simplicity, its purity, its unselfishness weredifferent to anything she had known--so different, for instance, to that affection which Count Courteau had bestowed upon her as toseem almost sacred--therefore she watched its growth withgratification not unmixed with apprehension. It was flattering andyet it gave her cause for some uneasiness. 

As a matter of fact, Phillips was boyish only in this one regard;in other things he was very much of a man--more of a man than anyone the Countess had met in a long time--and she derived unusualsatisfaction from the mere privilege of depending upon him. Thispleasure was so keen at times that she allowed her thoughts totake strange shape, and was stirred by yearnings, by impulses, byfoolish fancies that reminded her of her girlhood days. 

The boat-building had proceeded with such despatch thanks largelyto Phillips, that the time for departure was close at hand, andinasmuch as there still remained a reasonable margin of safety theCountess began to feel the first certainty of success. While shewas not disposed to quarrel with such a happy state of affairs, nevertheless one thing continued to bother her: she could notunderstand why interference had failed to come from the Kirbycrowd. She had expected it, for Sam Kirby had the name of being ahard, conscienceless man, and Danny Royal had given proof that hewas not above resorting to desperate means to gain time. Why, therefore, they had made no effort to hire her men away from her, especially as men were almost unobtainable here at Linderman, wassomething that baffled her. She had learned by bitter experienceto put trust in no man, and this, coupled perhaps with the naturalsuspicion of her sex, combined to excite her liveliest curiosityand her deepest concern; she could not overcome the fear that thisunspoken truce concealed some sinister design. 

Feeling, this afternoon, a strong desire to see with her own eyesjust what progress her rivals were making, she called Pierce awayfrom his work and took him with her around the shore of the lake. 

"Our last boat will be in the water to-morrow, " he told her. "Kirby can't hold us up now, if he tries. "

"I don't know, " she said, doubtfully. "He is as short-handed as weare. I can't understand why he has left us alone so long. "

Phillips laughed. "He probably knows it isn't safe to trifle withyou. "

The Countess shook her head. "I couldn't bluff him. He wouldn'tcare whether I'm a woman or not. "

"Were you bluffing when you held up Royal? I didn't think so. "

"I don't think so, either. There's no telling what I might havedone--I have a furious temper. "

"That's nothing to apologize for, " the young man declared, warmly. "It's a sign of character, force. I hope I never have reason tofeel it. "

"You? How absurd! You've been perfectly dear. You couldn't beotherwise. "

"Do you think so, really? I'm awfully glad. "

The Countess was impelled to answer this boy's eagerness bytelling him frankly just how well she thought of him, just howgrateful she was for all that he had done, but she restrainedherself. 

"All the fellows have been splendid, especially those twogamblers, " she said, coolly. After a moment she continued: "Don'tstop when we get to Kirby's camp. I don't want him to think we'recurious. "

Neither father nor daughter was in evidence when the visitorsarrived at their destination, but Danny Royal was superintendingthe final work upon a stout scow the seams of which were beingcalked and daubed with tar. Mast and sweeps were being rigged;Royal himself was painting a name on the stern. 

At sight of the Countess the ex-horseman dropped his brush andthrust his hands aloft, exclaiming, "Don't shoot, ma'am!" His grinwas friendly; there was no rancor in his voice. "How you gettin'along down at your house?" he inquired. 

"Very well, " the Countess told him. 

"We'll get loaded to-morrow, " said Pierce. 

"Same here, " Royal advised. "Better come to the launching. Ain'tshe a bear?" He gazed fondly at the bluff-bowed, ungainly barge. "I'm goin' to bust a bottle of wine on her nose when she wets herfeet. First rainy-weather hack we ever had in the family. Hername's Rouletta. "

"I hope she has a safe voyage. "

Royal eyed the speaker meditatively. "This trip has got my goat, "he acknowledged. "Water's all right when it's cracked up and putin a glass, but--it ain't meant to build roads with. I've heard alot about this canon and them White Horse Rapids. Are they bad?"When the Countess nodded, his weazened face darkened visibly. "Gimme a horse and I'm all right, but water scares me. Well, theRouletta's good and strong and I'm goin' to christen her with abottle of real champagne. If there's anything in good liquor and agood name she'll be a lucky ship. "

When they were out of hearing the Countess Courteau repeated: "Idon't understand it. They could have gained a week. "

"We could, too, if we'd built one scow instead of those smallboats, " Pierce declared. 

"Kirby is used to taking chances; he can risk all his eggs in onebasket if he wants to, but--not I. " A moment later the speakerpaused to stare at a curious sight. On the beach ahead of herstood a brand-new rowboat ready for launching. Near it wasassembled an outfit of gear and provisions, divided into two equalpiles. Two old men, armed each with a hand-saw, were silently atwork upon the skiff. They were sawing it in two, exactly in themiddle, and they did not look up until the Countess greeted them. 

"Hello! Changing the model of your boat?" she inquired. 

The partners straightened themselves stiffly and removed theircaps. 

"Yep!" said Quirk, avoiding his partner's eyes. 

"Changing her model, " Mr. Linton agreed, with a hangdogexpression. 

"But--why? What for?"

"We've split, " Mr. Quirk explained. Then he heaved a sigh. "It'smade a new man of me a'ready. "

"My end will look all right when I get her boarded up, " Lintonvouchsafed, "but Old Jerry drew the hind quarters. " His shouldersheaved in silent amusement. 

"'Old' Jerry!" snapped the smaller man. "Where'd you get the 'old'at? I've acted like a feeble-minded idiot, I'll admit--bein'imposed on so regular--but that's over and I'm breathin' free. Wait till you shove off in that front end; it 'ain't got the beamand you'll upset. Ha!" He uttered a malicious bark. "You'lldrownd!" Mr. Quirk turned indignant eyes upon the visitors. "Theidea of HIM callin' ME 'old. ' Can you beat that?"

"Maybe I will drown, " Linton agreed, "but drowning ain't so bad. It's better than being picked and pecked to death by a blunt-billed buzzard. I'd look on it as a kind of relief. Anyhow, youwon't be there to see it; you'll be dead of rheumatism. I've gotthe tent. "

"Huh! The stove's mine. I'll make out. "

"Have you men quarreled after all these years?" the Countess madebold to inquire. 

Jerry answered, and it was plain that all sentiment had beenconsumed in the fires of his present wrath. "I don't quarrel witha dam' old fool; I give him his way. "

Linton's smoky eyes were blazing when he cried, furiously: "Cutthat 'old' out, or I'll show you something. Your mind's gone--senile decay, they call it--but I'll--"

Quirk flung down his saw and advanced belligerently around thehull of the boat. He was bristling with the desire for combat. 

"What'll you show me?" he shrilly challenged. "You're bigger thanme, but I'll cut you down: I'll--"

The Countess stepped between the two men, crying, impatiently:

"Don't be silly. You're worn out and irritable, both of you, andyou're acting like perfect idiots. You'll have everybody laughingat you. "

Jerry diverted his fury to this intermediary. "Is that so?" hemocked. "Well, let 'em laugh; it'll do 'em good. You're a nicewoman, but this ain't ladies' day at our club and we don't need nooutside advice on how to run our party. "

"Oh, very well!" The Countess shrugged and turned away, motioningPierce to follow her. "Fight it out to suit yourselves. "

Quirk muttered something about the insolence of strangers; then hepicked up his saw. In silence the work was resumed, and later, when the boat had been divided, each man set about boarding up andcalking the open end of his respective half. Neither of them wasexpert in the use of carpenter's tools, therefore it was supper-time before they finished, and the result of their labor wasnothing to be proud of. Each now possessed a craft that wouldfloat, no doubt, but which in few other respects resembled a boat;Linton's was a slim, square-ended wedge, while Quirk's was a bluntbarge, fashioned on the lines of a watering-trough. They eyed thefreaks with some dismay, but neither voiced the slightest regretnor acknowledged anything but supreme satisfaction. 

Without a word they gathered up their tools and separated toprepare their evening meals. Linton entered his tent, now empty, cold, and cheerless; Quirk set up his stove in the open and riggeda clumsy shelter out of a small tarpaulin. Under this he spreadhis share of the bedding. Engaged in this, he realized that histwo blankets promised to be woefully inadequate to the weather andhe cocked an apprehensive eye heavenward. What he saw did notreassure him, for the evening sky was overcast and a cold, fitfulwind blew from off the lake. There was no doubt about it, itlooked like rain--or snow--perhaps a combination of both. Mr. Quirk felt a shiver of dread run through him, and his heart sankat the prospect of many nights like this to come. He derived somescanty comfort from the sight of old Tom puttering wearily arounda camp-fire, the smoke from which followed him persistently, bringing tears to his smarting eyes and strangling complaints fromhis lungs. 

"He's tryin' to burn green wood, " Jerry said, aloud, "the oldfool!"

A similar epithet was upon his former partner's tongue. Linton wassaying to himself, "Old Jerry's enjoying life now, but wait tillhis fire goes out and it starts to rain. "

He chuckled maliciously and then rehearsed a speech of curtrefusal for use when Quirk came to the tent and begged shelterfrom the weather. There would be nothing doing, Tom made up hismind to that; he tried several insults under his breath, then heoffered up a vindictive prayer for rain, hail, sleet, and snow. Ahowling Dakota blizzard, he decided, would exactly suit him. Hewas a bit rusty on prayers, but whatever his appeal may havelacked in polish it made up in earnestness, for never did petitioncarry aloft a greater weight of yearning than did his. 

Tom fried his bacon in a stewpan, for the skillet had been dividedwith a cold chisel and neither half was of the slightest use toanybody. After he had eaten his pilot-bread, after he had drunkhis cup of bitter tea and crept into bed, he was prompted to amendhis prayer, for he discovered that two blankers were not going tobe enough for him. Even the satisfaction of knowing that Jerrymust feel the want even more keenly than did he failed to warm himsufficiently for thorough comfort. Tom was tired enough to swoon, but he refused to close his eyes before the rain came--whatpurpose was served by retributive justice unless a fellow stayedon the job to enjoy it?

Truth to say, this self-denial cost him little, for the night hadbrought a chill with it and the tent was damp. Linton becameaware, ere long, that he couldn't go to sleep, no matter how hetried, so he rose and put on extra clothes. But even then heshivered, and thereafter, of course, his blankets served nopurpose whatever. He and Old Jerry were accustomed to sleepingspoon fashion, and not only did Tom miss those other blankets, butalso his ex-partner's bodily heat. He would have risen andrekindled his camp-fire had it not been for his reluctance toafford Quirk the gratification of knowing that he wasuncomfortable. Some people were just malicious enough to enjoy aman's sufferings. 

Well, if he were cold here in this snug shelter, Jerry must beabout frozen under his flapping fly. Probably the old fool was toostubborn to whimper; no doubt he'd pretend to be enjoying himself, and would die sooner than acknowledge himself in the wrong. Jerryhad courage, that way, but--this would serve him right, this wouldcure him. Linton was not a little disappointed when the raincontinued to hold off. 

CHAPTER IX

The change in the weather had not escaped Pierce Phillips' notice, and before going to bed he stepped out of his tent to study thesky. It was threatening. Recalling extravagant stories of theviolence attained by storms in this mountain-lake country, hedecided to make sure that his boats and cargo were out of reach ofany possible danger, and so walked down to the shore. 

A boisterous wind had roused Lake Linderman, and out of the inkyblackness came the sound of its anger. As Pierce groped his way upto the nearest skiff he was startled by receiving a sharpchallenge in the Countess Courteau's voice. 

"Who is that?" she cried. 

"It's I, Pierce, " he answered, quickly. He discovered the womanfinally, and, approaching closer, he saw that she was sitting on apile of freight, her heels drawn up beneath her and her armsclasped around her knees. "I came down to make sure everything wassnug. But what are you doing here?"

She looked down into his upturned face and her white teeth showedin a smile. "I came for the same purpose. Now I'm waiting for thestorm to break. You can make out the clouds when your eyes growaccustomed--"

"It's too windy. You'll catch cold, " he declared. 

"Oh, I'm warm, and I love storms!" She stared out into the night, then added, "I'm a stormy creature. "

Again he urged her to return to her tent, and in his voice wassuch genuine concern that she laid her hand upon his shoulder. Itwas a warm, impulsive gesture and it betrayed a gratefulappreciation of his solicitude; it was the first familiarity shehad ever permitted herself to indulge in, and when she spoke itwas in an unusually intimate tone:

"You're a good friend, Pierce. I don't know what I'd do withoutyou. "

Phillips' surprise robbed him momentarily of speech. This womanpossessed a hundred moods; a few hours before she had treated himwith a cool indifference that was almost studied; now, withoutapparent reason, she had turned almost affectionate. Perhaps itwas the night, or the solitude, that drew them together; whateverthe reason, those first few words, that one impulsive gesture, assured Pierce that they were very close to each other, for themoment at least. 

"I'm--glad, " he said, finally. "I wish I were more--I wish--"

"What?" she queried, when he hesitated. 

"I wish you COULDN'T do without me. " It was out; he realized in apanic that his whole secret was hers. With no faintest intentionof speaking, even of hinting at the truth, he had blurted forth afull confession. She had caught him off guard, and, like a perfectass, he had betrayed himself. What would she think? How would shetake his audacity, his presumption? He was surprised to feel herfingers tighten briefly before her hand was withdrawn. 

The Countess Courteau was not offended. Had it not been for thatpressure upon his shoulder Phillips would have believed that hiswords had gone unheard, for she entirely ignored them. 

"Night! Wind! Storm!" she said, in a queer, meditative tone. "Theystir the blood, don't they? Not yours, perhaps, but mine. I wasalways restless. You see, I was born on the ocean--on the way overhere. My father was a sailor; he was a stormy-weather man. At atime like this everything in me quickens, I'm aware of impulses Inever feel at other times--desires I daren't yield to. It was on astormy night that the Count proposed to me. " She laughed shortly, bitterly. "I believed him. I'd believe anything--I'd do, I'd dareanything--when the winds are reckless. " She turned abruptly to herlistener and it seemed to him that her eyes were strangelyluminous. "Have you ever felt that way?"

He shook his head. 

"Lucky for you; it would be a man's undoing. Tell me, what am I?What do you make of me?" While the young man felt for an answershe ran on: "I'd like to know. What sort of woman do you considerme? How have I impressed you? Speak plainly--no sentiment. You'rea clean-minded, unsophisticated boy. I'm curious to hear--"

"I can't speak like a boy, " he said, gravely, but with more than ahint of resentment in his tone, "for--I'm not a boy. Not anylonger. "

"Oh yes, you are! You're fresh and wholesome and honorable and--Well, only boys are that. What do I seem, to you?"

"You're a chameleon. There's nobody in the world quite like you. Why, at this minute you're different even to yourself. You--takemy breath--"

"Do you consider me harsh, masculine--?"

"Oh no!"

"I'm glad of that. I'm not, really. I've had a hard experience andmy eyes were opened early. I know poverty, disappointment, misery, everything unpleasant, but I'm smart and I know how to get ahead. I've never stood still. I've learned how to fight, too, for I'vehad to make my own way. Why, Pierce, you're the one man who everdid me an unselfish favor or a real, disinterested courtesy. Doyou wonder that I want to know what kind of a creature youconsider me?"

"Perhaps I'm not altogether unselfish, " he told her, sullenly. 

The Countess did not heed this remark; she did not seem to readthe least significance into it. Her chin was upon her knees, herface was turned again to the darkness whence came the rising voiceof stormy waters. The wind whipped a strand of her hair intoPhillips' face. 

"It is hard work fighting men--and women, too--and I'm awfullytired. Tired inside, you understand. One gets tired fightingalone--always alone. One has dreams of--well, dreams. It's a pitythey never come true. "

"What are some of them?" he inquired. 

The woman, still under the spell of her hour, made as if toanswer; then she stirred and raised her head. "This isn't a safenight to talk about them. I think I shall go to bed. " She extendedher hand to Phillips, but instead of taking it he reached forthand lifted her bodily down out of the wind. She gasped as she felthis strong hands under her arms; for a moment her face brushed hisand her fragrant breath was warm against his cheek. Philipslowered her gently, slowly, until her feet were on the ground, buteven then his grasp lingered and he held her close to him. 

They stood breast to breast for a moment and Pierce saw that inthis woman's expression was neither fear nor resentment, but somestrange emotion new-born of the night--an emotion which his acthad started into life and which as yet she did not fullyunderstand. Her eyes were wide and wondering; they remained fixedupon his, and that very fixity suggested a meaning so surprising, so significant, that he felt the world spin dizzily under him. Shewas astonished, yet expectant; she was stunned but ready. Heexperienced a fierce desire to hold her closer, closer, to crushher in his arms, and although she resisted faintly, unconsciouslyshe yielded; her inner being answered his without reserve. She didnot turn her face away when his came closer, even when his lipscovered hers. 

After a long moment she surrendered wholly, she snuggled closerand bowed her head upon his shoulder. Her cheek against his wasvery cold from the wind and Pierce discovered that it was wet withtears. 

"It has been a long fight, " she sighed, in a voice that he couldscarcely hear. "I didn't know how tired I was. "

Phillips groped for words, but he could find nothing to say, hisordered thoughts having fled before this sudden gust of ardor asleaves are whirled away before a tempest. All he knew was that inhis arms lay a woman he had knelt to, a worshipful goddess of snowand gold before whom he had abased himself, but who had turned toflesh at his first touch. 

He kissed her again and again, warmly, tenderly, and yet with aruthless fervor that grew after each caress, and she submittedpassively, the while those tears stole down her cheeks. In realityshe was neither passive nor passionless, for her body quivered andPhillips knew that his touch had set her afire; but rather sheseemed to be exhausted and at the same time enthralled as by somedream from which she was loath to rouse herself. 

After a while her hand rose to his face and stroked it softly, then she drew herself away from him and with a wan smile upon herlips said:

"The wind has made a fool of me. "

"No, no!" he cried, forcefully. "You asked me what I think of you--Well, now you know. "

Still smiling, she shook her head slowly, then she told him, "Come! I hear the rain. "

"But I want to talk to you. I have so much to say--"

"What is there to talk about to-night? Hark!" They could feel, rather than hear, the first warnings of the coming downpour, sohand in hand they walked up the gravelly beach and into the fringeof the forest where glowed the dull illumination from lamplitcanvas walls. When they paused before the Countess' tent Pierceonce more enfolded her in his arms and sheltered her from theboisterous breath of the night. His emotions were in a similartumult, but as yet he could not voice them, he could merelystammer:

"You have never told me your name. "

"Hilda. "

"May I--call you that?"

She nodded. "Yes--when we are alone. Hilda Halberg, that was myname. "

"Hilda! Hilda--Phillips. " Pierce tried the sound curiously. TheCountess drew back abruptly, with a shiver; then, in answer to hisquick concern, said:

"I--I think I'm cold. "

He undertook to clasp her closer, but she held him off, murmuring:

"Let it be Hilda Halberg for to-night. Let's not think of--Let'snot think at all. Hilda--bride of the storm. There's a tempest inmy blood, and who can think with a tempest raging?"

She raised her face and kissed him upon the lips, then, disengaging herself once more from his hungry arms, she steppedinside her shelter. The last he saw of her was her luminous smileframed against the black background; then she let the tent-flyfall. 

As Phillips turned away big raindrops began to drum upon the near-by tent roofs, the spruce-tops overhead bent low, limbs threshedas the gusty night wind beat upon them. But he heard none of it, felt none of it, for in his ears rang the music of the spheres andon his face lingered the warmth of a woman's lips, the first lovekiss that he had ever known. 

Tom Linton roused himself from a chilly doze to find that the rainhad come at last. It was a roaring night; his tent was bellied inby the force of the wind, and the raindrops beat upon it with theforce of buckshot. Through the entrance slit, through the openstovepipe hole, the gale poured, bringing dampness with it andrendering the interior as draughty as a corn-crib. Rolling himselfmore tightly in his blankets, Linton addressed the darknessthrough chattering teeth. 

"Darned old fool! This'll teach him!" He strained his ears forsounds of Jerry, but could hear nothing above the slatting of wetcanvas, the tattoo of drops, and the roar of wind in the tree-tops. After the first violence of the squall had passed he fanciedhe could hear his former partner stirring, so he arose and peeredout into the night. At first he could see nothing, but in time hedimly made out Jerry struggling with his tarpaulin. Evidently thefly had blown down, or up, and its owner was restretching it. Linton grinned. That would drench the old dodo to the skin andhe'd soon be around, begging shelter. 

"But I won't let him in, not if he drowns, " Tom muttered, harshly. He recalled one of Jerry's gibes at the saw-pit, a particularlyunfeeling, nay, a downright venomous insult which had rankledsteadily ever since. His former friend had seen fit to ridiculehonest perspiration and to pretend to mistake it for raindrops. That remark had been utterly uncalled for and it had betrayed awanton malice, a malevolent desire to wound; well, here was achance to even the score. When Jerry came dripping to the tentdoor, Tom decided he would poke his head out into the deluge andthen cry in evident astonishment: "Why, Jerry, you've beenworking, haven't you? You're all sweaty!" Mr. Linton giggled outloud. That would be a refinement of sarcasm; that would be a get-back of the finest. If Jerry insisted upon coming in out of thewet he'd tell him gruffly to get out of there and try the lake fora change. 

But Mr. Quirk made no move in the direction of the tent; insteadhe built a fire in his stove and crouched over it, endeavoringvainly to shelter himself from the driving rain. Linton watchedhim with mingled impatience and resentment. Would the old foolnever get enough? Jerry was the most unreasonable, the mosttantalizing person in the world. 

After a time Mr. Linton found that his teeth were chattering andthat his frame had been smitten as by an ague; reluctantly hecrept back into bed. He determined to buy, beg, borrow, or stealsome more bedding on the morrow--early on the morrow in order toforestall Jerry. Jerry would have to find a tent somewhere, andinasmuch as there were none to be had here at Linderman, he wouldprobably have to return to Dyea. That would delay him seriously--enough, perhaps, so that the jaws of winter would close down uponhim. Through the drone of pattering drops there came the faintsound of a cough. Mr. Linton sat up in bed. "Pneumonia!" heexclaimed. Well, Jerry was getting exactly what he deserved. Hehad called him, Tom, an "old fool, " a "dam' old fool, " to beprecise. The epithet in itself meant nothing--it was in fact afatuous and feeble term of abuse as compared to the opprobrioustitles which he and Jerry were in the habit of exchanging--it wasthat abominable adjective which hurt. Jerry and he had called eachother many names at times, they had exchanged numerous gibes andinsults, but nothing like that hateful word "old" had ever passedbetween them until this fatal morning. Jerry Quirk himself wasold, the oldest man in the world, perhaps, but Tom had exercisedan admirable regard for his partner's feelings and had never castit up to him. Thus had his consideration been repaid. However, thepoor fellow's race was about run, for he couldn't stand cold orexposure. Why, a wet foot sent him to bed. How, then, could arickety ruin of his antiquity withstand the ravages of pneumonia--galloping pneumonia, at that?

Linton reflected that common decency would demand that he waitover a day or two and help bury the old man--people would expectthat much of him. He'd do it. He'd speak kindly of the departed;he'd even erect a cross and write an epitaph upon it--a kindly, lying epitaph extolling the dead man's virtues, and omitting allmention of his faults. 

Once more that hacking cough sounded, and the listener stirreduneasily. Jerry had some virtues--a few of the common, elementalsort--he was honest and he was brave, but, for that matter, sowere most people. Yes, the old scoundrel had nerve enough. Lintonrecalled a certain day, long past, when he and Quirk had been sentout to round up some cattle-rustlers. Being the youngest deputiesin the sheriff's office, the toughest jobs invariably fell tothem. Those were the good, glad days, Tom reflected. Jerry hadmade a reputation on that trip and he had saved his companion'slife--Linton flopped nervously in his bed at the memory. Why thinkof days dead and gone? Jerry was an altogether different man inthose times. He neither criticized nor permitted others tocriticize his team-mate, and, so far as that particular obligationwent, Linton had repaid it with compound interest. If anything, the debt now lay on Jerry's side. 

Tom tried to close the book of memory and to consider nothingwhatever except the rankling present, but, now that his thoughtshad begun to run backward, he could not head them off. He wishedJerry wouldn't cough; it was a distressing sound, and it disturbedhis rest. Nevertheless, that hollow, hacking complaint continuedand finally the listener arose, lit a lantern, put on a slickerand untied his tent flaps. 

Jerry's stove was sizzling in the partial shelter of the canvassheet; over it the owner crouched in an attitude of cheerlessdejection. 

"How you making out?" Tom inquired, gruffly. His voice was cold, his manner was both repellent and hostile. 

"Who, me?" Jerry peered up from under his glistening sou'wester. "Oh, I'm doin' fine!"

Linton remained silent, ill at ease; water drained off his coat;his lantern flared smokily in the wind. After a time he clearedhis throat and inquired:

"Wet?"

"Naw!"

There was a long pause, then the visitor inquired: "Are youlying?"

"Unh-hunh!"

Again silence claimed both men until Tom broke out, irritably:"Well, you aim to set here all night?"

"Sure! I ain't sleepy. I don't mind a little mist and I'm plentywarm. " This cheerful assertion was belied by the miserable quaverin which it was voiced. 

"Why don't you-er-run over to my tent?" Linton gasped andswallowed hard. The invitation was out, the damage was done. "There's lots of room. "

Mr. Quirk spared his caller's further feelings by betraying notriumph whatever. Rather plaintively he declared: "I got ROOMenough here. It ain't exactly room I need. " Again he coughed. 

"Here! Get a move on you, quick, " Linton ordered, forcefully. "Theidea of you setting around hatching out a lungful of pneumoniabugs! Git! I'll bring your bedding. "

Mr. Quirk rose with alacrity. "Say! Let's take my stove over toyour tent and warm her up. I bet you're cold?"

"N-no! I'm comfortable enough. " The speaker's teeth played anaccompaniment to this mendacious denial. "Of course I'm notsweating any, but--I s'pose the stove would cheer things up, eh?Rotten night, ain't it?"

"Worst I ever saw. Rotten country, for that matter. "

"You said something, " Mr. Linton chattered. He nodded his headwith vigor. 

It was wet work moving Jerry's belongings, but the transfer wasfinally effected, the stove was set up and a new fire started. This done, Tom brought forth a bottle of whisky. 

"Here, " said he, "take a snifter. It'll do you good. "

Jerry eyed the bottle with frank astonishment before he exclaimed:"Why, I didn't know you was a drinkin' man. You been hidin' asecret vice from me?"

"No. And I'm not a drinking man. I brought it along for--you. I--er--that cough of yours used to worry me, so--"

"Pshaw! I cough easy. You know that. "

"You take a jolt and"--Linton flushed with embarrassment--"andI'll have one with you. I was lying just now; I'm colder 'n afrog's belly. "

"Happy days, " said Quirk, as he tipped the bottle. 

"A long life and a wicked one!" Linton drank in his turn. "Nowthen, get out of those cold compresses. Here's some dryunderclothes--thick, too. We'll double up those henskin blankets--for to-night--and I'll keep the fire a-going. I'll cure that coughif I sweat you as white as a washwoman's thumb. "

"You'll do nothing of the sort, " Jerry declared, as he removed hissodden garments and hung them up. "You'll crawl right into bedwith me and we'll have a good sleep. You're near dead. "

But Linton was by no means reassured; his tone was querulous whenhe cried: "Why didn't you come in before you caught cold? S'poseyou get sick on me now? But you won't. I won't let you. " In apanic of apprehension he dug out his half of the contents of themedicine-kit and began to paw through them. "Who got the coughsyrup, Jerry; you or me?" The speaker's voice broke miserably. 

Mr. Quirk laid a trembling hand upon his ex-partner's shoulder;his voice, too, was shaky when he said, "You're awful good to me, Tom. "

The other shook off the grasp and undertook to read the labels onthe bottles, but they had become unaccountably blurred and therewas a painful lump in his throat. It seemed to him that OldJerry's bare legs looked pitifully thin and spidery and that hisbony knees had a rheumatic appearance. 

"Hell! I treated you mighty mean, " said he. "But I'most died whenyou--began to cough. I thought sure--"Tom choked and shook hisgray head, then with the heel of his harsh palm he wiped a drop ofmoisture from his cheek. "Look at me--cryin'!" He tried to laughand failed. 

Jerry, likewise, struggled with his tears. 

"You--you dam' old fool!" he cried, affectionately. 

Linton smiled with delight. "Give it to me, " he urged. "Lam intome, Jerry. I deserve it. Gosh! I was lonesome!"

A half-hour later the two friends were lying side by side in theirbed and the stove was glowing comfortably. They had ceasedshivering. Old Jerry had "spooned" up close to old Tom and hisbodily heat was grateful. 

Linton eyed the fire with tender yearning. "That's a good stoveyou got. "

"She's a corker, ain't she?"

"I been thinking about trading you a half interest in my tent fora half interest in her. "

"The trade's made. " There was a moment of silence. "What d'you saywe hook up together--sort of go pardners for a while? I got a longoutfit and a short boat. I'll put 'em in against yours. I bet we'dget along all right. I'm onnery, but I got good points. "

Mr. Linton smiled dreamily. "It's a go. I need a good partner. "

"I'll buy a new fryin'-pan out of my money. Mine got split, somehow. "

Tom chuckled. "You darned old fool!" said he. 

Jerry heaved a long sigh and snuggled closer; soon he began tosnore. He snored in a low and confidential tone at first, butgradually the sound increased in volume and rose in pitch. 

Linton listened to it with a thrill, and he assured himself thathe had never heard music of such soul-satisfying sweetness asissued from the nostrils of his new partner. 

CHAPTER X

To the early Klondikers, Chilkoot Pass was a personality, aPresence at once sinister, cruel, and forbidding. So, too, only ingreater measure, was Miles Canon. The Chilkoot toyed with men, itwore them out, it stripped them of their strength and theirmanhood, it wrecked their courage and it broke their hearts. Thecanon sucked them in and swallowed them. This canon is nothingmore nor less than a rift in a great basaltic barrier which liesathwart the river's course, the entrance to it being much like thedoor in a wall. Above it the waters are dammed and into it theypour as into a flume; down it they rage in swiftly increasingfury, for it is steeply pitched, and, although the gorge itself isnot long, immediately below it are other turbulent stretchesequally treacherous. It seems as if here, within the space of somefour miles, Nature had exhausted her ingenuity in inventingterrors to frighten invaders, as if here she had combined everypossible peril of river travel. The result of her labors is aseries of cataclysms. 

Immediately below Miles Canon itself are the Squaw Rapids, wherethe torrent spills itself over a confusion of boulders, burstinginto foam and gyrating in dizzy whirlpools, its surface broken byexplosions of spray or pitted by devouring vortices resembling theoily mouths of marine monsters. Below this, in turn, is the WhiteHorse, worst of all. Here the flood somersaults over a tremendousreef, flinging on high a gleaming curtain of spray. These rapidsare well named, for the tossing waves resemble nothing more thanrunaway white horses with streaming manes and tails. 

These are by no means all the dangers that confronted the firstYukon stampeders--there are other troublesome waters below--forinstance, Rink Rapids, where the river boils and bubbles like akettle over an open fire, and Five Fingers, so-called by reason ofa row of knobby, knuckled pinnacles that reach up like the stiffdigits of a drowning hand and split the stream into divergentchannels--but those three, Miles Canon, the Squaw, and WhiteHorse, were the worst and together they constituted a menace thattried the courage of the bravest men. 

In the canon, where the waters are most narrowly constricted, theyheap themselves up into a longitudinal ridge or bore, a combperhaps four feet higher than the general level. To ride thiscrest and to avoid the destroying fangs that lie in wait on eitherside is a feat that calls for nerve and skill and endurance on thepart of boatmen. The whole four miles is a place of many voices, athundering place that numbs the senses and destroys all hearing. Its tumult is heard afar and it covers the entire region like ablanket. The weight of that sound is oppressive. 

Winter was at the heels of the Courteau party when it arrived atthis point in its journey; it brought up the very tail of theautumn rush and the ice was close behind. The Countess and hercompanions had the uncomfortable feeling that they were inside thejaws of a trap which might be sprung at any moment, for alreadythe hills were dusted with gray and white, creeks and rivuletswere steadily dwindling and shelf ice was forming on the largerstreams, the skies were low and overcast and there was a vicioustingle to the air. Delays had slowed them up, as, for instance, atWindy Arm, where a gale had held them in camp for several days;then, too, their boats were built of poorly seasoned lumber and inconsequence were in need of frequent attention. Eventually, however, they came within hearing of a faint whisper, as of windamong pine branches, then of a muffled murmur that grew to asullen diapason. The current quickened beneath them, the river-banks closed in, and finally beetling cliffs arose, between whichwas a cleft that swallowed the stream. 

Just above the opening was a landing-place where boats lay gunwaleto gunwale, and here the Courteau skiffs were grounded. A numberof weather-beaten tents were stretched among the trees. Most ofthem were the homes of pilots, but others were occupied byvoyagers who preferred to chance a winter's delay as the price ofportaging their goods around rather than risk their all upon onethrow of fortune. The great majority of the arrivals, however, were restowing their outfits, lashing them down and covering thempreparatory to a dash through the shouting chasm. There was anatmosphere of excitement and apprehension about the place; everyface was strained and expectant; fear lurked in many an eye. 

On a tree near the landing were two placards. One bore a fingerpointing up the steep trail to the top of the ridge, and it wasmarked:

"This way--two weeks. "

The other pointed down directly into the throat of the roaringgorge. It read:

"This way--two minutes. "

Pierce Phillips smiled as he perused these signs; then he turnedup the trail, for in his soul was a consuming curiosity to see theplace of which he had heard so much. 

Near the top of the slope he met a familiar figure coming down--atall, upstanding French-Canadian who gazed out at the worldthrough friendly eyes. 

'Poleon Doret recognized the new-comer and burst into a boisterousgreeting. 

"Wal, wal!" he cried. "You 'ain't live' to be hung yet, eh? Nowyou come lookin' for me, I bet. "

"Yes. You're the very man I want to see. "

"Good! I tak' you t'rough. "

Phillips smiled frankly. "I'm not sure I want to go through. I'min charge of a big outfit and I'm looking for a pilot and aprofessional crew. I'm a perfect dub at this sort of thing. "

'Poleon nodded. "Dere's no use risk it if you 'ain't got to, dat'sfac'. I don' lost no boats yet, but--sometam's I bus' 'em uppretty bad. " He grinned cheerily. "Dese new-comer get scare' easyan' forget to row, den dey say 'Poleon she's bum pilot. You seende canon yet?" When Pierce shook his head the speaker turned backand led the way out to the rim. 

It was an impressive spectacle that Phillips beheld. Perhaps ahundred feet directly beneath him the river whirled and leaped;cross-currents boiled out from projecting irregularities in thewalls; here and there the waters tumbled madly and flung wet armsaloft, while up out of the gorge came a mighty murmur, redoubledby the echoing cliffs. A log came plunging through and it movedwith the speed of a torpedo. Phillips watched it, fascinated. 

"Look! Dere's a boat!" 'Poleon cried. In between the basalt jawsappeared a skiff with two rowers, and a man in the stern. Thelatter was braced on wide-spread legs and he held his weight upona steering-sweep. Down the boat came at a galloping gait, threshing over waves and flinging spray head-high; it bucked andit dove, it buried its nose and then lifted it, but the oarsmancontinued to maintain it on a steady course. 

"Bravo!" Doret shouted, waving his cap. To Pierce he said: "Dat'sgood pilot an' he knows swif' water. But dere's lot of feller herewho ain't so good. Dey tak' chance for beeg money. Wal, w'at yout'ink of her? She's dandy, eh?"

"It's an--inferno, " Phillips acknowledged. "You earn all the moneyyou get for running it. "

"You don' care for 'im, w'at?"

"I do not. I don't mind taking a chance, but--what chance would afellow have in there? Why, he'd never come up. "

"Dat's right. "

Phillips stared at his companion curiously. "You must need moneypretty badly. "

The giant shook his head in vigorous denial. "No! Money? Pouf! Shecome, she go. But, you see--plenty people drowned if somebody don'tak' dem t'rough, so--I stay. Dis winter I build myse'f nice cabinan' do li'l trappin'. Nex' summer I pilot again. "

"Aren't you going to Dawson?" Pierce was incredulous; he could notunderstand this fellow. 

Doret's expression changed; a fleeting sadness settled in hiseyes. "I been dere, " said he. "I ain't care much for seein' beegcity. I'm lonesome feller. " After a moment he exclaimed, morebrightly: "Now we go, I see if I can hire crew to row your boats. "

"How does she look to you?" Lucky Broad inquired, when Pierce andhis companion appeared. He and Bridges had not taken the troubleto acquaint themselves with the canon, but immediately uponlanding had begun to stow away their freight and to lash atarpaulin over it. 

"Better go up and see for yourself, " the young man suggested. 

Lucky shook his head. "Not me, " he declared. "I can hear all Iwant to. Listen to it! I got a long life ahead of me and I'm goingto nurse it. "

Kid Bridges was of like mind, for he said: "Sure! We was a couplabrave guys in Dyea, but what's the good of runnin' up to anundertaker and giving him your measurements? He'll get a tape-lineon you soon enough. "

"Then you don't intend to chance it?" Pierce inquired. 

Broad scowled at the questioner. "Say! I wouldn't walk down thatplace if it was froze. "

"Nor me, " the other gambler seconded. "Not for a million dollarswould I tease the embalmer that way. Not for a million. Would you, Lucky?"

Broad appeared to weigh the figures carefully; then he said, doubtfully: "I'm a cheap guy. I might risk it once--for fivehundred thousand, cash. But that's rock bottom; I wouldn't take anickel less. "

Doret had been listening with some amusement; now he said, "Youboys got wide pay-streak, eh?"

Bridges nodded without shame. "Wider'n, a swamp, and yeller'nbutter. "

"Wal, I see w'at I can do. " The pilot walked up the bank in searchof a crew. 

In the course of a half-hour he was back again and with him camethe Countess Courteau. Calling Pierce aside, the woman said, swiftly: "We can't get a soul to help us; everybody's in a rush. We'll have to use our own men. "

"Broad and Bridges are the best we have, " he told her, "but theyrefuse. "

"You're not afraid, are you?"

Now Pierce was afraid and he longed mightily to admit that he was, but he lacked the courage to do so. He smiled feebly and shrugged, whereupon the former speaker misread his apparent indifference andflashed him a smile. 

"Forgive me, " she said, in a low voice. "I know you're not. " Shehurried down to the water's edge and addressed the two gamblers ina business-like tone: "We've no time to lose. Which one of youwants to lead off with Doret and Pierce?"

The men exchanged glances. It was Broad who finally spoke. "Webeen figuring it would please us better to walk, " he said, mildly. 

"Suit yourselves, " the Countess told them, coolly. "But it's along walk from here to Dawson. " She turned back to Pierce andsaid: "You've seen the canon. There's nothing so terrible aboutit, is there?"

Phillips was conscious that 'Poleon Doret's eyes were dancing withlaughter, and anger at his own weakness flared up in him. "Why, no!" he lied, bravely. "It will be a lot of fun. "

Kid Bridges leveled a sour look at the speaker. "Some folks havegot low ideas of entertainment, " said he. "Some folks isabsolutely depraved that way. You'd probably enjoy a broken arm--it would feel so good when it got well. "

The Countess Courteau's lip was curled contemptuously when shesaid: "Listen! I'm not going to be held up. There's a chance, ofcourse, but hundreds have gone through. I can pull an oar. Pierceand I will row the first boat. "

Doret opened his lips to protest, but Broad obviated the necessityof speech by rising from his seat and announcing: "Deal the cards!I came in on no pair; I don't aim to be raised out ahead of thedraw-not by a woman. "

Mr. Bridges was both shocked and aggrieved by his companion'swords. "You going to tackle it?" he asked, incredulously. 

Lucky made a grimace of intense abhorrence in Pierce's direction. "Sure! I don't want to miss all this fun I hear about. "

"When you get through, if you do, which you probably won't, "Bridges told him, with a bleak and cheerless expression, "set agill-net to catch me. I'll be down on the next trip. "

"Good for you!" cried the Countess. 

"It ain't good for me, " the man exclaimed, angrily. "It's theworst thing in the world for me. I'm grand-standing and you knowit. So's Lucky, but there wouldn't be any living with him if hepulled it off and I didn't. "

Doret chuckled. To Pierce he said, in a low voice: "Plenty fellermak' fool of demse'f on dat woman. I know all 'bout it. But she'ain't mak' fool of herse'f, you bet. "

"How do you mean?" Pierce inquired, quickly. 

'Poleon eyed him shrewdly. "Wal, tak' you. You're scare', ain'tyou? But you sooner die so long she don't know it. Plenty oderfeller jus' lak' dat. " He walked to the nearest skiff, removed hiscoat, and began to untie his boots. 

Lucky Broad joined the pilot, then looked on uneasily at thesepreparations. "What's the idea?" he inquired. "Are you too hot?"

'Poleon grinned at him and nodded. Very reluctantly Broad strippedoff his mackinaw, then seated himself and tugged at his footgear. He paused, after a moment, and addressed himself to Bridges. 

"It's no use, Kid. I squawk!" he said. 

"Beginning to weaken, eh?"

"Sure! I got a hole in my sock-look! Somebody 'll find me afterI've been drowned a week or two, and what'll they say?"

"Pshaw! You won't come up till you get to St. Michael's, andyou'll be spoiled by that time. " Kid Bridges tried to smile, butthe result was a failure. "You'll be swelled up like a dead horse, and so'll I. They won't know us apart. "

When Pierce had likewise stripped down and taken his place at theoars, Broad grumbled: "The idea of calling me 'Lucky'! It ain't inthe cards. " He spat on his hands and settled himself in his seat, then cried, "Well, lead your ace!"

As the little craft moved out into the stream, Pierce Phillipsnoticed that the Kirby scow, which had run the Courteau boats aclose race all the way from Linderman, was just pulling into thebank. Lines had been passed ashore and, standing on the top of thecargo, he could make out the figure of Rouletta Kirby. 

In spite of a strong steady stroke the rowboat seemed to movesluggishly; foam and debris bobbed alongside and progress appearedto be slow, but when the oarsmen lifted their eyes they discoveredthat the shores were running past with amazing swiftness. Even asthey looked, those shores rose abruptly and closed in, there camea mounting roar, then the skiff was sucked in between high, ruggedwalls. Unseen hands reached forth and seized it, unseen forceslaid hold of it and impelled it forward; it began to plunge and towallow; spray flew and wave-crests climbed over the gunwales. 

Above the tumult 'Poleon was urging his crew to greater efforts. "Pull hard!" he shouted. "Hi! Hi! Hi!" He swayed in unison totheir straining bodies. "Mak' dose oar crack, " he yelled. "By Gar, dat's goin' some!"

The fellow's teeth were gleaming, his face was alight with anexultant recklessness, he cast defiance at the approachingterrors. He was alert, watchful; under his hands the stout ashsteering-oar bent like a bow; he flung his whole strength into thebattle with the waters. Soon the roar increased until it drownedhis shouts and forced him to pantomime his orders. The boat wasgalloping through a wild smother of ice-cold spray and thereverberating cliffs were streaming past like the unrollingscenery on a painted canvas panorama. 

It was a hellish place; it echoed to a demoniac din and it was atremendous sensation to brave it, for the boat did not glide norslip down the descent; it went in a succession of jarring leaps;it lurched and twisted; it rolled and plunged as if in a dementedeffort to unseat its passengers and scatter its cargo. To theoccupants it seemed as if its joints were opening, as if theboards themselves were being wrenched loose from the ribs to whichthey were nailed. The men were drenched, of course, for theytraveled in a cloud of spume; their feet were ankle-deep in coldwater, and every new deluge caused them to gasp. 

How long it lasted Pierce Phillips never knew; the experience wastoo terrific to be long lived. It was a nightmare, a hideousphantasmagoria of frightful sensations, a dissolving stereopticonof bleak, scudding walls, of hydrophobic boulders frothing madlyas the flood crashed over them, of treacherous whirlpools, and ofpursuing breakers that reached forth licking tongues ofdestruction. Then the river opened, the cliffs fell away, and thetorrent spewed itself out into an expanse of whirlpools--a lake ofgyrating funnels that warred with one another and threatened totwist the keel from under the boat. 

'Poleon swung close in to the right bank, where an eddy raced upagainst the flood; some one flung a rope from the shore and drewthe boat in. 

"Wal! I never had no better crew, " cried the pilot. "Wat you t'inkof 'im, eh?" He smiled down at the white-lipped oarsmen, wholeaned forward, panting and dripping. 

"Is--that all of it?" Lucky Broad inquired, weakly. 

"Mais non! Look! Dere's Wite 'Orse. "

Doret indicated a wall of foam and spray farther down the river. Directly across the expanse of whirlpools stood a village namedafter the rapids. "You get plenty more bimeby. "

"You're wrong. I got plenty right now, " Broad declared. 

"I'm glad the Countess didn't come, " said Phillips. 

When the men had wrung out their clothes and put on their bootsthey set out along the back trail over the bluffs. 

Danny Royal was not an imaginative person. He possessed, to besure, the superstitions of the average horseman and gambler, andhe believed strongly in hunches, but he was not fanciful and heput no faith in dreams and portents. It bothered him exceedingly, therefore, to discover that he was weighed down by anunaccountable but extremely oppressive sense of apprehension. Howor why it had come to obsess him he could not imagine, but forsome reason Miles Canon and the stormy waters below it had assumedterrible potentialities and he could not shake off the convictionthat they were destined to prove his undoing. This feeling he hadallowed to grow until now a fatalistic apathy had settled upon himand his usual cheerfulness was replaced by a senselessirritability. He suffered explosions of temper quite as surprisingto the Kirbys, father and daughter, as to himself. On the day ofhis arrival he was particularly ugly, wherefore Rouletta wasimpelled to remonstrate with him. 

"What ails you, Danny?" she inquired. "You'll have our menquitting. "

"I wish they would, " he cried. "Boatmen! They don't know as muchabout boats as me and Sam. "

"They do whatever they're told. "

Royal acknowledged this fact ungraciously. "Trouble is we don'tknow what to tell 'em to do. All Sam knows is 'gee' and 'haw, ' andI can't steer anything that don't wear a bridle. Why, if thisriver wasn't fenced in with trees we'd have taken the wrong roadand been lost, long ago. "

Rouletta nodded thoughtfully. "Father is just as afraid of wateras you are. He won't admit it, but I can tell. It has gotten onhis nerves and--I've had hard work to keep him from drinking. "

"Say! Don't let him get started on THAT!" Danny exclaimed, earnestly. "That WOULD be the last touch. "

"Trust me. I--"

But Kirby himself appeared at that moment, having returned from avoyage of exploration. Said he: "There's a good town below. I hada chance to sell the outfit. "

"Going to do it?" Danny could not conceal his eagerness. 

The elder man shook his gray head. "Hardly. I'm no piker. "

"I wish you and Danny would take the portage and trust the pilotto run the rapids, " Rouletta said. 

Kirby turned his expressionless face upon first one then the otherof his companions. "Nervous?" he inquired of Royal. 

The latter silently admitted that he was. 

"Go ahead. You and Letty cross afoot--"

"And you?"

"Oh, I'm going to stick!" "Father--" the girl began, but old Samshook his head. 

"No. This is my case bet, and I'm going to watch it. "

Royal's weazened face puckered until it resembled more than ever awithered apple. "Then I'll stick, too, " he declared. "I never laiddown on you yet, Sam. "

"How about you, Letty?"

The girl smiled. "Why, I wouldn't trust you boys out of my sightfor a minute. Something would surely happen. "

Kirby stooped and kissed his daughter's cheek. "You've always beenour mascot, and you've always brought us luck. I'd go to hell in apaper suit if you were along. You're a game kid, too, and I wantyou to be like that, always. Be a thoroughbred. Don't weaken, nomatter how bad things break for you. This cargo of rum is worththe best claim in Dawson, and it'll put us on our feet again. AllI want is one more chance. Double and quit--that's us. "

This was an extraordinarily long speech for "One-armed" Kirby; itshowed that he was deeply in earnest. 

"Double and quit?" breathed the girl. "Do you mean it, dad?"

He nodded: "I'm going to leave you heeled. I don't aim to take myeyes off this barge again till she's in Dawson. "

Rouletta's face was transformed; there was a great gladness in hereyes--a gladness half obscured by tears. "Double and quit. Oh--I've dreamed of--quitting--so often! You've made me very happy, dad. "

Royal, who knew this girl's dreams as well as he knew his own, felt a lump in his throat. He was a godless little man, butRouletta Kirby's joys were holy things to him, her tearsdistressed him deeply, therefore he walked away to avoid the sightof them. Her slightest wish had been his law ever since she hadmastered words enough to voice a request, and now he, too, washappy to learn that Sam Kirby was at last ready to mold his futurein accordance with her desires. Letty had never liked their modeof life; she had accepted it under protest, and with the passingyears her unspoken disapproval had assumed the proportions of agreat reproach. She had never put that disapproval into words--shewas far too loyal for that--but Danny had known. He knew herambitions and her possibilities, and he had sufficient vision torealize something of the injustice she suffered at her father'shands. Sam loved his daughter as few parents love a child, but hewas a strange man and he showed his affection in characteristicways. It pleased Royal greatly to learn that the old man hadawakened to the wrong he did, and that this adventure would serveto close the story, as all good stories close, with a happyending. 

In spite of these cheering thoughts, Danny was unable wholly toshake off his oppressive forebodings, and as he paused on theriver-bank to stare with gloomy fascination at the jaws of thegorge they returned to plague him. The sound that issued out ofthat place was terrifying, the knowledge that it frightened himenraged the little man. 

It was an unpropitious moment for any one to address Royal;therefore, when he heard himself spoken to, he whirled with ascowl upon his face. A tall French-Canadian, just back from theportage, was saying:

"M'sieu', I ain't good hand at mix in 'noder feller's bizneses, but--dat pilot you got she's no good. "

Royal looked the stranger over from head to foot. "How d'youknow?" he inquired, sharply. 

"Biccause--I'm pilot myse'f. "

"Oh, I see! You're one of the GOOD ones. " Danny's air was surly, his tone forbidding. 

"Yes. "

"Hate yourself, don't you? I s'pose you want his job. Is that it?No wonder--five hundred seeds for fifteen minutes' work. Softgraft, I call it. " The speaker laughed unpleasantly. "Well, whatdoes a GOOD pilot charge?"

"Me?" The Canadian shrugged indifferently. "I charge you onet'ousan' dollar. "

Royal's jaw dropped. "The devil you say!" he exclaimed. 

"I don't want de job--your scow's no good--but I toss a coin wit'you. One t'ousan' dollar or--free trip. "

"Nothing doing, " snapped the ex-horseman. 

"Bien! Now I give you li'l AD-vice. Hol' hard to de right in lowerend dis canon. Dere's beeg rock dere. Don't touch 'im or you goin'spin lak' top an' mebbe you go over W'ite 'Orse sideways. Dat'sgoin' smash you, sure. "

Royal broke out, peevishly: "Another hot tip, eh? Everybody's gotsome feed-box information--especially the ones you don't hire. Well, I ain't scared--"

"Oh yes, you are!" said the other man. "Everybody is scare' of displace. "

"Anyhow, I ain't scared a thousand dollars' worth. Takes a lot toscare me that much. I bet this place is as safe as a chapel and Ibet our scow goes through with her tail up. Let her bump; she'llfinish with me on her back and all her weights. I built her and Inamed her. "

Danny watched the pilot as he swung down to the stony shore andrejoined Pierce Phillips; then he looked on in fascination whilethey removed their outer garments, stepped into a boat with KidBridges, and rowed away into the gorge. 

"It's--got my goat!" muttered the little jockey. 

CHAPTER XI

Although scows larger than the Rouletta had run Miles Canon andthe rapids below in safety, perhaps none more unwieldy had everdone so. Royal had built his barge stoutly, to be sure, but ofother virtues the craft had none. When loaded she was so clumsy, so obstinate, so headstrong that it required unceasing effort tohold her on a course; as for rowing her, it was almost impossible. She took the first swooping rush into the canon, strange to say, in very good form, and thereafter, by dint of herculean efforts, Royal and his three men managed to hold her head down-stream. Sweeping between the palisades, she galloped clumsily onward, wallowing like a hippopotamus. Her long pine sweeps, balanced andbored to receive thick thole-pins, rose and fell like the stifflegs of some fat, square-bodied spider; she reared her bluff bow;then she dove, shrouding herself in spray. 

It was a journey to terrify experienced rivermen; doublyterrifying was it to Royal and Kirby, who knew nothing whatever ofswift water and to whom its perils were magnified a thousandfold. 

In spite of his apprehension, which by now had quickened intopanic, Danny rose to the occasion with real credit. His face waslike paper, his eyes were wide and strained; nevertheless, he kepthis gaze fixed upon the pilot and strove to obey the latter'sdirections implicitly. Now with all his strength he heaved uponhis sweep; now he backed water violently; at no time did he trusthimself to look at the cliffs which were scudding past, nor tocontemplate the tortuous turns in the gorge ahead. That would havebeen too much for him. Even when his clumsy oar all but grazed abastion, or when a jagged promontory seemed about to smash hiscraft, he refused to cease his frantic labors or to more than lifthis eyes. He saw that Rouletta Kirby was very pale, and he triedto shout a word of encouragement to her, but his cry was thin andfeeble, and it failed to pierce the thunder of the waters. Dannyhoped the girl was not as frightened as he, nor as old Sam--thelittle man would not have wished such a punishment upon his worstenemy. 

Kirby, by reason of his disability, of course, was prevented fromlending any active help with the boat and was forced to play apurely passive part. That it was not to his liking any one couldhave seen, for, once the moorings were slipped, he did not openhis lips; he merely stood beside Rouletta, with the fingers of hisright hand sunk into her shoulder, his gray face grayer than ever. Together they swayed as the deck beneath them reeled and pitched. 

"Look! We're nearly through!" the girl cried in his ear, afterwhat seemed an interminable time. 

Kirby nodded. Ahead he could see the end of the canon and whatappeared to be freer water; out into this open space the torrentflung itself. The scow was riding the bore, that ridge of waterupthrust by reason of the pressure from above; between it and theexit from the chute was a rapidly dwindling expanse of tossingwaves. Kirby was greatly relieved, but he could not understand whythose rollers at the mouth of the gorge should rear themselves sohigh and should foam so savagely. 

The bluffs ended, the narrow throat vomited the river out, and thescow galloped from shadow into pale sunlight. 

The owner of the outfit drew a deep breath, his clutching fingersrelaxed their nervous hold. He saw that Danny was trying to makehimself heard and he leaned forward to catch the fellow's words, when suddenly the impossible happened. The deck beneath his feetwas jerked backward and he was flung to his knees. Simultaneouslythere came a crash, the sound of rending, splintering wood, andover the stern of the barge poured an icy deluge that all butswept father and daughter away. Rouletta screamed, then she calledthe name of Royal. 

"Danny! Danny!" she cried, for both she and old Sam had seen aterrible thing. 

The blade of Royal's sweep had been submerged at the instant ofthe collision and, as a consequence, the force of that rushingcurrent had borne it forward, catapulting the man on the other endoverboard as cleanly, as easily as a school-boy snaps a paperpellet from the end of a pencil. Before their very eyes the Kirbyssaw their lieutenant, their lifelong friend and servitor, pickedup and hurled into the flood. 

"Danny!" shrieked the girl. The voice of the rapids had changedits tone now, for a cataract was drumming upon the after-deck andthere was a crashing and a smashing as the piles of boxes cametumbling down. The scow drove higher upon the reef, its bow roseuntil it stood at a sharp incline, and meanwhile wave after wavecut like a broach over the stern, which steadily sank deeper. Thenthe deck tilted drunkenly and an avalanche of case-goods wasspilled over the side. 

Sam Kirby found himself knee-deep in ice water; a roller camecurling down upon him, but with a frantic clutch he laid hold ofhis daughter. He sank the steel hook that did service as a lefthand into a pile of freight and hung on, battling to maintain hisfooting. With a great jarring and jolting the Rouletta rose fromthe deluge, hung balanced for a moment or two, and then, relievedof a portion of her cargo, righted herself and swung broadside tothe stream as if upon a pivot; finally she was carried free. Onward she swept, turning end for end, pounding, staggering, asother rocks from below bit into her bottom. 

The river was very low at this season, and the Rouletta, ridingdeep because half filled, found obstacles she would otherwise havecleared. She was out of the crooked channel now and it wasimpossible to manage her, so in a crazy succession of loops andswoops she gyrated down toward that tossing mane of spray thatmarked the White Horse. 

With eyes of terror Sam Kirby scanned the boiling expanse throughwhich the barge was drifting, but nowhere could he catch sight ofDanny Royal. He turned to shout to his pilot, only to discoverthat he also was missing and that the steering-sweep was smashed. 

"God! HE'S gone!" cried the old man. It was true; that inundationsucceeding the mishap had swept the after-deck clean, and now thescow was not only rudderless, but it lacked a man of experience todirect its course. 

Rouletta Kirby was tugging at her father's arm. She lifted awhite, horrified face to his and exclaimed: "Danny! I saw him--go!"

Her father's dead face was twitching; he nodded silently. Then hepointed at the cataract toward which they were being carried. Heopened his lips to say something, but one of the crew came runningback, shouting hoarsely and waving his arms. 

"We're going over, " the fellow clamored. "We'll all be drowned!"

Kirby felled him with a blow from his artificial hand; then, whenthe man scrambled to his feet, his employer ordered:

"Get busy! Do what you can!"

For himself, he took Royal's sweep and struggled with it. But hewas woefully ignorant of how to apply his strength and had onlythe faintest idea what he ought to do. 

Meanwhile the thunder of the White Horse steadily increased. 

 Having brought the last of the Courteau boats through the canon, 'Poleon Doret piloted the little flotilla across to the town ofWhite Horse and there collected his money, while Pierce Phillipsand the other men pitched camp. 

The labor of making things comfortable for the night did notprevent Lucky Broad from discussing at some length the excitingincidents of the afternoon. 

"I hope her Highness got an eyeful of me shooting the chutes, "said he, "for that's my farewell trip--positively my lastappearance in any water act. "

"Mighty decent of you and the Kid to volunteer, " Pierce told him. 

"It sure was, " the other agreed. "Takes a coupla daredevils likehim and me to pull that kind of a bonehead play. "

Mr. Bridges, who was within hearing distance, shrugged with anassumption of careless indifference. "It takes more 'n a littlelather to scare me, " he boasted. "I'm a divin' Venus and I ate itup!"

"You--liar!" Lucky cried. "Why, every quill on your head wasstanding up and you look five years older 'n you did this morning!You heard the undertaker shaking out your shroud all the way down--you know you did. I never seen a man as scared as you was!" WhenBridges accepted the accusation with a grin, the speaker ran on, in a less resentful tone: "I don't mind saying it hardened myarteries some. It made me think of all my sins and follies; Iremembered all the bets I'd overlooked. Recollect that pioneer welaid for four hundred at Dyea?"

The Kid nodded. "Sure! I remember him easy. He squawked so loudyou gave him back half of it. "

"And all the time he had a thousand sewed in his shirt! Wastedopportunities like that lay heavy on a man when he hears theangels tuning up and smells the calla-lilies. "

Bridges agreed in all seriousness, and went on to say: "Lucky, ifI gotta get out of this country the way I got into it I'm going tolet you bury me in Dawson. Look at them rapids ahead of us! Why, the guy that laid out this river was off his nut!"

"You're talking sense. We'll stick till they build a railroad upto us or else we'll let 'em pin a pair of soft-pine overcoats onthe two of us. The idea of us calling ourselves wiseacres anddoing circus stunts like this! We're suckers! We'll be working inthe mines next. I bet I'll see you poulticed onto a pick-handlebefore we get out. "

"Not me! I've raised my last blister, and if ever I get anothercallous it'll be from layin' abed. Safe and sane, that's me. I--"

Bridges' words were cut short by an exclamation from Doret, whohad approached, in company with the Countess Courteau. 

"Hallo!" the French Canadian broke in. "Dere comes dat beegbarge. "

Out from the lower end of the gorge the Kirby craft had emerged;it was plunging along with explosions of white foam from beneathits bow and with its sweeps rising and falling rhythmically. ToDoret's companions it seemed that the scow had come throughhandily enough and was in little further danger, but 'Poleon, forsome reason or other, had blazed into excitement. Down the bank heleaped; then he raised his voice and sent forth a loud cry. It waswasted effort, for it failed to carry. Nevertheless, the warningnote in his voice brought his hearers running after him. 

"What's the matter?" Pierce inquired. 

The pilot paid no heed; he began waving his cap in long sweeps, cursing meanwhile in a patois which the others could notunderstand. 

Even while they stared at the Rouletta she drove head on into anexpanse of tumbling breakers, then--the onlookers could notbelieve their eyes--she stopped dead still, as if she had come tothe end of a steel cable or as if she had collided with aninvisible wall. Instantly her entire after part was smothered inwhite. Slowly her bow rose out of the chaos until perhaps ten feetof her bottom was exposed, then she assumed a list. 

The Countess uttered a strangled exclamation. "Oh--h! Did you see?There's a man overboard!"

Her eyes were quick, but others, too, had beheld a dark bundlepicked up by some mysterious agency and flung end over end intothe waves. 

The Rouletta's deck-load was dissolving; a moment or two and sheturned completely around, then drifted free. 

"Why--they brought the GIRL along!" cried the Countess, in growingdismay. "Sam Kirby should have had better sense. He ought to behung--"

From the tents and boats along the bank, from the village above, people were assembling hurriedly, a babel of oaths, of shoutsarose. 

'Poleon found his recent employer plucking at his sleeve. 

"There's a woman out there--Kirby's girl, " she was crying. "Can'tyou do something?"

"Wait!" He flung off her grasp and watched intently. 

Soon the helpless scow was abreast of the encampment, and in spiteof the frantic efforts of her crew to propel her shoreward shedrifted momentarily closer to the cataract below. Manifestly itwas impossible to row out and intercept the derelict before shetook the plunge, and so, helpless in this extremity, the audiencebegan to stream down over the rounded boulders which formed themargin of the river. On the opposite bank another crowd waskeeping pace with the wreck. As they ran, these people shouted atone another and gesticulated wildly. Their faces were white, theirwords were meaningless, for it was a spectacle tense with imminentdisaster that they beheld; it turned them sick with apprehension. 

Immediately above White Horse the current gathers itself for thefinal plunge, and although, at the last moment, the Roulettaseemed about to straighten herself out and take the rapids headon, some malign influence checked her swing and she lunged overquarteringly to the torrent. 

A roar issued from the throats of the beholders; the craftreappeared, and then, a moment later, was half hidden again in thesmother. It could be seen that she was completely awash and thatthose galloping white-maned horses were charging over her. She wasbuffeted about as by battering-rams; the remainder of her cargowas being rapidly torn from her deck. Soon another shout arose, for human figures could be seen still clinging to her. 

Onward the scow went, until once again she fetched up on a reef ora rock which the low stage of the river had brought close to thesurface; there she hung. 

'Poleon Doret had gone into action ere this. Having satisfiedhimself that some of the Rouletta's crew remained alive, he castloose the painter of the nearest skiff and called to Phillips, whowas standing close by:

"Come on! We goin' get dose people!"

Now Pierce had had enough rough water for one day; it seemed tohim that there must be other men in this crowd better qualified bytraining than he to undertake this rescue. But no one steppedforward, and so he obeyed Doret's order. As he slipped out of hiscoat and kicked off his boots, he reflected, with a sinkingfeeling of disappointment, that his emotions were not by any meanssuch as a really courageous man would experience. He wascompletely lacking in enthusiasm for this enterprise, for itstruck him as risky, nay, foolhardy, insane, to take a boat overthat cataract in an attempt to snatch human beings out from thevery midst of those threshing breakers. It seemed more than likelythat all hands would be drowned in the undertaking, and he couldnot summon the reckless abandon necessary to face that likelihoodwith anything except the frankest apprehension. He was surprisedat himself, for he had imagined that when his moment came, if everit did, that he, Phillips, would prove to be a rather exceptionalperson; instead he discovered that he was something of a coward. The unexpectedness of this discovery astonished the young man. Being deeply and thoroughly frightened, it was nothing less thanthe abhorrence at allowing that fright to become known whichstiffened his determination. In his own sight he dwindled to verysmall proportions; then came the realization that Doret was havingdifficulty in securing volunteers to go with them, and he wasconsiderably heartened at finding he was not greatly differentfrom the rest of these people. 

"Who's goin' he'p us?" the Frenchman was shouting. "Come now, youstout fellers. Dere's lady on dat scow. 'Ain't nobody got nerve?"

It was a tribute to the manhood of the North that after a briefhesitation several men offered themselves. At the last moment, however, Broad and Bridges elbowed the others aside, saying:"Here, you! That's our boat and we know how she handles. "

Into the skiff they piled and hurriedly stripped down; then, inobedience to Doret's command, they settled themselves at theforward oars, leaving Pierce to set the stroke. 

'Poleon stood braced in the stern, like a gondolier, and whenwilling hands had shot the boat out into the current he leaned hisweight upon the after oars; beneath his and Pierce's efforts theash blades bent. Out into the hurrying flood the four men senttheir craft; then, with a mighty heave, the pilot swung its bowdown-stream and helped to drive it directly at the throat of thecataract. 

There came a breath-taking plunge during which the rescuing skiffand its crew were hidden from the view of those on shore; out intosight they lunged again and, in a cloud of spray, went gallopingthrough the stampeding waves. At risk of capsizing they turnedaround and, battling furiously against the current, were sweptdown, stern first, upon the stranded barge. Doret's face wasturned back over his shoulder, he was measuring distance, gaugingwith practised eye the whims and vagaries of the tumbling torrent;when he flung himself upon the oars Pierce Phillips felt his ownstrength completely dwarfed by that of the big pilot. 'Poleon'shands inclosed his in a viselike grasp; he wielded the sweeps asif they were reeds, and with them he wielded Phillips. 

Two people only were left upon the Rouletta, that sidewise plungehaving carried the crew away. Once again Sam Kirby's artificialhand had proved its usefulness, and without its aid it is doubtfulif either he or his daughter could have withstood the deluge. Fora second time he had sunk that sharp steel hook into the solidwood and had managed, by virtue of that advantage, to save himselfand his girl. Both of them were half drowned; they were well-nighfrozen, too; now, however, finding themselves in temporarysecurity, Kirby had broached one of the few remaining cases ofbottled goods. As the rowboat came close its occupants saw himpress a drink upon his daughter, then gulp one for himself. 

It was impossible either to lay the skiff alongside the wreck withany degree of care or to hold her there; as a matter of fact, thetwo hulls collided with a crash, Kid Bridges' oar snapped offshort and the side of the lighter boat was smashed in. Waterpoured over the rescuers. For an instant it seemed that they weredoomed, but, clawing fiercely at whatever they could lay handsupon, they checked their progress long enough for the castaways toobey Doret's shout of command. The girl flung herself intoPierce's arms; her father followed, landing in a heap amidships. Even as they jumped the skiff was torn away and hurried onward bythe flood. Sam Kirby raised himself to his knees and turned hisashen face to Rouletta. 

"Hurt you any, kid?" he inquired. 

The girl shook her head. She was very white, her teeth werechattering, her wet dress clung tightly to her figure. 

Staring fixedly at the retreating barge the old man cried: "Allgone! All gone!" Then, bracing himself with his good hand, hebrandished his steel hook at the rapids and heaped curses uponthem. 

A half-mile below the wreck 'Poleon Doret brought his crippledskiff into an eddy, and there the crowd, which had kept pace withit down the river-bank, lent willing assistance in effecting alanding. 

As Kirby stepped ashore he shook hands with the men who hadjeopardized their lives for him and his daughter; hi a cheerless, colorless voice he said, "It looks to me like you boys had a drinkcoming. " From his coat pocket he drew a bottle of whisky; with ablow of that artificial hand he struck off its neck and thenproffered it to Doret. "Drink hearty!" said he. "It's all that'sleft of a good outfit!"

CHAPTER XII

A chilly twilight had fallen by the time the castaways arrived atthe encampment above the rapids. Kirby and his daughter wereshaking from the cold. The Countess Courteau hurried on ahead tostart a fire in her tent, and thither she insisted upon takingRouletta, while her men attended to the father's comfort. 

On the way up there had been considerable speculation among thosewho knew Sam Kirby best, for none of them had ever seen the oldfellow in quite such a frame of mind as now. His misfortune hadcrushed him; he appeared to be numbed by the realization of hisoverwhelming loss; gone entirely was that gambler's nonchalancefor which he was famous. The winning or the losing of large sumsof money had never deeply stirred the old sporting-man; the turnof a card, the swift tattoo of horses' hoofs, often had meant farmore to him in dollars and cents than the destruction of thatbarge-load of liquor; he had seen sizable fortunes come and gowithout a sign of emotion, and yet to-night he was utterlyunnerved. 

With a man of less physical courage such an ordeal as he hadundergone might well have excused a nervous collapse, but Kirbyhad no nerves; he had, times without number, proved himself to bea man of steel, and so it greatly puzzled his friends to see himshaken and broken. 

He referred often to Danny Royal's fate, speaking in a dazed anddisbelieving manner, but through that daze ran lightning-bolts ofblind, ferocious rage--rage at the river, rage at this hostile, sinister country and at the curse it had put upon him. Over andover, through blue lips and chattering teeth, he reviled therapids; more than once he lifted the broken-necked bottle to hislips. Of thanksgiving, of gratitude at his own and his daughter'sdeliverance, he appeared to have none, at least for the timebeing. 

Rouletta's condition was pitiable enough, but she was concernedless with it than with her father's extraordinary behavior, andwhen the Countess undertook to procure for her dry clothing sheprotested:

"Please don't trouble. I'll warm up a bit; then I must go back todad. "

"My dear, you're chilled through--you'll die in those wet things, "the older woman told her. 

Miss Kirby shook her head and, in a queer, strained, apprehensivevoice, said: "You don't understand. He's had a drink; if he getsstarted--" She shivered wretchedly and hid her white face in herhands, then moaned: "Oh, what a day! Danny's gone! I saw himdrown--"

"There, there!" The Countess comforted her as best she could. "You've had a terrible experience, but you mustn't think of itjust yet. Now let me help you. "

Finding that the girl's fingers were stiff and useless, theCountess removed the wet skirt and jacket, wrung them out, andhung them up. Then she produced some dry undergarments, but MissKirby refused to put them on. 

"You'll need what few things you have, " said she, "and--I'll soonwarm up. There's no telling what dad will do. I must keep an eyeon him. "

"You give yourself too much concern. He's chilled through and it'snatural that he should take a drink. My men will give himsomething dry to wear, and meanwhile--"

Rouletta interrupted with a shake of her head, but the Countessgently persisted:

"Don't take your misfortune too hard. The loss of your outfitmeans nothing compared with your safety. It was a great tragedy, of course, but you and your father were saved. You still have himand he has you. "

"Danny knew what was coming, " said the girl, and tears welled intoher eyes, then slowly overflowed down her white cheeks. "But hefaced it. He was game. He was a good man at heart. He had hisfaults, of course, but he loved dad and he loved me; why, he usedto carry me out to see the horses before I could walk; he was myfriend, my playmate, my pal. He'd have done murder for me!"Through her tears Rouletta looked up. "It's hard for you tobelieve that I know, after what he did to you, but--you know howmen are on the trail. Nothing matters. He was angry when yououtwitted him, and so was father, for that matter, but I told themit served us right and I forbade them to molest you further. "

"You did that? Then it's you I have to thank. " The Countess smiledgravely. "I could never understand why I came off so easily. "

"I'm glad I made them behave. You've more than repaid--" Roulettapaused, she strained her ears to catch the sound of voices fromthe neighboring tents. "I don't hear father, " said she. "I wonderif he could have gone?"

"Perhaps the men have put him to bed--"

But Miss Kirby would not accept this explanation. "I'm afraid--"Again she listened apprehensively. "Once he gets a taste of liquorthere's no handling him; he's terrible. Even Danny couldn't doanything with him; sometimes even I have failed. " Hurriedly shetook down her sodden skirt and made as if to draw it on. 

"Oh, child, you MUSTN'T! You simply must NOT go out this way. Waithere. I'll find him for you and make sure he's all right. "

The half-clad girl smiled miserably. "Thank you, " said she. Butwhen the Countess had stepped out into the night she finisheddressing herself. Her clothing, of course, was as wet as ever, forthe warmth of the tent in these few moments had not even heated itthrough; nevertheless, her apprehension was so keen that she wasconscious of little bodily discomfort. 

"You were right, " the Countess announced when she returned. "Heslipped into some borrowed clothes and went up-town. He told theboys he couldn't sit still. But you mustn't follow--at least inthat dress-"

"Did he--drink any more?"

"I'm afraid he did. "

Heedless of the elder woman's restraining hands, Rouletta Kirbymade for the tent opening. "Please don't stop me, " she implored. "There's no time to lose and--I'll dry out in time. "

"Let me go for you. "

"No, no!"

"Then may I go along?"

Again the girl shook her head. "I can handle him better alone. He's a strange man, a terrible man, when he's this way. I--hopeI'm not too late. "

Rouletta's wet skirts slatted about her ankles as she ran; it wasa windy, chilly night, and, in spite of the fact that it was asteep climb to the top of the low bluff, she was chilled to thebone when she came panting into the sprawling cluster ofhabitations that formed the temporary town of White Horse. Tentswere scattered over a dim, stumpy clearing, lights shone throughtrees that were still standing, a meandering trail led past astraggling row of canvas-topped structures, and from one of theseissued the wavering, metallic notes of a phonograph, advertisingthe place as a house of entertainment. 

Sam Kirby was at the bar when his daughter discovered him, and herfirst searching look brought dismay to the girl. Pushing her waythrough the crowd, she said, quietly:

"Father!"

"Hello!" he exclaimed, in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"I want to speak to you. "

"Now, Letty, " he protested, when she had drawn him aside, "haven'tyou been through enough for one day? Run back to the Countess'camp where I left you. "

"Don't drink any more, " she implored. With an agony of dread inher face. 

Kirby's bleak countenance set itself in stony lines. "I've gotto, " said he. "I'm cold--frozen to the quick. I need something towarm me up. "

Letty could smell the whisky on his breath, she could see a newlight in his eyes and already she sensed rather than observed asubtle change in his demeanor. 

"Oh, dad!" she quavered; then she bowed her head weakly upon hisarm and her shoulders shook. 

Kirby laid a gentle hand upon her, then exclaimed, in surprise:"Why, kid, you're still wet! Got those same clothes on, haven'tyou?" He raised his voice to the men he had just left. "Want tosee the gamest girl in the world? Well, here she is. You saw howshe took her medicine to-day? Now listen to this: she's wetthrough, but she came looking for her old dad--afraid he'd getinto trouble!"

Disregarding the crowd and the appreciative murmur her father'spraise evoked, Rouletta begged, in a low, earnest voice: "Please, dear, come away. Please--you know why. Come away--won't you--formy sake?"

Kirby stirred uneasily. "I tell you I'm cold, " he muttered, butstopped short, staring. "Yes, and I see Danny. I see him as hewent overboard. Drowned! I'll never get him out of my sight. Ican't seem to understand that he's gone, but--everything's gone, for that matter. Everything!"

"Oh no, dad. Why, you're here and I'm here! We've been brokebefore. "

Kirby smiled again, but cheerlessly. "Oh, we ain't exactly broke;I've got the bank-roll on me and it 'll pull us through. We've hadbad luck for a year or two, but it's bound to change. You cheerup--and come over to the stove. What you need is to warm up whileI get you a little drink. "

Rouletta gazed up into the gray face above her. "Dad, look at me. "She took his hand. "Haven't we had enough trouble for one day?"

The gambler was irritated at this persistence and he showed it. "Don't be foolish, " he cried, shortly. "I know what I need and Iknow what I can stand. These men are friends of mine, and youneedn't be uneasy. Now, kid, you let me find a place for you tospend the night. "

"Not until you're ready to go along. "

"All right, stick around for a little while. I Won't be long. " OldSam drew a bench up beside the stove and seated the girl upon it. "I'm all broke up and I've just got to keep moving, " he explained, more feelingly. Then he returned to the bar. 

Realizing that he was completely out of hand and that furtherargument was futile, Rouletta Kirby settled herself to wait. Inspite of her misery, it never occurred to her to abandon herfather to his own devices, even for an hour--she knew him too wellto run that risk. But her very bones were frozen and she shiveredwretchedly as she held her shoes up to the stove. Although thefire began slowly to dry her outer garments, the clothes next toher flesh remained cold and clammy. Even so, their chill was asnothing to the icy dread that paralyzed the very core of herbeing. 

Pierce Phillips told himself that this had been a wonderful day--an epoch-making day--for him. Lately he had been conscious thatthe North was working a change in him, but the precise extent ofthat change, even the direction it was taking, had not beenaltogether clear; now, however, he thought he understood. 

He had been quite right, that first hour in Dyea, when he toldhimself that Life lay just ahead of him--just over the Chilkoot. Such, indeed, had proved to be the case. Yes, and it had welcomedhim with open arms; it had ushered him into a new and wondrousworld. His hands had fallen to men's tasks, experience had come tohim by leaps and bounds. In a rush he had emerged from gropingboyhood into full maturity; physically, mentally, morally, he hadgrown strong and broad and brown. Having abandoned himself to thetides of circumstance, he had been swept into a new existencewhere Adventure had rubbed shoulders with him, where Love hadsmiled into his eyes. Danger had tested his mettle, too, and to-day the final climax had come. What roused his deepestsatisfaction now was the knowledge that he had met that climaxwith credit. To-night it seemed to him that he had reached fullmanhood, and in the first flush of realization he assured himselfthat he could no longer drift with the aimless current of events, but must begin to shape affairs to his own ends. 

More than once of late he had pondered a certain thought, and now, having arrived at a decision, he determined to act upon it. Eversince that stormy evening at Linderman his infatuation for Hildahad increased, but, owing to circumstances, he had been thwartedin enjoying its full delights. During the daylight hours of theirtrip, as matter of fact, the two had never been alone togethereven for a quarter of an hour; they had scarcely had a word inconfidence, and in consequence he had been forced to derive whatcomfort he could from a chance look, a smile, some inflection ofher voice. Even at night, after camp was pitched, it had beenlittle better, for the thin walls of her canvas shelter affordedlittle privacy, and, being mindful of appearances, he had neverpermitted himself to be alone with her very long at a time--onlylong enough, in fact, to make sure that his happiness was not alla dream. A vibrant protestation now and then, a secret kiss ortwo, a few stolen moments of delirium, that was as far as hislove-affair had progressed. Not yet had he and Hilda arrived at adefinite understanding; never had they thoroughly talked out thesubject that engrossed them both, never had they found either timeor opportunity in which to do more than sigh and whisper and holdhands, and as a result the woman remained almost as much of amystery to Pierce as she had been at the moment of her firstsurrender. 

It was an intolerable situation, and so, under the spell of hisbuoyant spirits, he determined to make an end of it once for all. 

The Countess recognized his step when he came to her tent and shespoke to him. Mistaking her greeting for permission to enter, heuntied the strings and stepped inside, only to find her unpreparedfor his reception. She had made her shelter snug, a lively firewas burning, the place was fragrant of pine boughs, and a few deftfeminine touches here and there had transformed it into a boudoir. Hilda had removed her jacket and waist and was occupied in combingher hair, but at Pierce's unexpected entrance she hurriedlygathered the golden shower about her bare shoulders and voiced aprotest at his intrusion. He stood smiling down at her and refusedto withdraw. 

Never had Phillips seen such an alluring picture. Now that herhair was undone, its length and its profusion surprised him, forit completely mantled her, and through it the snowy whiteness ofher bare arms, folded protectingly across her rounded breasts, wasdazzling. The sight put him in a conquering mood; he strodeforward, lifted her into his embrace, then smothered her gaspingprotest with his lips. For a long moment they stood thus. Finallythe woman freed herself, then chided him breathlessly, but thefragrance of her hair had gone to his brain; he continued to holdher tight, meanwhile burying his face in the golden cascade. 

Roughly, masterfully, he rained kisses upon her. He devoured herwith his caresses, and the heat of his ardor melted her resistanceuntil, finally, she surrendered, abandoning herself wholly to hispassion. 

When, after a time, she flung back her head and pushed him away, her face, her neck, her shoulders were suffused with a coralpinkness and her eyes were misty. 

"You must be careful!" she whispered in a tone that was less of aremonstrance than an invitation. "Remember, we're makingshadowgraphs for our neighbors. That's the worst of a tent atnight--one silhouettes one's very thoughts. "

"Then put out the light, " he muttered, thickly; but she slippedaway, and her moist lips mocked him in silent laughter. 

"The idea! What in the world has come over you? Why, you're themost impetuous boy--"

"Boy!" Pierce grimaced his dislike of the word. "Don't bemotherly; don't treat me as if I had rompers on. You're positivelymaddening to-night. I never saw you like this. Why, your hair"--heran his hands through that silken shower once more and pressed itto his face--"it's glorious!"

The Countess slipped into a combing-jacket; then she seatedherself on the springy couch of pine branches over which her furrobe was spread, and deftly caught up her long runaway tresses, securing them in place with a few mysterious twists and expertmanipulations. 

"Boy, indeed!" he scoffed, flinging himself down beside her. "That's over with, long ago. "

"Oh, I don't feel motherly, " she asserted, still suffused withthat telltale flush. "Not in the way you mean. But you'll alwaysbe a boy to me--and to every other woman who learns to care foryou. "

"Every other woman?" Pierce's eyes opened. "What a queer speech. There aren't going to be any OTHER women. " He looked on while shelighted a cigarette, then after a moment he inquired, "What do youmean?"

She answered him with another question. "Do you think I'm the onlywoman who will love you?"

"Why--I haven't given it any thought! What's the difference, aslong as you're the only one _I_ care for? And I do love you, Iworship--"

"But there WILL be others, " she persisted, "There are bound to be. You're that kind. "

"Really?"

The Countess nodded her head with emphasis. "I can read men; I cansee the color of their souls. You have the call. "

"What call?" Pierce was puzzled. 

"The--well, the sex-call, the sex appeal. "

"Indeed? Am I supposed to feel flattered at that?"

"By no means; you're not a cad. Men who possess that attractionare spoiled sooner or later. You don't realize that you have it, and that's what makes you so nice, but--I felt it from the first, and when you feel it you'll probably become spoiled, too, like theothers. " This amused Phillips, but the woman was in sober earnest. "I mean what I say. You're the kind who cause women to make foolsof themselves--old or young, married or single. When a girl hasit--she's lost. "

"I'm not sure I understand. At any rate, you haven't made a foolof yourself. "

"No?" The Countess smiled vaguely, questioningly. She opened herlips to say more, but changed her mind and in an altered tonedeclared, "My dear boy, if you understood fully what I'm drivingat you'd be insufferable. " Laying her warm hand over his, shecontinued: "You resent what you call my 'motherly way, ' but if Iwere sixteen and you were forty it would be just the same. Womenwho are afflicted with that sex appeal become men's playthings;the man who possesses it always remains a 'boy' to the woman wholoves him--a bad boy, a dangerous boy, perhaps, but a boy, nevertheless. She may, and probably will, adore him fiercely, passionately, jealously, but at the same time she will hover himas a hen hovers her chick. He will be both son and lover to her. "

He had listened closely, but now he stirred uneasily. "I don'tfollow you, " he said. "And it isn't exactly pleasant for a fellowto be told that he's a baby Don Juan, to be called a male vampirein knee-pants--especially by the woman he's going to marry. "Disregarding her attempt to speak, he went on: "What you saidabout other women--the way you said it--sounded almost as if--well, as if you expected there would be such, and didn't greatlycare. You didn't mean it that way, I hope. You do care, don't you, dear? You do love me?" The face Phillips turned upon the CountessCourteau was earnest, worried. 

Her fingers tightened over his hand. When she spoke there was acertain listlessness, a certain fatigue in her tone. "Do you needto ask that after--what happened just now? Of course I care. Icare altogether too much. That's the whole trouble. You see, thething has run away with me, Pierce; it has carried me off my feet, and--that's precisely the point I'm trying to make. "

He slipped an arm about her waist and drew her close. "I knew itwasn't merely an animal appeal that stirred you. I knew it wassomething bigger and more lasting than that. "

"Even yet you don't understand, " she declared. "The two may gotogether and--" But without allowing her to finish he said, vibrantly:

"Whatever it is, you seem to find it an obstacle, an objection. Why struggle against the inevitable? You ARE struggling--I've seenyou fighting something ever since that first night when truth cameto us out of the storm. But, Hilda dear, I adore you. You're themost wonderful creature in the world! You're a goddess! I feelunworthy to touch the hem of your garments, but I know--that youare mine! Nothing else matters. Think of the miracle, the wonderof it! It's like a beautiful dream. I've had doubts about myself, and that's why I've let matters drift. You see, I was a sort ofunknown quantity, but now I know that I've found myself. To-day Iwent through hell and--I came out a man. I'm going to play a man'spart right along after this. " He urged her eagerly. "We've a hardtrip ahead of us before we reach Dawson; winter may overtake usand delay us. We can't continue in this way. Why wait any longer?"

"You mean--?" the woman inquired, faintly. 

"I mean this--marry me here, to-morrow. "

"No, no! Please--" The Countess freed herself from Pierce'sembrace. 

"Why not? Are you afraid of me?" She shook her head silently. 

"Then why not to-morrow instead of next month? Are you afraid ofyourself?"

"No, I'm afraid of-what I must tell you. "

Phillips' eyes were dim with desire, he was ablaze with yearning;in a voice that shook he said: "Don't tell me anything. I won'thear it!" Then, after a brief struggle with himself, he continued, more evenly: "That ought to prove to you that I've grown up. Icouldn't have said it three months ago, but I've stepped out of--of the nursery into a world of big things and big people, and Iwant you. I dare say you've lived--a woman like you must have hadmany experiences, many obstacles to overcome; but--I might notunderstand what they were even if you told me, for I'm prettygreen. Anyhow, I'm sure you're good. I wouldn't believe you if youtold me you weren't. It's no credit to me that I haven'tconfessions of my own to make, for I'm like other men and itmerely so happens that I've had no chance to-soil myself. Thecredit is due to circumstance. "

"Everything is due to circumstance, " the woman said. "Our livesare haphazard affairs; we're blown by chance--"

"We'll take a new start to-morrow and bury the past, whatever itis. "

"You make it absolutely necessary for me to speak, " the Countesstold him. Her tone again had a touch of weariness in it, butPierce did not see this. "I knew I'd have to, sooner or later, butit was nice to drift and to dream--oh, it was pleasant--so I bitdown on my tongue and I listened to nothing but the song in myheart. " She favored Pierce with that shadowy, luminous smile hehad come to know. "It was a clean, sweet song and it meant a greatdeal to me. " When he undertook to caress her she drew away, thensat forward with her heels tucked close into the pine boughs, herchin upon her knees. It was her favorite attitude of meditation;wrapped thus in the embrace of her own arms, she appeared to gainthe strength and the determination necessary to go on. 

"I'm not a weak woman, " she began, staring at the naked candle-flame which gave light to the tent. "It wasn't weakness thatimpelled me to marry a man I didn't love; it was the determinationto get ahead and the ambition to make something worth while out ofmyself--a form of selfishness, perhaps, but I tell you all womenare selfish. Anyhow, he seemed to promise better things and toopen a way whereby I could make something out of my life. Insteadof that he opened my eyes and showed me the world as it is, not asI had imagined it to be. He was--no good. You may think I wasunhappy over that, but I wasn't. Really, he didn't mean much tome. What did grieve me, though, was the death of my illusions. Hewas mercenary--the fault of his training, I dare say--but he hadthat man-call I spoke about. It's really a woman-call. He wasweak, worthless, full of faults, mean in small things, but he hadan attraction and it was impossible to resist mothering him. Otherwomen felt it and yielded to it, so finally we went our separateways. I've seen nothing of him for some time now, but he keeps intouch with me and--I've sent him a good deal of money. When helearns that I have prospered in a big way he'll undoubtedly turnup again. "

Pierce weighed the significance of these words; then he smiled. "Dear, it's all the more reason why we should be married at once. I'd dare him to annoy you then. "

"My boy, don't you understand? I can't marry you, being stillmarried to him. "

Phillips recoiled; his face whitened. Dismay, reproach, a shockedsurprise were in the look he turned upon his companion. 

"Still married!" he gasped. "Oh--Hilda!"

She nodded and lowered her eyes. "I supposed you knew--until I gotto telling you, and then it was too late. "

Pierce rose; his lips now were as colorless as his cheeks. "I'msurprised, hurt, " he managed to say. "How should I know? Why, thisis wretched--rotten! People will say that I've got in a mess witha married woman. That's what it looks like, too. " His voice brokehuskily. "How could you do it, when I meant my love to be clean, honorable? How could you let me put myself, and you, in such aposition?"

"You see!" The woman continued to avoid his eye. "You haven'tgrown up. You haven't the least understanding. "

"I understand this much, " he cried, hotly, "that you've led me tomake something worse than a cad of myself. Look here! There arecertain things which no decent fellow goes in for--certain thingshe despises in other men--and that's one of them. " He turned as ifto leave, then he halted at the tent door and battled withhimself. After a moment, during which the Countess Courteauwatched him fixedly, he whirled, crying:

"Well, the damage is done. I love you. I can't go along withoutyou. Divorce that man. I'll wait. "

"I'm not sure I have legal grounds for a divorce. I'm not surethat I care to put the matter to a test--as yet. "

"WHAT?" Pierce gazed at her, trying to understand. "Say that overagain!"

"You think you've found yourself, but--have you? I know men prettywell and I think I know you. You've changed--yes, tremendously--but what of a year, two years from now? You've barely tasted lifeand this is your first intoxication. "

"Do you love me, or do you not?" he demanded. 

"I love you as you are now. I may hate you as you will be to-morrow. I've had my growth; I've been through what you're justbeginning--we can't change together. "

"Then will you promise to marry me afterward?"

The Countess shook her head. "It's a promise that would hold onlyme. Why ask it?"

"You're thinking of no one but yourself, " he protested, furiously. "Think of me. I've given you all I have, all that's best andfinest in me. I shall never love another woman--"

"Not in quite the way you love me, perhaps, but the peach ripenseven after its bloom has been rubbed off. You HAVE given me whatis best and finest, your first love, and I shall cherish it. "

"Will you marry me?" he cried, hoarsely. She made a silentrefusal. 

"Then I can put but one interpretation upon your actions. "

"Don't be too hasty in your judgment. Can't you see? I was weak. Iwas tired. Then you came, like a draught of wine, and--I lost myhead. But I've regained it. I dreamed my dream, but it's daylightnow and I'm awake. I know that you believe me a heartless, selfishwoman. Maybe I am, but I've tried to think for you, and to act onthat good impulse. I tell you I would have been quite incapable ofit before I knew you. A day, a month, a year of happiness! Mostwomen of my age and experience would snatch at it, but I'm lookingfarther ahead than that. I can't afford another mistake. Life fitsme, but you--why, you're bursting your seams. "

"You've puzzled me with a lot of words, " the young man said, withever-growing resentment, "but what do they all amount to? Youamused yourself with me and you're ready enough to continue solong as I pour my devotion at your feet. Well, I won't do it. Ifyou loved me truly you wouldn't refuse to marry me. Isn't that so?True love isn't afraid, it doesn't quibble and temporize and splithairs the way you do. No, it steps out boldly and follows thelight. You've had your fun, you've--broken my heart. " Phillips'voice shook and he swallowed hard. "I'm through; I'm done. I shallnever love another woman as I love you, but if what you said aboutthat sex-call is true, I--I'll play the game as you played it. " Heturned blindly and with lowered head plunged out of the tent intothe night. 

The Countess listened to the sounds of his departing footsteps;then, when they had ceased, she rose wearily and flung out herarms. There was a real and poignant distress in her eyes. 

"Boy! Boy!" she whispered. "It was sweet, but--there had to be anend. "

For a long time she stood staring at nothing; then she rousedherself with a shiver, refilled the stove, and seated herselfagain, dropping her chin upon her knees as she did instinctivelywhen in deep thought. 

"If only I were sure, " she kept repeating to herself. "But he hasthe call and--I'm too old. "

CHAPTER XIII

Rouletta Kirby could not manage to get warm. The longer she satbeside the stove the colder she became. This was not strange, forthe room was draughty, people were constantly coming in and goingout, and when the door was opened the wind caused the canvas wallsof the saloon to bulge and its roof to slap upon the rafters. Thepatrons were warmly clad in mackinaw, flannel, and fur. To themthe place was comfortable enough, but to the girl who sat swathedin sodden undergarments it was like a refrigerator. More than onceshe regretted her heedless refusal of the Countess Courteau'soffer of a change; several times, in fact, she was upon the pointof returning to claim it, but she shrank from facing that wintrywind, so low had her vitality fallen. Then, too, she reasoned thatit would be no easy task to find the Countess at this hour of thenight, for the beach was lined with a mile of tents, all more orless alike. She pictured the search, herself groping her way fromone to another, and mumbling excuses to surprised occupants. No, it was better to stay here beside the fire until her clothes driedout. 

She would have reminded her father of her discomfort and claimedhis assistance only for the certainty that he would send her offto bed, which was precisely what she sought to prevent. Herpresence irritated him; nevertheless, she knew that his safety layin her remaining. Sam Kirby sober was in many ways the best offathers; he was generous, he was gentle, he was considerate. SamKirby drunk was another man entirely--a thoughtless, wilful, cruelman, subject to vagaries of temper that were as mysterious to thegirl who knew him so well as they were dangerous to friend and foealike. He was drunk now, or in that peculiar condition that passedwith him for drunkenness. Intoxication in his case was less acondition of body than a frame of mind, and it required noconsiderable amount of liquor to work the change. Whisky, even insmall quantities, served to suspend certain of his mentalfunctions; it paralyzed one lobe of his brain, as it were, whileit aroused other faculties to a preternatural activity and awokesleeping devils in him. The more he drank the more violent becamehis destructive mood, the more firmly rooted became his tendenciesand proclivities for evil. The girl well knew that this was anhour when he needed careful watching and when to leave himunguarded, even temporarily, meant disaster. Rouletta clenched herchattering teeth and tried to ignore the chills that raced up anddown her body. 

White Horse, at this time, was purely a make-shift camp, hence ithad no facilities for gambling. The saloons themselves were littlemore than liquor caches which had been opened overnight for thepurpose of reaping quick profits; therefore such games of chanceas went on were for the most part between professional gamblerswho happened to be passing through and who chose to amusethemselves in that way. 

After perhaps an hour, during which a considerable crowd had comeand gone, Sam Kirby broke away from the group with which he hadbeen drinking and made for the door. As he passed Rouletta hepaused to say:

"I'm going to drift around a bit, kid, and see if I can't stir upa little game. "

"Where are we going to put up for the night?" his daughterinquired. 

"I don't know yet; it's early. Want to turn in?"

Rouletta shook her head. 

"I'll find a place somewhere. Now you stick here where it's niceand warm. I'll be back by and by. "

With sinking heart the girl watched him go. After a moment sherose and followed him out into the night. She was surprised todiscover that the mud under foot had frozen and that the northwind bore a burden of fine, hard snow particles. Keeping well outof sight, she stumbled to another saloon door, and then, aftershivering wretchedly outside for a while, she stole in and creptup behind the stove. 

She was very miserable indeed by this time, and as the eveningwore slowly on her misery increased. After a while her fatherbegan shaking dice with some strangers, and the size of theirwagers drew an audience of interested bystanders. 

Rouletta realized that she should not have exposed herself anew tothe cold, for now her sensations had become vaguely alarming. Shecould not even begin to get warm, except now and then when aburning fever replaced her chill; she felt weak and ill inside;the fingers she pressed to her aching temples were like icicles. Eventually--she had lost all track of time--her condition becameintolerable and she decided to risk her father's displeasure byinterrupting him and demanding that he secure for both of them alodging-place at once. 

There were several bank-notes of large denomination on the plankbar-top and Sam Kirby was watching a cast of dice when hisdaughter approached; therefore he did not see her. Nor did he turnhis head when she laid a hand upon his arm. 

Now women, especially pretty women, were common enough sights inAlaskan drinking-places. So it was not strange that Rouletta'spresence had occasioned neither comment nor curiosity. More thanonce during the last hour or two men had spoken to her with easyfamiliarity, but they had taken no offense when she had turned herback. It was quite natural, therefore, that the fellow with whomKirby was gambling should interpret her effort to claim attentionas an attempt to interrupt the game, and that he should misreadthe meaning of her imploring look. There being considerable moneyat stake, he frowned down at her, then with an impatient gesturehe brushed her aside. 

"None of that, sister!" he warned her. "You get out of here. "

Sam Kirby was in the midst of a discussion with the proprietor, across the bar, and because there was a deal of noise in the placehe did not hear his daughter's low-spoken protest. 

"Oh, I mean it!" The former speaker scowled at Rouletta. "Youdolls make me sick, grabbing at every nickel you see. Beat it, now! There's plenty of young suckers for you to trim. If you can'trespect an old man with gray hair, why--" The rest of his remarkcaused the girl's eyes to widen and the chattering voices to fallsilent. 

Sam Kirby turned, the dice-box poised in his right hand. 

"Eh? What's that?" he queried, vaguely. 

"I'm talking to this pink-faced gold-digger--"

"Father!" Rouletta exclaimed. 

"I'm just telling her--"

The fellow repeated his remark, whereupon understanding came toKirby and his expression slowly altered. Surprise, incredulity, gave place to rage; his eyes began to blaze. 

"You said that to--her?" he gasped, in amazement. "To my kid?"There was a moment of tense silence during which the speakerappeared to be numbed by the insult, then, "By God!" Sam placedthe dice-box carefully upon the bar. His movement was deliberate, but he kept his flaming gaze fixed upon the object of his wrath, and into his lean, ashen countenance came such demoniac fury as toappal those who saw it. 

Rouletta uttered a faint moan and flung herself at her father;with a strength born of terror she clung to his right wrist. Inthis she was successful, despite old Sam's effort to shake heroff, but she could not imprison both his arms. Kirby steppedforward, dragging the girl with him; he raised that wickedartificial left hand and brought it sweeping downward, and for asecond time that day the steel shaft met flesh and bone. Hisvictim spun upon his heels, then, with outflung arms and anexpression of shocked amazement still upon his face, he crashedbackward to the floor. 

Kirby strode to him; before other hands could come to Rouletta'sassistance and bear him out of reach he twice buried his heavyhobnailed boot in the prostrate figure. He presented a terribleexhibition of animal ferocity, for he was growling oaths deep inhis throat and in his eyes was the light of murder. He fought forliberty with which to finish his task, and those who restrainedhim found that somehow he had managed to draw an ivory-handledsix-shooter from some place of concealment. Nor could they wrenchthe weapon away from him. 

"He insulted my kid--my girl Letty!" Kirby muttered, hoarsely. 

When the fallen man had been lifted to his feet and hurried out ofthe saloon old Sam tried his best to follow, but his captors heldhim fast. They pleaded with him, they argued, they pacified him aswell as they could. It was a long time, however, before they daredtrust him alone with Rouletta, and even then they turned watchfuleyes in his direction. 

"I didn't want anything to happen. " The girl spoke listlessly. 

Kirby began to rumble again, but she interrupted him. "It wasn'tthe man's fault. It was a perfectly natural mistake on his part, and I've learned to expect such things. I--I'm sick, dad. You mustfind a place for me, quick. "

Sam agreed readily enough. The biting cold of the wind met them atthe door. Rouletta, summoning what strength she could, trudgedalong at his side. It did not take them long to canvass the townand to discover that there were no lodgings to be had. Roulettahalted finally, explaining through teeth that chattered:

"I--I'm frozen! Take me back where there's a stove--back to thesaloon--anywhere. Only do it quickly. "

"Pshaw! It isn't cold, " Kirby protested, mildly. 

The nature of this remark showed more plainly than anything he hadsaid or done during the evening that the speaker was not himself. It signified such a dreadful change in him, it marked so surelythe extent of his metamorphosis, that Rouletta's tears came. 

"Looks like we'd have to make the best of it and stay awake tillmorning, " the father went on, dully. 

"No, no! I'm too sick, " the girl sobbed, "and too cold. Leave mewhere I can keep warm; then go find the Countess and--ask her toput me up. "

Returning to their starting-point, Kirby saw to his daughter'scomfort as best he could, after which he wandered out into thenight once more. His intentions were good, but he was not a littleout of patience with Letty and still very angry with the man whohad affronted her; rage at the insult glowed within his disorderedbrain and he determined, before he had gone very far, that hisfirst duty was to right that wrong. Probably the miscreant wassomewhere around, or, if not, he would soon make his appearance. Sam decided to postpone his errand long enough to look through theother drinking-places and to settle the score. 

No one, on seeing him thus, would have suspected that he wasdrunk; he walked straight, his tongue was obedient, and he wasmaster of his physical powers to a deceptive degree; only in hisabnormally alert and feverish eyes was there a sign that his brainwas completely crazed. 

Rouletta waited for a long while, and steadily her condition grewworse. She became light-headed, and frequently lost herself in asort of painful doze. She did not really sleep, however, for hereyes were open and staring; her wits wandered away on nightmarejourneys, returning only when the pains became keener. Her feverwas high now; she was nauseated, listless; her chest ached and herbreathing troubled her when she was conscious enough to think. Hersurroundings became unreal, too, the faces that appeared anddisappeared before her were the faces of dream figures. 

Unmindful of his daughter's need, heedless of the passage of time, Sam Kirby loitered about the saloons and waited patiently for thecoming of a certain man. After a time he bought some chips and satin a poker game, but he paid less attention to the spots on hiscards than to the door through which men came and went. Theselatter he eyed with the unblinking stare of a serpent. 

Pierce Phillips' life was ruined. He was sure of it. Preciselywhat constituted a ruined life, just how much such a one differedfrom a successful life, he had only the vaguest idea, but his own, at the moment, was tasteless, spoiled. Dire consequences werebound to follow such a tragedy as this, so he told himself, and helooked forward with gloomy satisfaction to their realization;whatever they should prove to be, however terrible the fate thatwas to overtake him, the guilt, the responsibility therefor, layentirely upon the heartless woman who had worked the evil, and heearnestly hoped they would be brought home to her. 

Yes, the Countess Courteau was heartless, wicked, cruel. Herunsuspected selfishness, her lack of genuine sentiment, her cool, calculating caution, were shocking. Pierce had utterly misread herat first; that was plain. 

That he was really hurt, deeply distressed, sorely aggrieved, wastrue enough, for his love--infatuation, if you will--was perfectlygenuine and exceedingly vital. Nothing is more real, more vital, than a normal boy's first infatuation, unless it be the firstinfatuation of a girl; precisely wherein it differs from theriper, less demonstrative affection that comes with later yearsand wider experience is not altogether plain. Certainly it is morespontaneous, more poignant; certainly it has in it equalpossibilities for good or evil. How deep or how disfiguring thescar it leaves depends entirely upon the healing process. But, forthat matter, the same applies to every heart affair. 

Had Phillips been older and wiser he would not have yielded soreadily to despair; experience would have taught him that awoman's "No" is not a refusal; wisdom would have told him that theabsolute does not exist. But, being neither experienced nor wise, he mistook the downfall of his castle for the wreck of theuniverse, and it never occurred to him that he could salvagesomething, or, if need be, rebuild upon the same foundations. 

What he could neither forget nor forgive at this moment was thefact that Hilda had not only led him to sacrifice his honor, orits appearance, but also that when he had managed to reconcilehimself to that wrong she had lacked the courage to meet him half-way. There were but two explanations of her action: either she wasweak and cowardly or else she did not love him. Neither affordedmuch consolation. 

In choosing a course of conduct no man is strong enough to divorcehimself entirely from his desires, to follow the light of purereason, for memories, impulses, yearnings are bound to bringconfusion. Although Pierce told himself that he must renounce thiswoman--that he had renounced her--nevertheless he recalled with athrill the touch of her bare arms and the perfume of her streaminggolden hair as he had buried his face in it, and the keenness ofthose memories caused him to cry out. The sex-call had beenstronger than he had realized; therefore, to his present grief wasadded an inescapable, almost irresistible feeling of physicaldistress--a frenzy of balked desire--which caused him to waverirresolutely, confusing the issue dreadfully. 

For a long time he wandered through the night, fighting his animaland his spiritual longings, battling with irresolution, strivingto reconcile himself to the crash that had overwhelmed him. Morethan once he was upon the point of rushing back to the woman andpouring out the full tide of his passion in a desperate attempt tosweep away her doubts and her apprehensions. What if she shouldrefuse to respond? He would merely succeed in making himselfridiculous and in sacrificing what little appearance of dignity heretained. Thus pride prevented, uncertainty paralyzed him. 

Some women, it seemed to him, not bad in themselves, were born towork evil, and evidently Hilda was one of them. She had done hertask well in this instance, for she had thoroughly blasted hislife! He would pretend to forget, but nevertheless he would see toit that she was undeceived, and that the injury she had done himremained an ever-present reproach to her. That would be hisrevenge. Real forgetfulness, of course, was out of the question. How could he assume such an attitude? As he pondered the questionhe remembered that there were artificial aids to oblivion. Ruinedmen invariably took to drink. Why shouldn't he attempt to drownhis sorrows? After all, might there not be real and actual reliefin liquor? After consideration he decided to try it. 

From a tent saloon near by came the sounds of singing and oflaughter, and thither he turned his steps. When he entered theplace a lively scene greeted him. Somehow or other a smallportable organ had been secured, and at this a bearded fellow in amackinaw coat was seated. He was playing a spirited accompanimentfor two women, sisters, evidently, who sang with the loud abandonof professional "coon shouters. " Other women were present, andPhillips recognized them as members of that theatrical troupe hehad seen at Sheep Camp--as those "actresses" to whom Tom Lintonhad referred with such elaborate sarcasm. All of them, itappeared, were out for a good time, and in consequence White Horsewas being treated to a free concert. 

The song ended in a burst of laughter and applause, the men at thebar pounded with their glasses, and there was a general exodus inthat direction. One of the sisters flung herself enthusiasticallyupon the volunteer organist and dragged him with her. There wasmuch hilarity and a general atmosphere of license and unrestraint. 

Phillips looked on moodily; he frowned, his lip curled. All theworld was happy, it seemed, while he nursed a broken heart. Well, that was in accord with the scheme of things--life was a mad, topsy-turvy affair at best, and there was nothing stable about anypart of it. He felt very grim, very desperate, very much abusedand very much outside of all this merriment. 

Men were playing cards at the rear of the saloon, and among thenumber was Sam Kirby. The old gambler showed no signs of histrying experience of the afternoon; in fact, it appeared to havebeen banished utterly from his mind. He was drinking, and evenwhile Pierce looked on he rapped sharply with his iron hand tocall the bartender's attention. Meanwhile he scanned intently thefaces of all new-comers. 

When the crowd had surged back to the organ Pierce found a placeat the bar and called for a drink of whisky--the first he had everordered. This was the end he told himself. 

He poured the glass nearly full, then he gulped the liquor down. It tasted much as it smelled, hence he derived little enjoymentfrom the experience. As he stripped a bill from his sizable rollof bank-notes the bartender eyed him curiously and seemed upon thepoint of speaking, but Pierce turned his shoulder. 

After perhaps five minutes the young man acknowledged a vaguedisappointment; if this was intoxication there was mighty littlesatisfaction in it, he decided, and no forgetfulness whatever. Hewas growing dizzy, to be sure, but aside from that and from thefact that his eyesight was somewhat uncertain he could feel nounusual effect. Perhaps he expected too much; perhaps, also, hehad drunk too sparingly. Again he called for the bottle, again hefilled his glass, again he carelessly displayed his handful ofpaper currency. 

Engaged thus, he heard a voice close to his ear; it said:

"Hello, man!"

Pierce turned to discover that a girl was leaning with elbows uponthe plank counter at his side and looking at him. Her chin wassupported upon her clasped fingers; she was staring into his face. 

She eyed him silently for a moment, during which he returned herunsmiling gaze. She dropped her eyes to the whisky-glass, thenraised them again to his. 

"Can you take a drink like that and not feel it?" she inquired. 

"No. I want to feel it; that's why I take it, " he said, gruffly. 

"What's the idea?"

"Idea? Well, it's my own idea--my own business. "

The girl took no offense; she maintained her curious observationof him; she appeared genuinely interested in acquainting herselfwith a man who could master such a phenomenal quantity of liquor. There was mystification in her tone when she said:

"But--I saw you come in alone. And now you're drinking alone. "

"Is that a reproach? I beg your pardon. " Pierce swept her amocking bow. "What will you have?"

Without removing her chin from its resting-place, the strangershook her head shortly, so he downed his beverage as before. Thegirl watched him interestedly as he paid for it. 

"That's more money than I've seen in a month, " said she. "Iwouldn't be so free and easy with it, if I were you. "

"No? Why not?"

She merely shrugged, and continued to study him with that samedisconcerting intentness--she reminded him of a frank and curiouschild. 

Pierce noticed now that she was a very pretty girl, and quiteappropriately dressed, under the circumstances. She wore a boy'ssuit, with a short skirt over her knickerbockers, and, since shewas slim, the garments added to her appearance of immaturity. Herface was oval in outline, and it was of a perfectly uniform olivetint; her eyes were large and black and velvety, their lashes werelong, their lids were faintly smudged with a shadowy under-coloring that magnified their size and intensified theirbrilliance. Her hair was almost black, nevertheless it was of finetexture; a few unruly strands had escaped from beneath her fur capand they clouded her brow and temples. At first sight she appearedto be foreign, and of that smoky type commonly associated with theRussian idea of beauty, but she was not foreign, not Russian; norwere her features predominantly racial. 

"What's your name?" she asked, suddenly. 

Pierce told her. "And yours?" he inquired. 

"Laure. "

"Laure what?"

"Just Laure--for the present. "

"Humph! You're one of this--theatrical company, I presume. " Heindicated the singers across the room. 

"Yes. Morris Best hired us to work in his place at Dawson. "

"I remember your outfit at Sheep Camp. Best was nearly crazy--"

"He's crazier now than ever. " Laure smiled for the first time andher face lit up with mischief. "Poor Morris! We lead him around byhis big nose. He's deathly afraid he'll lose us, and we know it, so we make his life miserable. " She turned serious abruptly, andwith a candor quite startling said, "I like you. "

"Indeed!" Pierce was nonplussed. 

The girl nodded. "You looked good to me when you came in. Are yougoing to Dawson?"

"Of course. Everybody is going to Dawson. "

"I suppose you have partners?"

"No!" Pierce's face darkened. "I'm alone--very much alone. " Heundertook to speak in a hollow, hopeless tone. 

"Big outfit?"

"None at all. But I have enough money for my needs and--I'llprobably hook up with somebody. " Now there was a brave butcheerless resignation in his words. 

Laure pondered for a moment; even more carefully than before shestudied her companion. That the result satisfied her she madeplain by saying:

"Morris wants men. I can get him to hire you. Would you like tohook up with us?"

"I don't know. It doesn't much matter. Will you have something todrink now?"

"Why should I? They don't give any percentage here. Wait! I'll seeMorris and tell you what he says. " Leaving Pierce, the speakerhurried to a harassed little man of Hebraic countenance who wasengaged in the difficult task of chaperoning this unrulyaggregation of talent. To him she said:

"I've found a man for you, Morris. "

"Man?"

"To go to Dawson with us. That tall, good-looking fellow at thebar. "

Mr. Best was bewildered. "What ails you?" he queried. "I don'twant any men, and you know it. "

"You want this fellow, and you're going to hire him. "

"Am I? What makes you think so?"

"Because it's--him or me, " Laure said, calmly. 

Mr. Best was both surprised and angered at this cool announcement. "You mean, I s'pose, that you'll quit, " he said, belligerently. 

"I mean that very thing. The man has money--"

Best's anger disappeared as if by magic; his tone becameapologetic. "Oh! Why didn't you say so? If he'll pay enough, andif you want him, why, of course--"

Laure interrupted with an unexpected dash of temper. "He isn'tgoing to pay you anything: you're going to pay him--top wages, too. Understand?"

The unhappy recipient of this ultimatum raised his hands in agesture of despair. "Himmel! There's no understanding you girls!There's no getting along with you, either. What's on your mind, eh? Are you after him or his coin?"

"I--don't know. " Laure was gazing at Phillips with a peculiarexpression. "I'm not sure. Maybe I'm after both. Will you be goodand hire him, or--"

"Oh, you've got me!" Best declared, with frank resentment. "If youwant him, I s'pose I'll have to get him for you, but"--he mutteredan oath under his breath--"you'll ruin me. Oy! Oy! I'll be gladwhen you're all in Dawson and at work. "

After some further talk the manager approached Phillips and madehimself known. "Laure tells me you want to join our troupe, " hebegan. 

"I'll see that he pays you well, " the girl urged. "Come on. "

Phillips' thoughts were not quite clear, but, even so, thesituation struck him as grotesquely amusing. "I'm no song-and-dance man, " he said, with a smile. "What would you expect me todo? Play a mandolin?"

"I don't know exactly, " Best replied. "Maybe you could help meride herd on these Bernhardts. " He ran a hand through his thinblack hair, thinner now by half than when he left the States. "Ifyou could do that, why--you could save my reason. "

"He wants you to be a Simon Legree, " Laure explained. 

The manager seconded this statement by a nod of his head. "Sure!Crack the whip over 'em. Keep 'em in line. Don't let 'em getmarried. I thought I was wise to hire good-lookers, but--I wascrazy. They smile and they make eyes and the men fight for 'em. They steal 'em away. I've had a dozen battles and every time I'vebeen licked. Already four of my girls are gone. If I lose fourmore I can't open; I'll be ruined. Oy! Such a country! Every day anew love-affair; every day more trouble--"

Laure threw back her dark head and laughed in mischievous delight. "It's a fact, " she told Pierce. "The best Best gets is the worstof it. He's not our manager, he's our slave; we have lots of funwith him. " Stepping closer to the young man, she slipped her armwithin his and, looking up into his face, said, in a low voice: "Iknew I could fix it, for I always have my way. Will you go?" Whenhe hesitated she repeated: "Will you go with me or--shall I gowith you?"

Phillips started. His brain was fogged and he had difficulty infocusing his gaze upon the eager, upturned face of the girl;nevertheless, he appreciated the significance of this audaciousinquiry and there came to him the memory of his recentconversation with the Countess Courteau. "Why do you say that?" hequeried, after a moment. "Why do you want me to go?"

Laure's eyes searched his; there was an odd light in them, and apeculiar intensity which he dimly felt but scarcely understood. "Idon't know, " she confessed. She was no longer smiling, and, although her gaze remained hypnotically fixed upon his, she seemedto be searching her own soul. "I don't know, " she said again, "butyou have a--call. "

In spite of this young woman's charms, and they were numerousenough, Phillips was not strongly drawn to her; resentment, anger, his rankling sense of injury, all these left no room for otheremotions. That she was interested in him he still had sense enoughto perceive; her amazing proposal, her unmistakable air ofproprietorship, showed that much, and in consequence a sort ofmalicious triumph arose within him. Here, right at hand, was anagency of forgetfulness, more potent by far than the one to whichhe had first turned. Dangerous? Yes. But his life was ruined. Whatdifference, then, whether oblivion came from alcohol or from thedrug of the poppy? Deliberately he shut his ears to innerwarnings; he raised his head defiantly. 

"I'll go, " said he. 

"We leave at daylight, " Best told him. 

CHAPTER XIV

With 'Poleon Doret to be busy was to be contented, and these werebusy times for him. His daily routine, with trap and gun, had madeof him an early riser and had bred in him a habit of greeting thesun with a song. It was no hardship for him, therefore, to cookhis breakfast by candle-light, especially now that the days weregrowing short. On the morning after his rescue of Sam Kirby andhis daughter 'Poleon washed his dishes and cut his wood; then, finding that there was still an hour to spare before the lightwould be sufficient to run Miles Canon, he lit his pipe andstrolled up to the village. The ground was now white, forconsiderable snow had fallen during the night; the day promised tobe extremely short and uncomfortable. 'Poleon, however, wasimpervious to weather of any sort; his good humor was not dampenedin the least. 

Even at this hour the saloons were well patronized, for not onlywas the camp astir, but also the usual stale crowd of all-nightloiterers was not yet sufficiently intoxicated to go to bed. As'Poleon neared the first resort, the door opened and a womanemerged. She was silhouetted briefly against the illumination fromwithin, and the pilot was surprised to recognize her as RoulettaKirby. He was upon the point of speaking to her when she collidedblindly with a man who had preceded him by a step or two. 

The fellow held the girl for an instant and helped her to regainher equilibrium, exclaiming, with a laugh: "Say! What's the matterwith you, sister? Can't you see where you're going?" When Roulettamade no response the man continued in an even friendlier tone, "Well, I can see; my eyesight's good, and it tells me you're aboutthe best-looking dame I've run into to-night. " Still laughing, hebent his head as if to catch the girl's answer. "Eh? I don't getyou. Who d'you say you're looking for?"

'Poleon was frankly puzzled. He resented this man's tone of easyfamiliarity and, about to interfere, he was restrained byRouletta's apparent indifference. What ailed the girl? It was toodark to make out her face, but her voice, oddly changed andunnatural, gave him cause for wonderment. Could it be--'Poleon'shalf-formed question was answered by the stranger who cried, inmock reproach: "Naughty! Naughty! You've had a little too much, that's what's the matter with you. Why, you need a guardeen. "Taking Rouletta by the shoulders, the speaker turned her about sothat the dim half-light that filtered through the canvas wall ofthe tent saloon shone full upon her face. 

'Poleon saw now that the girl was indeed not herself; there was achildish, vacuous expression upon her face; she appeared to bedazed and to comprehend little of what the man was saying. Thiswas proved by her blank acceptance of his next insinuating words:"Say, it's lucky I stumbled on to you. I been up all night and sohave you. S'pose we get better acquainted. What?"

Rouletta offered no objection to this proposal; the fellow slippedan arm about her and led her away, meanwhile pouring aconfidential murmur into her ear. They had proceeded but a fewsteps when 'Poleon Doret strode out of the gloom and laid a heavyhand upon the man. 

"My frien', " he demanded, brusquely, "w'ere you takin' dis lady?"

"Eh?" The fellow wheeled sharply. "What's the idea? What is she toyou?"

"She ain't not'in' to me. But I seen you plenty tams an'--youain't no good. "

Rouletta spoke intelligibly for the first time: "I've no place togo--no place to sleep. I'm very--tired. "

"There you've got it, " the girl's self-appointed protectorgrinned. "Well, I happen to have room for her in my tent. " AsDoret's fingers sank deeper into his flesh the man's anger rose;he undertook to shake off the unwelcome grasp. "You leggo! Youmind your own business--"

"Dis goin' be my biznesse, " 'Poleon announced. "Dere's somet'ingfonny 'bout dis--"

"Don't get funny with me. I got as much right to her as you have--" 'Poleon jerked the man off his feet, then flung him aside as ifhe were unclean. His voice was hoarse with disgust when he cried:

"Get out! Beat it! By Gar! You ain't fit for touch decent gal. Youspik wit' her again, I tear you in two piece!"

Turning to Rouletta he said, "Mam'selle, you lookin' for yourpapa, eh?"

Miss Kirby was clasping and unclasping her fingers, her face wasstrained, her response came in a mutter so low that 'Poleon barelycaught it:

"Danny's gone--gone--Dad, he's--No use fighting it--It's thedrink--and there's nothing I can do. "

It was 'Poleon's turn to take the girl by the shoulders and wheelher about for a better look at her face. A moment later he led herback into the saloon. She was so oddly obedient, so docile, sounquestioning, that he realized something was greatly amiss. Helaid his hand against her flushed cheek and found it to be burninghot, whereupon he hastily consulted the nearest bystanders. Theyagreed with him that the girl was indeed ill--more than that, shewas half delirious. 

"Sacre! Wat's she doin' roun' a saloon lak dis?" he indignantlydemanded. "How come she's gettin' up biffore daylight, eh?"

It was the bartender who made plain the facts: "She 'ain't been tobed at all, Frenchy. She's been up all night, ridin' herd on oldSam Kirby. He's drinkin', understand? He tried to get some placefor her to stay, along about midnight, but there wasn't any. She'sbeen settin' there alongside of the stove for the last few hoursand I been sort of keepin' an eye on her for Sam's sake. "

Doret breathed an oath. "Dat's nice fader she's got! I wish I let'im drown. "

"Oh, he ain't exactly to blame. He's on a bender--like to ofkilled a feller in here. Somebody'd ought to take care of thisgirl till he sobers up. "

During this conference Rouletta stood quivering, her face a blank, completely indifferent to her surroundings. 'Poleon made her sitdown, and but for her ceaseless whispering she might have been ina trance. 

Doret's indignation mounted as the situation became plain to him. 

"Fine t'ing!" he angrily declared. "Wat for you fellers leave disseeck gal settin' up, eh? Me, I come jus' in tam for catch aloafer makin' off wit' her. " Again he swore savagely. "Dere's somefeller ain't wort' killin'. Wal, I got good warm camp; I tak' herdere, den I fin' dis fader. "

"Sam won't be no good to you. What she needs is a doctor, and sheneeds him quick, " the bartender averred. 

"Eh bien! I fin' him, too! Mam'selle"--'Poleon turned to the girl--"you're bad seeck, dat's fac'. You care for stop in my tent?" Thegirl stared up at him blankly, uncomprehendingly; then, drawndoubtless by the genuine concern in his troubled gaze, she raisedher hand and placed it in his. She left it there, the smallfingers curling about his big thumb like those of a child. "Poorli'l bird!" The woodsman's brow puckered, a moisture gathered inhis eyes. "Dis is hell, for sure. Come, den, ma petite, I fin' anes' for you. " He raised her to her feet; then, removing his heavywoolen coat, he placed it about her frail shoulders. When she wassnugly buttoned inside of it he led her out into the dim graydawn; she went with him obediently. 

As they breasted the swirling snowflakes Doret told himself that, pending Sam Kirby's return to sanity, this sick girl needed awoman's care quite as much as a doctor's; naturally his thoughtsturned to the Countess Courteau. Of all the women in White Horse, the Countess alone was qualified to assume charge of an innocentchild like this, and he determined to call upon her as soon as hehad summoned medical assistance. 

When, without protest, Rouletta followed him into his snug living-quarters, Doret thought again of the ruffian from whom he hadrescued her and again he breathed a malediction. The more fully hebecame aware of the girl's utter helplessness the angrier he grew, and the more criminal appeared her father's conduct. White Horsemade no pretense at morality; it was but a relay station, abreathing-point where the mad rush to the Klondike paused; therewas neither law nor order here; the women who passed through were, for the most part, shameless creatures; the majority of the menwere unruly, unresponsive to anything except an appeal to theiranimal appetites. Sympathy, consideration, chivalry had all butvanished in the heat of the great stampede. That Sam Kirby shouldhave abandoned his daughter to such as these was incredible, criminal. Mere intoxication did not excuse it, and 'Poleon vowedhe would give the old man a piece of his mind at the firstopportunity. 

His tent was still warm; a few sticks of dry spruce caused thelittle stove to grow red; he helped Rouletta to lie down upon hisbed, then he drew his blankets over her. 

"You stay here li'l while, eh?" He rested a comforting hand uponher shoulder. "'Poleon goin' find your papa now. Bimeby you goin'feel better. "

He was not sure that she understood him, for she continued tomutter under her breath and began to roll her head as if in pain. Then he summoned all the persuasiveness he could. "Dere now, you're safe in 'Poleon's house; he mak' you well dam' queeck. "

A good many people were stirring when the pilot climbed once moreto the stumpy clearing where the village stood, and whomsoever hemet he questioned regarding Sam Kirby; it did not take him long todiscover the latter's whereabouts. But 'Poleon's delay, brief asit had been, bore tragic consequences. Had he been a moment or twoearlier he might have averted a catastrophe of far-reachingeffect, one that had a bearing upon many lives. 

The Gold Belt Saloon had enjoyed a profitable all-night patronage;less than an hour previously Morris Best had rounded up the lastof his gay song-birds and put an end to their carnival. The pokergame, however, was still in progress at the big round table. Already numerous early risers were hurrying in to fortifythemselves against the raw day just breaking, and among theselast-named, by some evil whim of fate, chanced to be the man forwhom Sam Kirby had so patiently waited. The fellow had not comeseeking trouble--no one who knew the one-armed gambler'sreputation sought trouble with him--but, learning that Kirby wasstill awake and in a dangerous mood, he had entered the Gold Beltdetermined to protect himself in case of eventualities. 

Doret was but a few seconds behind the man, but those few secondswere fateful. As the pilot stepped into the saloon he beheld asight that was enough to freeze him motionless. The big kerosenelamps, swung from the rafter braces above, shed over the interiora peculiar sickly radiance, yellowed now by reason of the palemorning light outside. Beneath one of the lamps a tableau was set. Sam Kirby and the man he had struck the night before were facingeach other in the center of the room, and Doret heard the gamblercry:

"I've been laying for you!"

Kirby's usually impassive face was a sight; it was fearfullycontorted; it was the countenance of a maniac. His words were loudand uncannily distinct, and the sound of them had brought abreathless hush over the place. At the moment of Doret's entrancethe occupants of the saloon seemed petrified; they stood rooted intheir tracks as if the anger in that menacing voice had haltedthem in mid-action. 'Poleon, too, turned cold, for it seemed tohim that he had opened the door upon a roomful of wax figuresposed in theatric postures. Then in the flash of an eye the scenedissolved into action, swift and terrifying. 

What happened was so unexpected, it came with such a lack ofwarning, that few of the witnesses, even though they beheld everymove, were able later to agree fully upon details. Whether Kirbyactually fired the first shot, or whether his attempt to do sospurred his antagonist to lightning quickness, was long a matterof dispute. In a flash the room became a place of deafeningechoes. Shouts of protest, yells of fright, the crash ofoverturning furniture, the stamp of fleeing feet mingled with theloud explosion of gunshots--pandemonium. 

Fortunately the troupe of women who had been here earlier weregone and the tent was by no means crowded. Even so, there wereenough men present to raise a mighty turmoil. Some of them tookshelter behind the bar, others behind the stove and the tables;some bolted headlong for the door; still others hurled themselvesbodily against the canvas walls and ripped their way out. 

The duel was over almost as quickly as it had begun. Sam Kirby'sopponent reeled backward and fetched up against the bar; above thedin his hoarse voice rose:

"He started it! You saw him! Tried to kill me!"

He waved a smoking pistol-barrel at the gambler, who had sunk tohis knees. Even while he was shouting out his plea forjustification Kirby slid forward upon his face and the fingers ofhis outstretched hand slowly unloosed themselves from his gun. 

It had been a shocking, a sickening affair; the effect of it hadbeen intensified by reason of its unexpectedness, and now, although it was over, excitement gathered fury. Men burst forthfrom their places of concealment and made for the open air; thestructure vomited its occupants out into the snow. 

'Poleon Doret had been swept aside, then borne backward ahead ofthat stampede, and at length found himself wedged into a corner. He heard the victor repeating: "You saw him. Tried to kill me!"The speaker turned a blanched face and glaring eyes upon thosewitnesses who still remained. "He's Sam Kirby. I had to get him orhe'd have got me. " He pressed a hand to his side, then raised it;it was smeared with blood. In blank stupefaction the man stared atthis phenomenon. 

Doret was the first to reach that motionless figure sprawled facedown upon the floor; it was he who lifted the gray head and spokeKirby's name. A swift examination was enough to make quite surethat the old man was beyond all help. Outside, curiosity had doneits work and the human tide was setting back into the wreckedsaloon. When 'Poleon rose with the body in his arms he wassurrounded by a clamorous crowd. Through it he bore the limpfigure to the cloth-covered card-table, and there, among thescattered emblems of Sam Kirby's calling, 'Poleon deposited hisburden. By those cards and those celluloid disks the old gamblerhad made his living; grim fitness was in the fact that they shouldcarpet his bier. 

When 'Poleon Doret had forced his way by main strength out of theGold Belt Saloon, he removed his cap and, turning his face to thewind, he breathed deeply of the cool, clean air. His brow wasmoist; he let the snowflakes fall upon it the while he shut hiseyes and strove to think. Engaged thus, he heard Lucky Broadaddress him. 

With the speaker was Kid Bridges; that they had come thither onthe run was plain, for they were panting. 

"What's this about Kirby?" Lucky gasped. 

"We heard he's just been croaked!" the Kid exclaimed. 

'Poleon nodded. "I seen it all. He had it comin' to him, " and witha gesture he seemed to brush a hideous picture from before hiseyes. 

"Old Sam! DEAD!"

Broad, it seemed, was incredulous. He undertook to bore his wayinto the crowd that was pressing through the saloon door, butDoret seized him. 

"Wait!" cried the latter. "Dat ain't all; dat ain't de worst. "

"Say! Where's Letty?" Bridges inquired. "Was she with him when ithappened? Does she know--"

"Dat's w'at I'm goin' tell you. " In a few words 'Poleon made knownthe girl's condition, how he had happened to encounter her, andhow he had been looking for her father when the tragedy occurred. His listeners showed their amazement and their concern. 

"Gosh! That's tough!" It was Broad speaking. "Me 'n' the Kid hadstruck camp and was on our way down to fix up our boat when weheard about the killin'. We couldn't believe it, for Sam--"

"Seems like it was a waste of effort to save that outfit, " Bridgesbroke in. "Sam dead and Letty dyin'--all in this length of time!She's a good kid; she's goin' to feel awful. Who's goin' to breakthe news to her?"

"I don' know. " 'Poleon frowned in deep perplexity. "Dere's doctorin dere now, " he nodded toward the Gold Belt. "I'm goin' tak' himto her, but she mus' have woman for tak' care of her. Mebbe Madamela Comtesse--"

"Why, the Countess is gone! She left at daylight. Me 'n' the Kidare to follow as soon as we get our skiff fixed. "

"Gone?"

"Sure!"

"Sacre! De one decent woman in dis place, Wal!" 'Poleon shrugged. "Dose dance-hall gal' is got good heart--"

"Hell! They pulled out ahead of our gang Best ran his boatsthrough the White Horse late yesterday and he was off before itwas light. I know, because Phillips told me. He's joined out with'em--blew in early and got his war-bag. He left the Countessflat. "

Doret was dumfounded at this news and he showed his dismay. 

"But--dere's no more women here!" he stammered. "Dat young ladyshe's seeck; she mus' be nurse'. By Gar! Who's goin' do it, eh?"

The three of them were anxiously discussing the matter when theywere joined by the doctor to whom 'Poleon had referred. "I've doneall there is to do here, " the physician announced. "Now aboutKirby's daughter. You say she's delirious?" The pilot nodded. Hetold of Rouletta's drenching on the afternoon previous and of thestate in which he had just found her. "Jove! Pneumonia, mostlikely. It sounds serious, and I'm afraid I can't do much. You seeI'm all ready to go, but--of course I'll do what I can. "

"Who's goin' nurse her?" 'Poleon demanded for a second time. "Dereain't no women in dis place. "

The physician shook his head. "Who indeed? It's a wretchedsituation! If she's as ill as you seem to think, why, we'll haveto do the best we can, I suppose. She probably won't last long. Come!" Together he and the French Canadian hurried away. 

CHAPTER XV

It was afternoon when Lucky Broad and Kid Bridges came to 'PoleonDoret's tent and called its owner outside. 

"We're hitched up and ready to say 'gid-dap, ' but we came back tosee how Letty's getting along, " the former explained. 

'Poleon shook his head doubtfully; his face was grave. "She's badseeck. "

"Does she know about old Sam?"

"She ain't know not'in'. She's crazee altogether. Poor li'l gal, she's jus' lak baby. I'm scare' as hell. "

The confidence-men stared at each other silently; then they staredat Doret. "What we goin' to do about it?" the Kid inquired, finally. 

'Poleon was at a loss for an answer; he made no secret of hisanxiety. "De doctor say she mus' stay right here--"

"HERE?"

"He say if she get cold once more--pouf! She die lak dat! Plentyfire, plenty blanket, medicine every hour, dat's all. I'm prayin'for come along some woman--any kin' of woman at all--I don' careif she's squaw. "

"There ain't any skirts back of us. Best's outfit was the last toleave Linderman. There won't be any more till after the freeze-up. "

"Eh bien! Den I s'pose I do de bes' I can. She's poor seeck gal inbeeg, cold countree wit' no frien's, no money--"

"No money?" Broad was startled. "Why, Sam was 'fat'! He had abank-roll--"

"He lose five t'ousan' dollar' playin' card las' night. Less 'neighty dollar' dey lef' him. Eighty dollar' an'--dis. " From thepocket of his mackinaw 'Poleon drew Kirby's revolver, that famoussingle-action six-shooter, the elaborate ivory grip of which wasnotched in several places. Broad and his partner eyed the weaponwith intense interest. 

"That's Agnes, all right!" the former declared. "And that's whereold Sam kept his books. " He ran his thumb-nail over thesignificant file-marks on the handle. "Looks like an alligator hadbit it. "

Bridges was even more deeply impressed by the announcement ofKirby's losses than was his partner. "Sam must of been easypickin', drunk like that. He was a gamblin' fool when he wasright, but I s'pose he couldn't think of nothin' except fresh meatfor Agnes. Letty had him tagged proper, and I bet she'd of savedhim if she hadn't of gone off her nut. D'you think she's got achance?"

"For get well?" 'Poleon shrugged his wide shoulders. "De doctorsay it's goin' be hard pull. He's goin' stay so long he can, den--wal, mebbe 'noder doctor come along. I hope so. "

"If she does win out, then what?" Broad inquired. 

'Poleon considered the question. "I s'pose I tak' her back to Dyeaan' send her home. I got some dog. "

Lucky studied the speaker curiously; there was a peculiar hostilegleam in his small, colorless eyes. "Medicine every hour, and asteady fire, you say. You don't figger to get much sleep, do you?"

"Non. No. But me, I'm strong feller; I can sleep hangin' up by deear if I got to. "

"What's the big idea?"

"Eh?" Doret was frankly puzzled. "Wat you mean, 'beeg idea'?"

"What d'you expect to get out of all this?"

"M'sieu'!" The French Canadian's face flushed, he raised his headand met the gaze of the two men. There was an air of dignity abouthim as he said: "Dere's plenty t'ing in dis worl' we don' get pay'for. You didn't 'spect no pay yesterday when you run de W'ite'Orse for save dis gal an' her papa, did you? No. Wal, I'mwoodsman, river-man; I ain't dam' stampeder. Dis is my countree, we're frien's together long tam; I love it an' it loves me. I lovede birds and hanimals, an' dey're frien's wit' me also. 'Boutspring-tam, w'en de grub she's short, de Canada jays dey come tovisit me, an' I feed dem; sometam' I fin' dere's groun-squirrel'snest onder my tent, an' mebbe mister squirrel creep out of hishole, t'inkin' summer is come. Dat feller he's hongry; he steal myfood an' he set 'longside my stove for eat him. You t'ink I hurtdose he'pless li'l t'ing? You s'pose I mak' dem pay for w'at deyeat?"

'Poleon was soaring as only his free soul could soar; he indicatedthe tent at his back, whence issued the sound of Rouletta Kirby'sceaseless murmurings. 

"Dis gal--she's tiny snowbird wit' broken wing. Bien! I fix herwing de bes' I can. I mak' her well an' I teach her to fly again. Dat's all. " Broad and Bridges had listened attentively, theirfaces impassive. Lucky was the first to speak. 

"Letty's a good girl, y'understand. She's different to theseothers--"

'Poleon interrupted with a gesture of impatience. "It ain't mak'no difference if she's good or bad. She's seeck. "

"Me 'n' the Kid have done some heavy thinkin', an' we'd aboutdecided to get a high stool and take turns lookin' out Letty'sgame, just to see that her bets went as they laid, but I got ahunch you're a square guy. What D'YOU think, Kid?"

Mr. Bridges nodded his head slowly. "I got the same hunch. Thepoint is this, " he explained. "We can't very well throw theCountess--we got some of her outfit--and, anyhow, we'd be about ashandy around an invalid as a coupla cub bears. I think we'll bowout. But, Frenchy"--the gambler spoke with intense earnestness--"if ever we hear a kick from that gal we'll--we'll foller you likea track. Won't we, Lucky?"

"We'll foller him to hell!" Mr. Broad feelingly declared. 

Gravely, ceremoniously, the callers shook hands with Doret, thenthey returned whence they had come. They went their way;Rouletta's delirium continued; 'Poleon's problem increased daily;meanwhile, however, the life of the North did not slacken a singlepulse-beat. 

Never since their earliest associations had Tom Linton and JerryQuirk found themselves in such absolute accord, in such completeharmony of understanding, as during the days that immediatelyfollowed their reconciliation. Each man undertook to outdo theother in politeness; each man forced himself to be considerate, and strove at whatever expense to himself to lighten the other'sburdens; all of their relations were characterized by anelaborate, an almost mid-Victorian courtesy. A friendly rivalry inself-sacrifice existed between them; they quarreled good-naturedlyover the dish-washing, that disgusting rite which tries thepatience of every grown man; when there was wood to be cut theybattled with each other for the ax. 

But there is a limit to politeness; unfailing sunshine growstedious, and so does a monotonous exercise of magnanimity. 

While it had been an easy matter to cut their rowboat in two, theprocess of splicing it together again had required patience andingenuity, and it had resulted in delay. By the time they arrivedat Miles Canon, therefore, the season was far advanced and bothmen, without knowing it, were in a condition of mind to welcomeany sort of a squall that would serve to freshen the unbearablystagnant atmosphere of amiability in which they were slowlysuffocating. 

Here for the first time the results of their quarrel arose toembarrass them; they could find no pilot who would risk his lifein a craft so badly put together as theirs. After repeateddiscouragements the partners took counsel with each other;reluctantly they agreed that they were up against it. 

"Seems like I've about ruined us, " Mr. Quirk acknowledged, ruefully. 

"You? Why, Jerry, it was my fault we cut the old ship in two, " Mr. Linton declared. 

The former speaker remonstrated, gently. "Now, Tom, it's just likeyou to take the blame, but it was my doin's; I instigated thatfratricidal strife. "

Sweetly but firmly Linton differed with his partner. "It ain'toften that you're wrong, Jerry, old boy--it ain't more than onceor twice in a lifetime--but you're wrong now. I'm the guiltywretch and I'd ought to hang for it. My rotten temper--"

"Pshaw! You got one of the nicest dispositions I ever see--in aman. You're sweeter 'n a persimmon. I pecked at you till your corewas exposed. I'm a thorn in the flesh, Tom, and folks wouldn'tcriticize you none for doin' away with me. "

"You're 'way off. I climbed you with my spurs--"

"Now, Tom!" Sadly Mr. Quirk wagged his gray head. "I don't oftenargue with anybody, especially with you, but the damnable idea ofdividin' our spoils originated in my evil mind and I'm goin' topay the penalty. I'll ride this white-pine outlaw through bymyself. You ear him down till I get both feet in the stirrups, then turn him a-loose; I'll finish settin' up and I won't pullleather. "

"How you talk! Boats ain't like horses; it'll take a good oarsmanto navigate these rapids--"

"Well?" Quirk looked up quickly. "I'm a good oarsman. " There was amomentary pause. "Ain't I?"

Mr. Linton hastily remedied his slip of the tongue. "You're abear!" he asserted, with feeling. "I don't know as I ever saw abetter boatman than you, for your weight and experience, but--there's a few things about boats that you never had the chance topick up, you being sort of a cactus and alkali sailor. Forinstance, when you want a boat to go 'gee' you have to pull on the'off' oar. It's plumb opposite to the way you steer a horse. "

"Sure! Didn't I figger that out for the both of us? We 'most had arunaway till I doped it out. "

Now this was a plain perversion of fact, for it was Tom who hadmade the discovery. Mr. Linton was about to so state the matterwhen he reflected that doubtless Jerry's intentions were honestand that his failing memory was to blame for the misstatement. Itwas annoying to be robbed of the credit for an importantdiscovery, of course, but Tom swallowed his resentment. 

"The point is this, " he said, with a resumption of geniality. "You'd get all wet in them rapids, Jerry, and--you know what thatmeans. I'd rather take a chance on drowning myself than to nurseyou through another bad cold. "

It was a perfectly sincere speech--an indirect expression of deepconcern that reflected no little credit upon the speaker'sgenerosity. Tom was exasperated, therefore, when Jerry, by somecharacteristic process of crooked reasoning, managed tomisinterpret it. Plaintively the latter said:

"I s'pose I AM a handicap to you, Tom. You're mighty consid'rateof my feelin's, not to throw it up to me any oftener than you do. "

"I don't throw it up to you none. I never did. No, Jerry, I'll rowthe boat. You go overland and keep your feet dry. "

"A lot of good that would do. " Mr. Quirk spoke morosely. "I'dstarve to death walkin' around if you lost the grub. "

This struck Tom Linton as a very narrow, a very selfish way oflooking at the matter. He had taken no such view of Jerry's offer;he had thought less about the grub than about his partner'ssafety. It was an inconsiderate and unfeeling remark. After amoment he said:

"You know I don't throw things up to you, Jerry. I ain't thatkind. " Mr. Quirk stirred uneasily. "You didn't mean to say that, did you?"

What Jerry would have answered is uncertain, for his attention atthe moment was attracted by a stranger who strode down the bankand now accosted him and his partner jointly. 

"Bonjour, m'sieu's!" said the new-comer. "I'm lookin' for buy somelemon'. You got some, no?"

Mr. Quirk spoke irritably. "Sure. We've got a few, but they ain'tfor sale. "

The stranger--Quirk remembered him as the Frenchman, Doret, whomhe had seen at Sheep Camp--smiled confidently. 

"Oh yes! Everyt'ing is for sale if you pay 'nough for him, " saidhe. 

Now this fellow had broken the thread of a conversation into whicha vague undertone of acrimony was creeping--a conversation thatgave every indication of developing into an agreeable and soul-satisfying difference of opinion, if not even into a loud andfree-spoken argument of the old familiar sort. To have the promiseof an invigorating quarrel frustrated by an idiotic diversionconcerning lemons caused both old men to turn their pent-upexasperation upon the speaker. 

"We've got use for our lemons and we're going to keep them, " saidTom. "We're lemon-eaters--full of acid--that's us. "

"We wouldn't give lemon aid to nobody. " Jerry grinned in maliciousenjoyment of his own wit. 

"You got how many?" 'Poleon persisted. 

"Oh, 'bout enough! Mebbe a dozen or two. "

"I buy 'em. Dere's poor seeck lady--"

Tom cut in brusquely. "You won't buy anything here. Don't tell usyour troubles. We've got enough of our own, and poverty ain'tamong the number. "

"W'at trouble you got, eh? Me, I'm de trouble man. Mebbe I fix'em. "

Sourly the partners explained their difficulty. When 'Poleonunderstood he smiled again, more widely. 

"Good! I mak' bargain wit' you, queeck. Me, I'm pilot of de bes'an' I tak' your boat t'rough for dose lemon'. "

The elderly men sat up; they exchanged startled glances. 

"D'you mean it?"

"I'm goin' have dose lemon'. "

"Can't you buy any in the saloons?"

"No. Wal, w'at you say?"

Tom inquired of his partner, "Reckon you can get along without'em, Jerry?"

"Why, I been savin' 'em for you. "

"Then it's a go!"

"One t'ing you do for me, eh?" 'Poleon hesitated momentarily. "It's goin' tak' tam for fin' dam' fool to he'p me row dat bateau, but--I fin' him. Mebbe you set up wit' li'l seeck gal while I'mgone. What?" In a few words he made known the condition of affairsat his camp, and the old men agreed readily enough. Withundisguised relief they clambered stiffly out of their boat andfollowed the French Canadian up the trail. As they toiled up theslope 'Poleon explained:

"De doctor he's go to Dawson, an' t'ree day dis gal been layin'seeck--crazee in de head. Every hour medicine, all de tam fire inde stove! Sapre! I'm half 'sleep. "

"We'll set up with her as long as you want, " Tom volunteered. "Being a family man myself, I'm a regular nurse. "

"Me, too, " Jerry exclaimed. "I never had no family, but I allusbeen handy around hosses, and hosses is the same as people, onlybigger--"

Mr. Linton stifled a laugh at this remark. "That'll show you!"said he. "You leave it to me, Jerry. "

"Well, ain't they?"

"No. "

"They are, too. "

"Plumb different. "

The argument waxed hot; it had reached its height when 'Poleonlaid a finger upon his lips, commanding silence. On tiptoe he ledthe two men into his tent. When he had issued instructions andleft in search of a boatman the partners seated themselvesawkwardly, their caps in their hands. Curiously, apprehensively, they studied the fever-flushed face of the delirious girl. 

"Purty, ain't she?" Jerry whispered. 

Tom nodded. "She's sick, all right, too, " he said in a similartone; then, after a moment: "I've been thinking about them lemons. We're getting about a hundred dollars a dozen for 'em. Kind of arotten trick, under the circumstances. I'm sorry you put it up tothat feller the way you did. "

Mr. Quirk stiffened, his eyes widened in astonishment. 

"Me? I didn't put it up to him. You done it. They're your lemons. "

"How d'you figure they're mine?"

"You bought 'em, didn't you?"

"I PAID for 'em, if that's what you mean, but I bought 'em foryou, same as I bought that liquor. You've et most of 'em, andyou've drank most of the whisky. You needed it worse than I did, Jerry, and I've always considered--"

Now any reference, any reflection upon his physical limitations, however remote or indirect, aroused Jerry's instant ire. "At itagain, ain't you?" he cried, testily. "I s'pose you'll forgetabout that whisky in four or five years. I hope so--"

"'Sh-h!" Tom made a gesture commanding silence, for Jerry hadunconsciously raised his voice. "What ails you?" he inquired, sweetly. 

"Nothin' ails me, " Jerry muttered under his breath. "That's thetrouble. You're allus talkin' like it did--like I had one foot inthe grave and was gaspin' my last. I'm hard as a hickory-nut. Icould throw you down and set on you. "

Mr. Linton opened hia bearded lips, then closed them again; hewithdrew behind an air of wounded dignity. This, he reflected, washis reward for days of kindness, for weeks of uncomplainingsacrifice. Jerry was the most unreasonable, the most difficultperson he had ever met; the more one did for him the crankier hebecame. There was no gratitude in the man, his skin wouldn't holdit. Take the matter of their tent, for instance: how would the oldfellow have managed if he, Tom, had not, out of pure compassion, taken pity on him and rescued him from the rain back there atLinderman? Had Jerry remembered that act of kindness? He had not. On the contrary, he had assumed, and maintained, an attitude ofindulgence that was in itself an offense--yes, more than anoffense. Tom tried to center his mind upon his partner's virtues, but it was a difficult task, for honesty compelled him to admitthat Jerry assayed mighty low when you analyzed him with care. Mr. Linton gave up the effort finally with a shake of his head. 

"What you wigwaggin' about?" Jerry inquired, curiously. Tom madeno answer. After a moment the former speaker whispered, meditatively: "I'D have GIVE him the lemons if he'd asked me for'em. Sick people need lemons. "

"Sometimes they do and sometimes they don't, " Mr. Lintonwhispered, shortly. 

"Lemons is acid, and acid cuts phlegm. "

"Lemons ain't acid; they're alkali. "

This statement excited a derisive snort from Mr. Quirk. "Alkali!My God! Ever taste alkali?" Jerry had an irritating way ofasserting himself in regard to matters of which he knew less thannothing; his was the scornful certainty of abysmal ignorance. 

"Did you ever give lemons to sick folks?" Tom inquired, in histurn. 

"Sure! Thousands. "

Now this was such an outrageous exaggeration that Linton wasimpelled to exclaim:

"RATS! You never SAW a thousand sick folks. "

"I didn't say so. I said I'd given thousands of lemons--"

"Oh!" Tom filled his pipe and lit it, whereupon his partnerbreathed a sibilant warning:

"Put out that smudge! D'you aim to strangle the girl?"

With a guilty start the offender quenched the fire with his thumb. 

"The idea of lightin' sheep-dip in a sick-room!" Mr. Quirk wenton. With his cap he fanned violently at the fumes. 

"You don't have to blow her out of bed, " Tom growled. Clumsily hedrew the blankets closer beneath the sick girl's chin, but in sodoing he again excited his companion's opposition. 

"Here!" Jerry protested. "She's burnin' up with fever. You blanket'em when they've got chills. " Gently he removed the covers fromRouletta's throat. 

Linton showed his contempt for this ridiculous assertion bysilently pulling the bedding higher and snugly tucking it in. Jerry promptly elbowed him aside and pulled it lower. Tom made anangry gesture, and for a third time adjusted the covers to suithimself, whereupon Jerry immediately changed them to accord withhis ideas. 

Aggressively, violently, but without words this time, the partnersargued the matter. They were glaring at each other, they hadalmost come to blows when, with a start, Jerry looked at hiswatch. Swiftly he possessed himself of the medicine-glass andspoon; to Tom he whispered:

"Quick! Lift her up. "

Linton refused. "Don't you know ANYTHING?" he queried. "Never movea sick person unless you have to. Give it to her as she lays. "

"How you goin' to feed medicine out of a spoon to anybody layin'down?" the other demanded. 

"Easy!" Tom took the glass and the teaspoon; together the two menbent over the bed. 

But Linton's hands were shaky; when he pressed the spoon toRouletta's lips he spilled its contents. The girl rolled her headrestlessly. 

"Pshaw! She moved. "

"She never moved, " Jerry contradicted. "You missed her. " From hisnostrils issued that annoying, that insulting, snort of derisionwhich so sorely tried his partner's patience. "You had a fair shotat her, layin' down, Tom, and you never touched her. "

"Maybe I'd have had better luck if you hadn't jiggled me. "

"Hell! Who jiggled--?"

"'Sh--h!" Once more Mr. Quirk had spoken aloud. "If you've got toholler, go down by the rapids. "

After several clumsy attempts both men agreed that their patienthad doubtless received the equivalent of a full dose of medicine, so Tom replaced the glass and spoon. "I'm a little out ofpractice, " he explained. 

"I thought you done fine. " Jerry spoke with what seemed to begenuine commendation. "You got it into her nose every time. "

Tom exploded with wrath and it was Jerry's turn to commandsilence. 

"Why don't you hire a hall?" the latter inquired. "Or mebbe Ibetter tree a 'coon for you so you can bark as loud as you wantto. Family man! Huh!" Linton bristled aggressively, but thewhisperer continued:

"One head of children don't make a family any more 'n one head ofheifers makes a herd. "

Tom paled; he showed his teeth beneath his gray mustache. Leaningforward, he thrust his quivering bearded face close to the hatefulcountenance opposite him. "D'you mean to call my daughter aheifer?" he demanded, in restrained fury. 

"Keep them whiskers to yourself, " Jerry snapped. "You can't pick arow with me, Tom; I don't quarrel with nobody. I didn't call yourdaughter a heifer, and you know I didn't. No doubt she would ofmade a fine woman if she'd of grown up, but--Say! I bet I know whyyou lost her. I bet you poured so much medicine in her crib thatshe drownded. " Jerry giggled at this thought. 

"That ain't funny, " the other rumbled. "If I thought you meant tocall a member of my family a heifer--"

"You've called your wife worse 'n that. I've heard you. "

"I meant everything I said. She was an old catamount and--"

"Prob'bly she was a fine woman. " Jerry had a discourteous habit ofinterrupting. "No wonder she walked out and left you flat--she washuman. No doubt she had a fine character to start with. So did I, for that matter, but there's a limit to human endurance. "

"You don't have to put up with me any longer than you want to, "Linton stormed, under his breath. "We can get a divorce easy. Allit takes is a saw. "

"You made that crack once before, and I called your bluff!"Jerry's angry face was now out-thrust; only with difficulty did hemaintain a tone inaudible to the sick girl. "Out of pity I helpedyou up and handed you back your crutches. But this time I'll letyou lay where you fall. A hundred dollars a dozen for lemons! Fora poor little sick girl! You 'ain't got the bowels of a shark!"

"It was your proposition!"

"It wasn't!"

"It was!"

"Some folks lie faster 'n a goat can gallop. "

"Meaning me?"

"Who else would I mean?"

"Why don't you CALL me a liar and be done with it?"

"I do. It ain't news to anybody but you!"

Having safely landed his craft below the rapids, 'Poleon Dorethurried back to his tent to find the partners sitting knee toknee, face to face, and hurling whispered incoherencies at eachother. Both men were in a poisonous mood, both were ripe forviolence. They overflowed with wrath. They were glaring; theyshook their fists; they were racked with fury; insult followedabuse; and the sounds that issued from their throats were like therustlings of a corn-field in an autumn gale. Nor did inquiryelicit a sensible explanation from either. 

"Heifer, eh? Drowned my own child, did I?" Tom ground his teeth ina ferocious manner. 

"Don't file your tusks for me, " Jerry chattered; "file the saw. We're goin' to need it. "

"You men goin' cut dat boat in two again?" 'Poleon inquired, withastonishment. 

"Sure. And everything we've got. "

It was Linton who spoke; there was a light of triumph in his eyes, his face was ablaze with an unholy satisfaction. "We've beendrawing lots for twenty minutes, and this time--I GOT THE STOVE!"

CHAPTER XVI

Once again Tom and Jerry's skiff had been halved, once again itsowners smarted under the memory of insults unwarranted, of gibesthat no apology could atone for. This time it had been old Jerrywho cooked his supper over an open fire and old Tom who stretchedthe tarpaulin over his stove. Neither spoke; both were sulky, avoiding each other's eye; there was an air of bitter, implacablehostility. 

Into this atmosphere of constraint came 'Poleon Doret, and, had itnot been for his own anxieties, he would have derived muchamusement from the situation. As it was, however, he was quiteblind to it, showing nothing save his own deep feeling of concern. 

"M'sieu's, " he began, hurriedly, "dat gal she's gettin' moreseeck. I'm scare' she's goin' die to-night. Mebbe you set up wit'me, eh?"

Tom quickly volunteered: "Why, sure! I'm a family man. I--"

"Family man!" Jerry snorted, derisively. "He had one head, mister, and he lost it inside of a month. I'm a better nurse than him. "

"Bien! I tak' you both, " said 'Poleon. 

But Jerry emphatically declined the invitation. "Cut me out if youaim to make it three-handed--I'd Jim the deck, sure. No, I'll setaround and watch my grub-pile. "

Tom addressed himself to 'Poleon, but his words were for his latepartner. 

"That settles me, " said he. "I'll have to stick close to home, forthere's people I wouldn't trust near a loose outfit. "

This was, of course, a gratuitous affront. It was fathered inmalice; it had its intended effect. Old Jerry hopped as if springsin his rheumatic legs had suddenly let go; he uttered a shrillwar-whoop--a wordless battle-cry in which rage and indignationwere blended. 

"If a certain old buzzard-bait sets up with you, Frenchy, countyour spoons, that's all. I know him. A hundred dollars a dozen forlemons! He'd rob a child's bank. He'd steal milk out of a sickbaby's bottle. "

The pilot frowned. "Dis ain't no tam for callin' names, " said he. "To-night dat gal goin' die or--she's goin' begin get well. Me, I'm mos' dead now. Mebbe you fellers forget yourse'f li'l whilean' he'p me out. "

Tom stirred uneasily. With apparent firmness he undertook to evadethe issue, but in his eyes was an expression of uncertainty. Jerry, too, was less obdurate than he had pretended. After somefurther argument he avoided a weak surrender by muttering:

"All right. Take HIM along, so I'll know my grub's safe, and I'llhelp you out. I'm a good hand with hosses, and hosses are likehumans, only bigger. They got more sense and more affection, too. They know when they're well off. Now if a hoss gets down you gotto get him up and walk him around. My idea about this girl--"

Mr. Linton groaned loudly, then to 'Poleon he cried: "Lead theway. You watch the girl and I'll watch this vet'rinary. "

That was an anxious and a trying night for the three men. Theywere unskilled in the care of the sick; nevertheless, theyrealized that the girl's illness had reached its crisis and that, once the crisis had passed, she would be more than likely torecover. Hour after hour they sat beside her, administering hermedicine regularly, maintaining an even temperature in the tent, and striving, as best they could, to ease her suffering. Thisdone, they could only watch and wait, putting what trust they hadin her youth and her vitality. Their sense of helplessnessoppressed the men heavily; their concern increased as the hoursdragged along and the life within the girl flared up to a blaze orflickered down to a mere spark. 

Doret was in a pitiable state, on the verge of exhaustion, for hisvigil had been long and faithful; it was a nightmare period ofsuspense for him. Occasionally he dozed, but only to start intowakefulness and to experience apprehensions keener than before. The man was beside himself, and his anxiety had its effect uponTom and Jerry. Their compassion increased when they learned howSam Kirby had been taken off and how Rouletta had been brought tothis desperate pass. The story of her devotion, her sacrifice, roused their deepest pity, and in the heat of that emotion theygrew soft. 

This mellowing process was not sudden; no spirit of forgivenesswas apparent in either of the pair. Far from it. Both remainedsullen, unrelenting; both maintained the same icy front. Theycontinued to ignore each other's presence and they exchangedspeech only with Doret. Nevertheless, their sympathy had beenstirred and a subtle change had come over them. 

This change was most noticeable in Linton. As the night wore ondistressing memories, memories he considered long dead and gone, arose to harass him. It was true that he had been unhappilymarried, but tune had cured the sting of that experience, or so hehad believed. He discovered now that such was not the case;certain incidents of those forgotten days recurred with poignanteffect. He had experienced the dawn of a father's love, a father'spride; he lost himself in a melancholy consideration of what mighthave been had not that dawn been darkened. How different, howfull, how satisfying, if--As he looked down upon the fair, fever-flushed face of this girl he felt an unaccustomed heartache, athrobbing pity and a yearning tenderness. The hand with which hestroked the hair back from her brow and rearranged her pillow wasas gentle as a woman's. 

Jerry, too, altered in his peculiar way. As the hours lengthened, his wrinkled face became less vinegary, between his eyes thereappeared a deepening frown of apprehension. More than once heopened his lips to ask Tom's opinion of how the fight progressed, but managed in time to restrain himself. Finally he could maintainsilence no longer, so he spoke to Doret:

"Mister! It looks to me like she ain't doin' well. "

'Poleon rose from his position beside the stove; he bent over thesick-bed and touched Rouletta's brow with his great hand. In a lowvoice he addressed her:

"Ma soeur! Ma petite soeur! It's 'Poleon spik to you. "

Rouletta's eyes remained vacant, her ceaseless whisperingcontinued and the man straightened himself, turning upon hiselderly companions. Alarm was in his face; his voice shook. 

"M'sieu's! W'at shall we do? Queeck! Tell me. "

But Tom and Jerry were helpless, hopeless. Doret stared at them;his hands came slowly together over his breast, his gropingfingers interlocked; he closed his eyes, and for a moment he stoodswaying. Then he spoke again as a man speaks who suffers mortalanguish. "She mus' not die! She--mus' not die! I tell yousomet'ing now: dis li'l gal she's come to mean whole lot for me. At firs' I'm sorry, de same lak you feel. Sure! But bimeby I getto know her, for she talk, talk--all tam she talk, lak crazeeperson, an' I learn to know her soul, her life. Her soul is w'ite, m'sieu's, it's w'ite an' beautiful; her life--I lit 'im togetherin little piece, lak broken dish. Some piece I never fin', but Isave 'nough to mak' picture here and dere. Sometam I smile an'listen to her; more tam' I cry. She mak' de tears splash on myhand. 

"Wal, I begin talk back to her. I sing her li'l song, I tell herstory, I cool her face, I give her medicine, an' den she sleep. Isit an' watch her--how many day an' night I watch her I don' know. Sometam I sleep li'l bit, but when she stir an' moan I spik to heran' sing again until-she know my voice. "

'Poleon paused; the old men watched his working face. 

"M'sieu's, " he went on, "I'm lonely man. I got no frien's, nofamily; I live in dreams. Dat's all I got in dis whole worl'--jus'dreams. One dream is dis, dat some day I'm going find somet'ing tolove, somet'ing dat will love me. De hanimals I tame dey run away;de birds I mak' play wit' dey fly south when de winter come. Isay, 'Doret, dis gal she's poor, she's frien'less, she's alone. She's very seeck, but you goin' mak' her well. She ain't goin' runaway. She ain't goin' fly off lak dem birds. No. She's goin' loveyou lak a broder, an' mebbe she's goin' let you stay close by. 'Dieu! Dat's fine dream, eh? It mak' me sing inside; it mak' mewarm an' glad. I w'isper in her ear, 'Ma soeur! Ma petite soeur!It's your beeg broder 'Poleon dat spik. He's goin' mak' you well, 'an' every tam she onderstan'. But now--"

A sob choked the speaker; he opened his tight-shut eyes and staredmiserably at the two old men. "I call to her an' she don' hear. Wat I'm goin' do, eh?"

Neither Linton nor Quirk made reply. 'Poleon leaned forward;fiercely he inquired:

"Which one of you feller' is de bes' man? Which one is go tochurch de mos'?"

Tom and Jerry exchanged glances. It was the latter who spoke:

"Tom--this gentleman-knows more about churches than I do. He wasmarried in one. "

Mr. Linton nodded. "But that was thirty years ago, so I ain't whatyou'd call a regular attendant. I used to carry my religion in mywife's name, when I had a wife. "

"You can pray?"

Tom shook his head doubtfully. "I'd be sure to make a mess of it. "

Doret sank to a seat; he lowered his head upon his hands. "Me, too, " he confessed. "Every hour I mak' prayer in my heart, but--Ican't spik him out. "

"If I was a good talker I'd take a crack at it, " Jerry ventured, "but--I'd have to be alone. "

Doret's lips had begun to move; his companions knew that he wasvoicing a silent appeal, so they lowered their eyes. For somemoments the only sound in the tent was the muttering of thedelirious girl. 

Linton spoke finally; his voice was low, it was husky withemotion: "I've been getting acquainted with myself to-night--firsttime in a long while. Things look different than they did. What'sthe good of fighting, what's the use of hurrying and trampling oneach other when this is the end? Gold! It won't buy anything worthhaving. You're right, Doret; somebody to love and to care for, somebody that cares for you, that's all there is in the game. Ihad dreams, too, when I was a lot younger, but they didn't last. It's bad, for a man to quit dreaming; he gets mean and selfish andonnery. Take me--I ain't worth skinning. I had a kid--little girl--I used to tote her around in my arms. Funny how it makes you feelto tote a baby that belongs to you; seems like all you've got iswrapped up in it; you live two lives. My daughter didn't staylong. I just got started loving her when she went away. She was--awful nice. "

The speaker blinked, for his eyes were smarting. "I feel, somehow, as if she was here to-night--as if this girl was her and I was herdaddy. She might have looked something like this young lady if shehad lived. She would have made a big difference in me. "

Tom felt a hand seek his. It was a bony, big-knuckled hand not atall like 'Poleon Doret's. When it gave his fingers a strong, firm, friendly pressure his throat contracted painfully. He raised hiseyes, but they were blurred; he could distinguish nothing exceptthat Jerry Quirk had sidled closer and that their shoulders allbut touched. 

Now Jerry, for all of his crabbedness, was a sentimentalist; healso was blind, and his voice was equally husky when he spoke:

"I'd of been her daddy, too, wouldn't I, Tom? We'd of shared her, fifty-fifty. I've been mean to you, but I'd of treated her allright. If you'll forgive me for the things I've said to you maybethe Lord will forgive me for a lot of other things. Anyhow, I'mgoin' to do a little rough prayin' for this kid. I'm goin' to askHim to give her a chance. "

Mr. Quirk did pray, and if he made a bad job of it, as he morethan suspected, neither of his earthly hearers noticed the fact, for his words were honest, earnest. When he had finished TomLinton's arm was around his shoulders; side by side the old mensat for a long time. Their heads were bowed; they kept their eyesupon Rouletta Kirby's face. Doret stood over them, motionless andintense; they could hear him sigh and they could sense hissuffering. When the girl's pain caused her to cry out weakly, heknelt and whispered words of comfort to her. 

Thus the night wore on. 

The change came an hour or two before dawn and the three menwatched it with their hearts in their throats. Mutely theyquestioned one another, deriving deep comfort from eachconfirmatory nod and gesture, but for some time they dared notvoice their growing hope. Rouletta's fever was breaking, they feltsure; she breathed more deeply, more easily, and she coughed less. Her discomfort lessened, too, and finally, when the candle-lightgrew feeble before the signs of coming day, she fell asleep. Laterthe men rose and stole out of the tent into the cold. 

Doret was broken. He was limp, almost lifeless; there were deeplines about his eyes, but, nevertheless, they sparkled. 

"She's goin' get well, " he said, uncertainly. "I'm goin' teach datli'l bird to fly again. "

The partners nodded. 

"Sure as shootin', " Jerry declared. 

"Right-o!" Linton agreed. "Now then"--he spoke in an energetic, purposeful tone--"I'm going to put Jerry to bed while I nail thatinfernal boat together again. "

"Not much, you ain't!" Jerry exclaimed. "You know I couldn't sleepa wink without you, Tom. What's more, I'll never try. "

Arm in arm the two partners set off down the river-bank. 'Poleonsmiled after them. When they were out of sight he turned his faceup to the brightening sky and said, aloud:

"Bon Dieu, I t'ank you for my sister's life. "

 Pierce Phillips awoke from a cramped and troubled slumber to findhimself lying upon a pile of baggage in the stern of a skiff. Fora moment he remained dazed; then he was surprised to hear themonotonous creak of oars and to feel that he was in motion. A furrobe had been thrown over him; it was powdered with snowflakes, but it had kept him warm. He sat up to discover Laure facing him. 

"Hello!" said he. "You here?"

The girl smiled wearily. "Where did you think I'd be? Have a goodsleep?"

He shrugged and nodded, and, turning his eyes shoreward, saw thatthe forest was flowing slowly past. The boat in which he foundhimself was stowed full of impedimenta; forward of Laure a man wasrowing listlessly, and on the seat beyond him were two femalefigures bundled to the ears in heavy wraps. They were the 'coon-shouting sisters whose song had drawn Pierce into the Gold BeltSaloon the evening before. In the distance were several otherboats. 

"You feel tough, I'll bet. " Laure's voice was sympathetic. 

After a moment of consideration Pierce shook his head. "No, " saidhe. "I feel fine--except that I'm hungry. I could eat a log-chain. "

"No headache?"

"None. Why?"

Laure's brown eyes widened in admiration and astonishment. "Jimminy! You're a hound for punishment. You must have oak ribs. Were you weaned on rum?"

"I never took a drink until last night. I'm a rank amateur. "

"Really!" The girl studied him with renewed interest. "What setyou off?"

Pierce made no answer. His face seemed fixed in a frown. His was atragic past; he could not bear to think of it, much less could hespeak of it. Noting that the oarsman appeared to be weary, Piercevolunteered to relieve him, an offer which was quickly accepted. As he seated himself and prepared to fall to work Laure advisedhim:

"Better count your money and see if it's all there. "

He did as directed. "It's all here, " he assured her. 

She flashed him a smile, then crept into the place he had vacatedand drew up the robe snugly. Pierce wondered why she eyed him withthat peculiar intentness. Not until she had fallen asleep did hesuspect with a guilty start that the robe was hers and that shehad patiently waited for him to finish his sleep while she herselfwas drooping with fatigue. This suspicion gave him a disagreeableshock; he began to give some thought to the nature of his newsurroundings. They were of a sort to warrant consideration; for along time he rowed mechanically, a frown upon his brow. 

In the first place, he was amazed to find how bravely he bore theanguish of a breaking heart, and how little he desired to do awaywith himself. The world, strangely enough, still remained apleasant place, and already the fret for new adventure wasstirring in him. He was not happy--thoughts of Hilda awoke realpain, and his sense of injury burned him like a brand--nevertheless, he could not make himself feel so utterly hopeless, so blackly despondent as the circumstances plainly warranted. Hewas, on the whole, agreeably surprised at his powers of resistanceand of recuperation, both physical and emotional. For instance, heshould by all means experience a wretched reaction from hisinebriety; as a matter of fact, he had never felt better in hislife; his head was clear, he was ravenously hungry. Then, too, hewas not altogether hopeless; it seemed quite probable that he andHilda would again meet, in which event there was no telling whatmight happen. Evidently liquor agreed with him; in his case it wasnot only an anodyne, but also a stimulus, spurring him tooptimistic thought and independent action. Yes, whisky roused afellow's manhood. It must be so, otherwise he would never havesummoned the strength to snap those chains which bound him to theCountess Courteau, or the reckless courage to embark upon anenterprise so foreign to his tastes and to his training as thisone. 

His memory of the later incidents of the night before was somewhatindistinct, as was his recollection of the scene when he hadserved his notice upon the Countess. Of this much he felt certain, however, he had done the right thing in freeing himself from asituation that reflected discredit upon his manhood. Whether hehad acted wisely by casting in his lot with Morris Best's outfitwas another matter altogether. He was quite sure he had not actedwisely, but there is a satisfaction at certain times in doing whatwe know to be the wrong thing. 

Pierce was no fool; even his limited experience in the North hadtaught him a good deal about the character of dance-hall women andof the men who handled them; he was in no wise deceived, therefore, by the respectability with which the word "theatrical"cloaked this troupe of wanderers; it gave him a feeling of extremeself-consciousness to find himself associated with such folk; hefelt decidedly out of place. 

What would his people think? And the Countess Courteau? Well, itwould teach her that a man's heart was not a football; that aman's love was not to be juggled with. He had made a gesture ofsplendid recklessness; he would take the consequences. 

In justice to the young man, be it said he had ample cause forresentment, and whatever of childishness he displayed was butnatural, for true balance of character is the result ofexperience, and as yet he had barely tasted life. 

As for the girl Laure, she awoke no real interest in him, now thathe saw her in the light of day; he included her in his general, vague contempt for all women of her type. There was, in fact, acertain contamination in her touch. True, she was a littledifferent from the other members of the party-greatly differentfrom Pierce's preconceived ideas of the "other sort"--but notsufficiently different to matter. It is the privilege of arrogantyouth to render stern and conclusive judgment. 

Best waved his party toward the shore shortly before dusk. Alanding-place was selected, tents, bedding, and paraphernalia wereunloaded; then, while the women looked on, the boatmen beganpitching camp. The work had not gone far before Phillipsrecognized extreme inefficiency in it. Confusion grew, progresswas slow, Best became more and more excited. Irritated at thegeneral ineptitude, Pierce finally took hold of things and in ashort time had made all snug for the night. 

Lights were glowing in the tents when he found his way through thegloom to the landing in search of his own belongings. Seated onthe gunwale of a skiff he discovered Laure. 

"I've been watching you, " she said. "You're a handy man. "

He nodded. "Is this the way Best usually makes camp?"

"Sure. Only it usually takes him much longer. I'll bet he's gladhe hired you. "

Pierce murmured something. 

"Are you glad he did?"

"Why, yes--of course. "

"What do you think of the other girls?"

"I haven't paid much attention to them, " he told her, frankly. 

There was a moment's pause; then Laure said:

"Don't!"

"Eh?"

"I say, don't!"

Phillips shrugged. In a world-weary, cynical tone he asserted, "Women don't interest me. "

"What ails you to-day?" Laure inquired, curiously. 

"Nothing. I'm not much of a ladies' man, that's all. "

"Yes, you are. Anyhow, you were last night. "

"I was all tuned up, then, " he explained. "That's not my normalpitch. "

"Don't you like me as well as you did?"

"Why--certainly. "

"Is there another woman?"

"'Another'?" Pierce straightened himself. "There's not even one. What difference would it make if there were?"

"Oh, none. " Laure's teeth flashed through the gloom. "I was justcurious. Curiosity killed a cat, didn't it? Will you help me upthe bank?"

Pierce took the speaker's arm; together they climbed the gravellyincline toward the illumination from the cook fire. In the edge ofthe shadows Laure halted and her hand slipped down over Pierce's. 

"Remember!" she said, meaningly. "Don't--or you'll hear from me. "

CHAPTER XVII

Laure had no cause to repeat her admonition, for, in the days thatfollowed, Pierce Phillips maintained toward the women members ofthe party an admirable attitude of aloofness. He was not rude, neither was he discourteous; he merely isolated himself from themand discouraged their somewhat timid advances toward friendship. This doubtless would have met with Laure's whole-hearted approvalhad he not treated her in precisely the same way. She had at firstassumed a somewhat triumphant air of proprietorship toward him, but this quickly gave way to something entirely different. Theybegan to know each other, to be sure; for hours upon end they weretogether, which could have resulted in nothing less than athorough acquaintance; notwithstanding this, there lurked behindPhillips' friendly interest an emotional apathy that piqued thegirl and put her on her mettle. She hid her chagrin under anassumption of carelessness, but furtively she studied him, forevery hour he bulked bigger to her. He exercised a pronouncedeffect upon her; his voice, his laughter, brought a light and asparkle to her eyes; she could not rest when he was out of hersight. His appeal, unconscious on his part, struck to the verycore of her being. To discover that she lacked a similar appealfor him roused the girl to desperation; she lay awake nights, trying to puzzle out the reason, for this was a new experience toher. Recalling their meeting and the incidents of that first nightat White Horse, she realized that here was a baffling secret andthat she did not possess the key to it. 

One night the truth came home to her. Best had made camp laterthan usual, and as a result had selected a particularly bad spotfor it--a brushy flat running back from a high, overhanging bankbeneath which ran a swirling eddy. 

The tents were up, a big camp-fire was blazing brightly, whenPierce Phillips, burdened with a huge armful of spruce boughs andblinded by the illumination, stepped too close to the river's rimand felt the soil beneath him crumble away. Down he plunged, amidan avalanche of earth and gravel; the last sound he heard beforethe icy waters received him was Laure's affrighted scream. Aninstant later he had seized a "sweeper, " to which he clung untilhelp arrived. He was wet to the skin, of course; his teeth werechattering by the time he had regained the camp-fire. Of theentire party, Laure alone had no comment to make upon theaccident. She stood motionless, leaning for support against atent-pole, her face hidden in her hands. Best's song-birds werenoisily twittering about Pierce; Best himself was congratulatingthe young man upon his ability to swim, when Laure spoke, sharply, imperiously:

"Somebody find his dry things, quickly. And you, Morris, get yourwhisky. "

While one of the men ran for Pierce's duffle-bag, Best camehurrying with a bottle which he proffered to Pierce. The latterrefused it, asserting that he was quite all right; but Laureexclaimed:

"Drink! Take a good one, then go into our tent and change as fastas you can. "

"Sure!" the manager urged. "Don't be afraid of good liquor. Thereisn't much left. Drink it all. "

A short time later, when Pierce reappeared, clad in dry garments, he felt none the worse for his mishap, but when he undertook toaid in the preparations for the night he suspected that he hadtaken his employer's orders too literally, for his brain waswhirling. Soon he discovered that his movements were awkward andhis hands uncertain, and when his camp-mates began to joke hedesisted with a laughing confession that he had imbibed too much. 

Laure drew him out of hearing, then inquired, anxiously, "Are youall right again?"

"Sure! I feel great. "

"I--I thought I'd die when I saw you disappear. " She shuddered andhid her face in her hands for a second time. It was quite darkwhere they stood; they were sheltered from observation. 

"Served me right, " he declared. "Next time I'll look where--" Hehalted in amazement. "Why, Laure, I believe you're crying!"

She lifted her face and nodded. "I'm frightened yet. " She laidtrembling, exploratory hands upon him, as if to reassure herselfof his safety. "Pierce! Pierce!" she exclaimed, brokenly. 

Suddenly Phillips discovered that this girl's concern affected himdeeply, for it was genuine--it was not in the least put on. All atonce she seemed very near to him, very much a part of himself. Hishead was spinning now and something within him had quickenedmagically. There was a new note in his voice when he undertook toreassure his companion. At his first word Laure looked up, startled; into her dark eyes, still misty with tears, there flameda light of wonder and of gladness. She swayed closer; she took thelapels of his coat between her gloved fingers and drew his headdown to hers; then she kissed him full upon the lips. Slowly, resolutely, his arms encircled her. 

On the following morning Laure asked Morris Best for a bottle ofwhisky. The evenings were growing cold and some of the girlsneeded a stimulant while camp was being pitched, she explained. The bottle she gave to Pierce, with a request to stow it in hisbaggage for safekeeping, and that night when they landed, crampedand chilly, she prevailed upon him to open it and to drink. Theexperiment worked. Laure began to understand that when PiercePhillips' blood flowed warmly, when he was artificiallyexhilarated, then he saw her with the eyes of a lover. It was nota flattering discovery, but the girl contented herself, for by nowshe was desperate enough to snatch at straws. Thenceforth shecounted upon strong drink as her ally. 

The closing scenes of the great autumn stampede to Dawson werepicturesque, for the rushing river was crowded with boats allracing with one another. 'Neath lowering skies, past ghostlyshores seen dimly through a tenuous curtain of sifting snowflakes, swept these craft; they went by ones and by twos, in groups and inflotillas; hourly the swirling current bore them along, and as themiles grew steadily less the spirits of the crews mounted. Loudlaughter, songs, yells of greeting and encouragement, ran back andforth; a triumphant joyfulness, a Jovian mirth, animated these menof brawn, for they had met the North and they had bested her. Restraint had dropped away by now, and they reveled in a new-foundfreedom. There was license in the air, for Adventure was afoot andthe Unknown beckoned. 

Urged on by oar and sweep, propelled by favoring breezes, theArgonauts pressed forward exultantly. At night their roaring camp-fires winked at one another like beacon lights along some friendlychannel. Unrolling before them was an endless panorama of spruceand birch and cottonwood, of high hills white with snow, ofunexplored valleys dark with promise. As the Yukon increased involume it became muddy, singing a low, hissing song, as if thefalling particles of snow melted on its surface and turned tosteam. 

Out of all the traffic that flowed past the dance-hall party, among all the boats they overhauled and left behind, PiercePhillips nowhere recognized the Countess Courteau's outfit. Whether she was ahead or whether they had outdistanced her he didnot know and inquiry rewarded him with no hint. 

During this journey a significant change gradually came over theyoung man. Familiarity, a certain intimacy with his companions, taught him much, and in time he forgot to look upon them aspariahs. Best, for instance, proved to be an irritable but good-hearted little Hebrew; he developed a genuine fondness for Pierce, which he took every occasion to show, and Pierce grew to like him. The girls, too, opened their hearts and made him feel theirfriendship. For the most part they were warm, impulsive creatures, and Pierce was amazed to discover how little they differed fromthe girls he had known at home. Among their faults he discoveredunusual traits of character; there was not a little kindliness, generosity, and of course much cheerfulness. They were free-handedwith what they had; they were ready with a smile, a word ofencouragement or of sympathy; they were absurdly grateful, too, for the smallest favor or the least act of kindness. Moreover, they behaved themselves extremely well. 

They were an education to Phillips; he acknowledged that he hadgravely misjudged them, and he began to suspect that they hadtaught him something of charity. 

As for Laure, he knew her very well by now and she knew him--evenbetter. This knowledge had come to them not without cost--wisdomis never cheap--but precisely what each of them had paid or wasdestined to pay for their better understanding of each other theyhad not the slightest idea. One thing the girl by this time hadmade sure of, viz. , when Pierce was his natural self he felt herappeal only faintly. On the other hand, the moment he was not hisnatural self, the moment his pitch was raised, he saw allurementsin her, and at such times they met on common ground. She made themost of this fact. 

Dawson City burst into view of the party without warning, and noEl Dorado could have looked more promising. Hounding a bend of theriver, they beheld a city of logs and canvas sprawled between thestream and a curving mountain-side. The day was still and clear, hence vertical pencil-markings of blue smoke hung over the roofs;against the white background squat dwellings stood out distinctly, like diminutive dolls' houses. Upon closer approach the rivershore was seen to be lined with scows and rowboats; a stern-wheeled river steamer lay moored abreast of the town. Above it avalley broke through from the north, out of which poured a floodof clear, dark water. It was the valley of the Klondike, magicword. 

The journey was ended. Best's boats were unloaded, his men hadbeen paid off, and now his troupe had scattered, seeking lodgings. As in a dream Pierce Phillips joined the drifting current ofhumanity that flowed through the long front streets and eddiedabout the entrances of amusement places. He asked himself if hewere indeed awake, if, after all, this was his Ultima Thule?Already the labor, the hardship, the adventure of the trip seemedimaginary; even the town itself was unreal. Dawson was both adisappointment and a satisfaction to Pierce. It was not what hehad expected and it by no means filled the splendid picture he hadpainted in his fancy. Crude, raw, unfinished, small, it was littlemore than Dyea magnified. But in enterprise it was tremendous;hence it pleased and it thrilled the youth. He breathed itsbreath, he drank the wine of its intoxication, he walked upon airwith his head in the clouds. 

Pierce longed for some one to whom he could confide his feeling oftriumph, but nowhere did he recognize a face. Finally he strolledinto one of the larger saloons and gambling-houses, and wascontentedly eying the scene when he felt a gaze fixed upon him. Heturned his head, opened his lips to speak, then stiffened in histracks. He could not credit his senses, for there, lounging atease against the bar, his face distorted into an evil grin, stoodJoe McCaskey!

Pierce blinked; he found that his jaw had dropped in amazement. McCaskey enjoyed the sensation he had created; he leered at hisformer camp-mate, and in his expression was a hint of that samevenom he had displayed when he had run the gauntlet at Sheep Campafter his flogging, He broke the spell of Pierce's amazement andproved himself to be indeed a reality by uttering a greeting. 

Pierce was inclined to ignore the salutation, but curiosity gotthe better of him and he answered:

"Well! This is a surprise. Do you own a pair of seven-league bootsor--what?"

McCaskey bared his teeth further. In triumph he said: "Thoughtyou'd lost me, didn't you? But I fooled you-fooled all of you. Ijumped out to the States and caught the last boat for St. Michael, made connections there with the last up-river packet, and--here Iam. I don't quit; I'm a finisher. "

Pierce noted the emphasis with which Joe's last words weredelivered, but as yet his curiosity was unsatisfied. He wonderedif the fellow was sufficiently calloused to disregard hishumiliating experience or if he proposed in some way to concealit. Certainly he had not evaded recognition, nor had he made theslightest attempt to alter his appearance. From his boldinsouciance it seemed evident that he was totally indifferent asto who recognized him. Either the man possessed moral courage ofthe extremest sort or else an unbelievable effrontery. 

As for Pierce, he was deeply resentful of Joe's false accusation--the memory of that was ineradicable--nevertheless, in view of theoutcome of that cowardly attempt, he had no desire for furtherrevenge. It seemed to him that the fellow had been sufficientlypunished for his misdeed; in fact, he could have found it easy tofeel sorry for him had it not been for the ill-concealed malice inJoe's present tone and attitude. 

He was upon the point of answering Joe's indirect threat with awarning, when his attention was attracted to a short, thick-set, nervous man at his elbow. The latter had edged close and wasstaring curiously at him. He spoke now, saying:

"So you're Phillips, eh?"

It was Joe who replied: "Sure. This is him. "

There was no need of an introduction. Pierce recognized thestranger as another McCaskey, for the family likeness was stampedupon his features. During an awkward moment the two men eyed eachother, and Joe McCaskey appeared to gloat as their glancesclashed. 

"This is Frank, " the latter explained, with a malicious grin. "Heand Jim was pals. And, say! Here's another guy you ought to meet. "He laid a hand upon still a second stranger, a man leaning acrossthe bar in conversation with a white-aproned attendant. "Count, here's that fellow I told you about. "

The man addressed turned, exposing a handsome, smiling blond faceornamented with a well-cared-for mustache. "I beg pardon?" heexclaimed, vacuously. 

"Meet Phillips. He can give you some dope on your wife. " Joechuckled. Phillips flushed; then he paled; his face hardened. 

"Ah! To be sure. " Count Courteau bowed, but he did not extend hishand. "Phillips! Yes, yes. I remember. You will understand thatI'm distracted for news of Hilda. She is with you, perhaps?"

"I left her employ at White Horse. If she's not here, she'llprobably arrive soon. "

"Excellent; I shall surprise her. "

Pierce spoke dryly. "I'm afraid it won't be so much of a surpriseas you think. She rather expects you. " With a short nod and withwhat pretense of carelessness he could assume he moved on towardthe rear of the building, whence came the sounds of music and thevoice of a dance-hall caller. 

For some time he looked on blindly at the whirling figures. JoeMcCaskey here! And Count Courteau! What an astonishingcoincidence! And yet there was really nothing so remarkable aboutit; doubtless the same ship had brought them north, in which eventthey could not well have avoided a meeting. Pierce rememberedHilda's prophecy that her indigent husband would turn up, like abad penny. His presence was agitating--for that matter, so was thepresence of Joe McCaskey's brother Frank, as yet an unknownquantity. That he was an enemy was certain; together, he and Joemade an evil team, and Pierce was at a loss just how to meet them. 

Later, when he strolled out of the saloon, he saw the three menstill at the bar; their heads were together; they were talkingearnestly. 

CHAPTER XVIII

Rouletta Kirby was awakened by the sound of chopping; in thestill, frosty morning the blows of the ax rang out loudly. For amoment she lay staring upward at the sloping tent-roof over herbed, studying with sleepy interest the frost-fringe formed by herbreath during the night. This fringe was of intricate design; itresembled tatters of filmy lace and certain fragments of it hungdown at least a foot, a warning that the day was to be extremelycold. But Rouletta needed no proof of that fact beyond theevidence of her nose, the tip of which was like ice and so stiffthat she could barely wrinkle it. She covered it now with a warmpalm and manipulated it gently, solicitously. 

There was a damp, unpleasant rime of hoar-frost standing on theedge of her fur robe, and this she gingerly turned back. Cautiously she freed one arm, then raised herself upon her elbow. Reaching up, she struck the taut canvas roof a sharp blow; thenwith a squeak, like the cry of a frightened marmot, she dodgedunder cover just in time to avoid the frosty shower. 

The chopping abruptly ceased. 'Poleon's voice greeted her gaily:"Bon jour, ma soeur! By golly! You gettin' be de mos' lazy gal!I'spect you sleep all day only I mak' beeg noise. "

"Good morning!" Rouletta's voice was muffled. As if repeating alesson, she ran on: "Yes, I feel fine. I had a dandy sleep; didn'tcough and my lungs don't hurt. And no bad dreams. So I want to getup. There! I'm well. "

"You hongry, too, I bet, eh?"

"Oh, I'm dying. And my nose--it won't work. "

Doret shouted his laughter. "You wait. I mak' fire queeck an' cookde breakfas', den--you' nose goin' work all right. I got beegs'prise for dat li'l nose to-day. "

The top of Rouletta's head, her eyes, then her mouth, camecautiously out from hiding. 

"What is it, 'Poleon? Something to eat?"

"Sapre! What I tol' you? Every minute 'eat, eat'! You' worse danharmy of Swede'. I ain't goin' tol' you what is dis s'prise--bimeby you smell him cookin'. "

"Moose meat!" Rouletta cried. 

"No'" 'Poleon vigorously resumed his labor every stroke of the axwas accompanied by a loud "Huh!" "I tol' you not'in'!" hedeclared; then after a moment he voiced one word, "Caribou!"

Again Rouletta uttered a famished cry. 

Soon the tent strings were drawn and the axman pushed through thedoor, his arms full of dry spruce wood. He stood smiling down atthe face framed snugly in the fox fur; then he dropped his burdenand knelt before the stove. In a moment there came a promisingcrackle, followed quickly by an agreeable flutter which grew intoa roar as the stove began to draw. 

"CARIBOU!" Rouletta's eyes were bright with curiosity and anemotion far more material. "Where in the world--?"

"Some hinjun hunter mak' beeg kill. I got more s'prise as dat, too. By golly! Dis goin' be regular Chris'mas for you. "

Rouletta stirred. There was stubborn defiance in her tone when shesaid: "I'm going to get up and I'm--going--outdoors--clothes or noclothes. I'll wrap the robe around me and play I'm a squaw. " Shechecked 'Poleon's protest. "Oh, I'm perfectly well, and theclothes I have are thick enough. "

"Look out you don' froze yourse'f. Dat pretty dress you got isgive you chillsblain in Haugust. " The speaker blew upon hisfingers and sat back upon his heels, his eyes twinkling, his brownface wreathed in smiles. 

"Then I can do it? You'll let me try?" Rouletta was all eagerness. 

"We'll talk 'bout dat bimeby. First t'ing we goin' have beegpotlatch, lak Siwash weddin'. "

"Goody! Now run away while I get up. "

But the man shook his head. "Don' be soch hurry. Dis tent warmslow. Las' night de reever is froze solid so far you look. Prettyqueeck people come. "

"Do you think they'll have extra clothes--something warm that Ican wear?"

"Sure! I fix all dat. " Still smiling, 'Poleon rose and wentstooping out of the tent, tying the flaps behind him. A few rodsdistant was another shelter which he had pitched for himself; infront of it, on a pole provision-cache, were two quarters offrozen caribou meat, and seated comfortably in the snow beneath, eyes fixed upon the prize, were several "husky" dogs of unusualsize. At 'Poleon's appearance they began to caper and to fawn uponhim. 

"Ho, you ole t'iefs!" he cried, sternly. "You lak steal dose meat, I bet! Wal, I eat you 'live. " Stretching on tiptoe, he removed oneof the quarters and bore it into his tent. The dogs gathered justoutside the door; cautiously they nosed the canvas aside; and as'Poleon set to work with hatchet and hunting-knife their brighteyes followed his every move. 

"Non!" he exclaimed, with a ferocious frown. "You don't get somuch as li'l smell. You t'ink ma soeur goin' hongry to feedloafer' lak you?" Bushy gray tails began to stir, the heads camefarther forward, there was a most unmannerly licking of chops. "ByGar! You sound lak' miner-man eatin' soup. Wat for you'spect nicegrub? You don' work none. " 'Poleon removed a layer of fat, dividedit, and tossed a portion to each animal. The morsels vanished witha single gulp, with one wolfish click of sharp white teeth, "No, Igive you not'in'. "

For no reason whatever the speaker broke into loud laughter; then, to further relieve his bubbling joyousness, he began to hum asong. As he worked his song grew louder, until its words wereaudible to the girl in the next tent. 

"Oh, la voix du beau Nord qui m'appelle, Pour benir avec lui lejour, Et desormais toute peine cruelle Fuira devant mon chantd'amour. D'amour, d'amour. " ("Oh, the voice of the North is a-calling me, To join in the praise of the day, So whatever the fatethat's befalling me, I'll sing every sorrow away. Away, away. ")

The Yukon stove was red-hot now, and Rouletta Kirby's tent waswarm. She seated herself before a homely little dresser fashionedfrom two candle-boxes, and began to arrange her hair. Curiouslyshe examined the comb and brush. They were, or had been, 'Poleon's; so was the pocket-mirror hanging by a safety-pin to thecanvas wall above. Rouletta recalled with a smile the flourish ofpride with which he had presented to her this ludicrous bureau andits fittings. Was there ever such a fellow as this Doret? Wasthere ever a heart so big, so kind? A stranger, it seemed to thegirl that she had known him always. There had been days--daysinterminable--when he had seemed to be some dream figure; anindistinct, unreal being at once familiar and unfamiliar, friendlyand forbidding; then other days during which he had graduallyassumed substance and actuality and during which she had come toknow him. Following her return to sanity, Rouletta had experiencedperiods of uncertainty and of terror, then hours of embarrassmentthe mere memory of which caused her to shrink and to hide herhead. Those were times of which, even yet, she could not bear tothink. Hers had been a slow recovery and a painful, nay a tragic, awakening, but, as she had gained the strength and the ability tounderstand and to suffer, 'Poleon, with a tact and athoughtfulness unexpected in one of his sort, had dropped thecharacter of nurse and assumed the role of friend and protector. That had been Rouletta's most difficult ordeal, the most tryingtime for both of them, in fact; not one man in ten thousand couldhave carried off such an awkward situation at a cost so low to awoman's feelings. It was, of course, the very awkwardness of thatsituation, together with 'Poleon's calm, courageous method offacing it, that had given his patient the strength to meet himhalf-way and that had made her convalescence anything less than atorture. 

And the manner in which he had allowed her to learn all the truthabout herself--bit by bit as her resistance grew--his sympathy, his repression, his support! He had to know just how far to go; hehad spared her every possible heartache, he had never permittedher to suffer a moment of trepidation as to herself. No. Her firstconscious feeling, now that she recalled it, had been one ofimplicit, unreasoning faith in him. That confidence had increasedwith every hour; dismay, despair, the wish to die had given placeto resignation, then to hope, and now to a brave self-confidence. Rouletta knew that her deliverance had been miraculous and thatthis man, this total stranger, out of the goodness of his heart, had given her back her life. She never ceased pondering over it. 

She was now sitting motionless, comb and brush in hand, when'Poleon came into the tent for a second time and aroused her fromher abstraction. She hastily completed her toilette, and wassitting curled up on her bed when the aroma of boiling coffee andthe sound of frying steak brought her to her feet. With a noisyclatter she enthusiastically arranged the breakfast dishes. 

"How wonderful it is to have an appetite in the morning!" saidshe; then: "This is the last time you're going to cook. You maychop the wood and build the fires, but I shall attend to the rest. I'm quite able. "

"Bien!" The pilot smiled his agreement. "Everybody mus' work to behappy--even dose dog. Wat you t'ink? Dey loaf so long dey beginfight, jus' lak' people. " He chuckled. "Pretty queeck we hitch herup de sled an' go fly to Dyea. You goin' henjoy dat, ma soeur. Mebbe we meet dose cheechako' comin' in an' dey holler: 'Hallo, Frenchy! How's t'ing' in Dawson?' an' we say: 'Pouf! We don' care'bout Dawson; we goin' home. '"

"Home!" Rouletta paused momentarily in her task. 

"Sure! Now--voila, ! Breakfas' she's serve in de baggage-car. "Witha flourish he poured the coffee, saying, "Let's see if you sohongry lak you pretend, or if I'm goin' keep you in bed somemore. "

Rouletta's appetite was all--yes, more--than she had declared itto be. The liberality with which she helped herself to oatmeal, her lavish use of the sugar--spoon, and her determined attack uponthe can of "Carnation" satisfied any lingering doubts in Doret'smind. Her predatory interest in the appetizing contents of thefrying-pan--she eyed it with the greedy hopefulness of a healthyurchin--also was eloquent of a complete recovery and brought athrill of pride to her benefactor. 

"Gosh! I mak' bad nurse for hospital, " he grinned. "You eat himout of house an' lot. " He finished his meal, then looked on untilRouletta leaned back with regretful satisfaction; thereupon hebroke out:

"Wal, I got more s'prise for you. "

"You--you can't surprise a toad, and--I feel just like one. Isn'tfood good?"

Now Rouletta had learned much about this big woodsman'speculiarities; among other things she had discovered that he tookextravagant delight in his so-called "s'prises. " They were manyand varied, now a titbit to tempt her palate, or again a nativedoll which needed a complete outfit of moccasins, cap, and parka, and which he insisted he had met on the trail, very numb from thecold; again a pair of rabbit-fur sleeping-socks for herself. Thatcrude dresser, which he had completed without her suspecting him, was another. Always he was making or doing something to amuse orto occupy her attention, and, although his gifts were poor, sometimes absurdly simple, he had, nevertheless, the power ofinvesting them with importance. Being vitally interested in allthings, big or little, he stimulated others to share in thatinterest. Life was an enjoyable game, inanimate objects talked tohim, every enterprise was tinted imaginary colors, and hedelighted in pretense--welcome traits to Rouletta, whose childhoodhad been starved. 

"What is my new s'prise?" she queried. But, without answering, 'Poleon rose and left the tent; he was back a moment later with abundle in his hands. This bundle he unrolled, displaying a finefur parka, the hood of which was fringed with a deep fox-tailfacing, the skirt and sleeves of an elaborate checker-boardpattern of multicolored skins. Gay squirrel-tail streamersdepended from its shoulders as further ornamentation. Altogetherit was a splendid specimen of Indian needlework and Roulettagasped with delight. 

"How WONDERFUL!" she cried. "Is--it for me?" The pilot nodded. "Sure t'ing. De purtiest one ever I see. But look!" He called herattention to a beaver cap, a pair of beaded moose-hide mittens, and a pair of small fur boots that went with the larger garments--altogether a complete outfit for winter travel. "I buy him fromdose hinjun hunter. Put him on, queeck. "

Rouletta slipped into the parka; she donned cap and mittens; and'Poleon was in raptures. 

"By golly! Dat's beautiful!" he declared. "Now you' fix for sure. No matter how col' she come, your li'l toes goin' be warm, youdon' froze your nose--"

"You're good and true--and--" Rouletta faltered, then added, fervently, "I shall always thank God for knowing you. "

Now above all things Doret dreaded his "sister's" serious moods orany expression of her gratitude; he waved her words aside with anairy gesture and began in a hearty tone:

"We don't stop dis place no longer. To-morrow we start for Dyea. Wat you t'ink of dat, eh? Pretty queeck you be home. " When hishearer displayed no great animation at the prospect he exclaimed, in perplexity: "You fonny gal. Ain't you care?"

"I have no home, " she gravely told him. 

"But your people--dey goin' be glad for see you?"

"I have no people, either. You see, we lived a queer life, fatherand I. I was all he had, outside of poor Danny Royal, and he--wasall I had. Home was where we happened to be. He sold everything tocome North; he cut all ties and risked everything on a singlethrow. That was his way, our way--all or nothing. I've beenthinking lately; I've asked myself what he would have wished me todo, and--I've made up my mind. "

"So?" 'Poleon was puzzled. 

"I'm not going 'outside. ' I'm going to Dawson. 'Be a thoroughbred. Don't weaken. ' That's what he always said. Sam Kirby followed thefrontier and he made his money there. Well, I'm his girl, hisblood is in me. I'm going through. "

'Poleon's brow was furrowed in deep thought; it cleared slowly. "Dawson she's bad city, but you're brave li'l gal and--badness ishere, " he tapped his chest with a huge forefinger. "So long deheart she's pure, not'in' goin' touch you. " He nodded in betteragreement with Rouletta's decision. "Mebbe so you're right. Forme, I'm glad, very glad, for I t'ink my bird is goin' spread herwing' an' fly away south lak all de res', but now--bien! I'msatisfy! We go to Dawson. "

"Your work is here, " the girl protested. "I can't take you awayfrom it. "

"Fonny t'ing 'bout work, " 'Poleon said, with a grin. "Plenty tam Itry to run away from him, but always he catch up wit' me. "

"You're a poor man. I can't let you sacrifice too much. "

"Poor?" The pilot opened his eyes in amazement. "Mon Dieu! I'mreech feller. Anybody is reech so long he's well an' happy. MebbeI sell my claim. "

"Your claim? Have you a claim? At Dawson?"

The man nodded indifferently. "I stake him las' winter. He'spretty claim to look at--plenty snow, nice tree for cabin, drywood, everyt'ing but gold. Mebbe I sell him for beeg price. "

"Why doesn't it have any gold?" Rouletta was genuinely curious. 

"Why? Biccause I stake him, " 'Poleon laughed heartily. "Dose claimI stake dey never has so much gold you can see wit' your eye. Notone, an' I stake t'ousan'. Me, I hear dose man talk 'bout milliondollar; I'm drinkin' heavy so I t'ink I be millionaire, too. Butbimeby I'm sober ag'in an' my money she's gone. I'm res'lessfeller; I don' stop long no place. "

"What makes you think it's a poor claim?"

'Poleon shrugged. "All my claim is poor. Me, I'm onlucky. Mebbe soI don' care enough for bein' reech. W'at I'll do wit' pile ofmoney, eh? Drink him up? Gamble? Dat's fun for while. Every springI sell my fur an' have beeg tam; two weeks I'm drunk, but--dat'splenty. Any feller dat's drunk more 'n two weeks is bum. No!" Heshook his head and exposed his white teeth in a flashing smile. "I'm cut off for poor man. I mak' beeg soccess of dat. "

Rouletta studied the speaker silently for a moment. "I know. " Shenodded her complete understanding of his type. "Well, I'm notgoing to let you do that any more. "

"I don' hurt nobody, " he protested. "I sing plenty song an' fightli'l bit. A man mus' got some fun. " "Won't you promise--for mysake?"

'Poleon gave in after some hesitation; reluctantly he agreed. "Ehbien! Mos' anyt'ing I promise for you, ma soeur. But--she's goin'be mighty poor trip for me. S'pose mebbe I forget dose promise?"

"I sha'n't let you. I've seen too much drinking--gambling. I'llhold you to your pledge. "

Again the man smiled; there was a light of warm affection in hiseyes. "By Gar! It's nice t'ing to have sister w'at care for you. When we goin' start for Dawson, eh?"

"To-morrow. "

CHAPTER XIX

Every new and prosperous mining-camp has an Arabian Nightsatmosphere, characteristic, peculiar, indescribable. Especiallynoticeable was this atmosphere in the early Arctic camps, made upas they were of men who knew little about mining, rather lessabout frontier ways, and next to nothing about the country inwhich they found themselves. These men had built fabulous hopes, they dwelt in illusion, they put faith in the thinnest of shadows. Now the most practical miner is not a conservative person; he iserratic, credulous, and extravagant; reasonless optimism is atonce his blessing and his curse. Nevertheless, the "old-timers" ofthe Yukon were moderate indeed as compared with the adventurousholiday-seekers who swarmed in upon their tracks. Being none toowell balanced themselves, it was only natural that the exuberanceof these new arrivals should prove infectious and that a sort ofgeneral auto-intoxication should result. That is precisely whathappened at Dawson. Men lost all caution, all common sense; theylived in a land of rosy imaginings; hard-bought lessons ofexperience were forgotten; reality disappeared; fancy took wingand left fact behind; expectations were capitalized and noexaggeration was too wild to challenge acceptance. It became aCity of Frenzy. 

It was all very fine for an ardent youth like Pierce Phillips; itset him ablaze, stirring a fever in his blood. Having won thusfar, he made the natural mistake of believing that the race washis; so he wasted little time in the town, but very soon took tothe hills, there to make his fortune and be done with it. 

Here came his awakening. Away from the delirium of the camp, incontact with cold reality, he began to learn something of theserious, practical business of gold-mining. Before he had beenlong on the creeks he found that it was no child's play to wresttreasure from the frozen bosom of a hostile wilderness, and that, no matter how rich or how plentiful the treasure, Mother Earthguarded her secrets jealously. He began to realize that theobstacles he had so blithely overcome in getting to the Klondikewere as nothing to those in the way of his further success. Of asudden his triumphal progress slowed down and he came to a pause;he began to mark time. 

There was work in plenty to be had, but, like most of the new-comers, he was not satisfied to take fixed wages. They seemedpaltry indeed compared with the drunken figures that were on everylip. In the presence of the uncertain he could not content himselfwith a sure thing. Nevertheless, he was soon forced to thenecessity of resorting to it, for through the fog of hismisapprehensions, beneath the obscurity of his ignorance, he beganto discover the true outline of things and to understand that hisideas were impractical. 

To begin with, every foot of ground in the proven districts wastaken, and even when he pushed out far afield he found that thewhole country was plastered with locations: rivers, creeks andtributaries, benches and hillsides, had been staked. For manymiles in every direction blazed trees and pencil notices greetedhim--he found them in places where it seemed no foot but his hadever trod. In Dawson the Gold Commissioner's office was besiegedby daily crowds of claimants; it would have taken years of work onthe part of a hundred thousand men to even prospect the groundalready recorded on the books. 

Back and forth Phillips came and went, he made trips with pack andhand-sled, he slept out in spruce forests, in prospectors' tents, in new cabins the sweaty green logs of which were still dripping, and when he had finished he was poorer by a good many dollars andricher only in the possession of a few recorder's receipts, thevalue of which he had already begun to doubt. 

Disappointed he was, but not discouraged. It was all too new andexciting for that. Every visit to Bonanza or El Dorado inspiredhim. It would have inspired a wooden man. For miles those valleyswere smoky from the sinking fires, and their clean white carpetswere spotted with piles of raw red dirt. By day they echoed toblows of axes, the crash of falling trees, the plaint ofwindlasses, the cries of freighters; by night they became vastcaldrons filled with flickering fires; tremendous vats, the vaporsfrom which were illuminated by hidden furnaces. One would havethought that here gold was being made, not sought--that this was aregion of volcanic hot springs where every fissure and vent-holespouted steam. It was a strange, a marvelous sight; it stirred theimagination to know that underfoot, locked in the flinty depths ofthe frozen gravel, was wealth unmeasured and unearned, rich hoardsof yellow gold that yesterday were ownerless. 

A month of stampeding dulled the keen edge of Pierce's enthusiasm, so he took a breathing-spell in which to get his bearings. 

The Yukon had closed and the human flotsam and jetsam it had bornethither was settling. Pierce could feel a metamorphic agency atwork in the town; already new habits of life were crystallizingamong its citizens; and beneath its whirlpool surface new formswere in the making. It alarmed him to realize that as yet his ownaffairs were in suspense, and he argued, with all the hotimpatience of youth, that it was high time he came to rest. Opportunities were on every side of him, but he knew not where orhow to lay hold of them to his best advantage. More than ever hefelt himself to be the toy of circumstance, more than ever hefeared the fallibility of his judgment and the consequences of amistake. He was in a mood both dissatisfied and irresolute when heencountered his two trail friends, Tom Linton and Jerry Quirk. Pierce had seen them last at Linderman, engaged in prosecuting astampeders' divorce; he was surprised to find them reunited. 

"I never dreamed you'd get through, " he told them, when greetingshad passed. "Did you come in one boat or in two?"

Jerry grinned. "We sawed up that outlaw four times. We'd havesplit her end to end finally, only we run out of pitch to cork herup. "

"That boat was about worn out with our bickerings, " Tom declared. "She ain't over half the length she was--all the rest is sawdust. If the nail-holes in her was laid end to end they'd reach to FortyMile. We were the last outfit in, as it was, and we'd of missed alanding if a feller hadn't run out on the shore ice and roped us. First town I ever entered on the end of a lariat. Hope I don'tleave it the same way. "

"Guess who drug us in, " Jerry urged. 

"I've no idea, " said Pierce. 

"Big Lars Anderson. "

"Big Lars of El Dorado?"

"He's the party. He was just drunk enough to risk breakin'through. When he found who we was--well, he gave us the town; hemade us a present of Dawson and all points north, together withthe lands, premises, privileges, and hereditaments appurtenantthereto. I still got a kind of a hangover headache and have totake soda after my meals. "

"Lars was a sheepman when we knew him, " Tom explained. "Jerry andI purloined him from some prominent cow-gentlemen who had him alldecorated up ready to hang, and he hasn't forgotten it. He goteverybody full the night we landed, and wound up by buying all thefresh eggs in camp. Forty dozen. We had 'em fried. He's a princewith his money. "

"He owns more property than anybody, " said pierce. 

"Right! And he gave us a 'lay. '"

Phillips' eyes opened. "A lay? On El Dorado?" he queried, in frankamazement. 

"No. Hunker. He says it's a good creek. We're lookin' for apardner. "

"What kind of a partner?"

It was Linton who answered. "Well, some nice, easy-going, hard-working young feller. Jerry and I are pretty old to wind awindlass, but we can work underground where it's warm. "

"'Easy-goin', ' that's the word, " Jerry nodded. "Tom and me getalong with each other like an order of buckwheat cakes, but we'reset in our ways and we don't want anybody to come between us. "

"How would I do?" Pierce inquired, with a smile. 

Tom answered promptly. "If your name was put to a vote I know oneof us that wouldn't blackball you. "

"Sure!" cried his partner. "The ballot-box would look like asettin' of pigeon eggs. Think it over and let us know. We'releavin' to-morrow. "

A lease on Hunker Creek sounded good to Phillips. Big LarsAnderson had been one of the first arrivals from Circle City;already he was rated a millionaire, for luck had smiled upon him;his name was one to conjure with. Pierce was about to accept theoffer made when Jerry said:

"Who d'you s'pose got the lay below ours? That feller McCaskey andhis brother. "

"McCaskey!"

"He's an old pal of Anderson's. "

"Does Big Lars know he's a thief?"

Jerry shrugged. "Lars ain't the kind that listens to scandal andwe ain't the kind that carries it. "

Pierce meditated briefly; then he said, slowly, "If your lay turnsout good so will McCaskey's. " His frown deepened. "Well, ifthere's a law of compensation, if there's such a thing asretributive justice--you have a bad piece of ground. "

"But there ain't any such thing, " Tom quickly asserted. "Anyhow, it don't work in mining-camps. If it did the saloons would bereading-rooms and the gamblers would take in washing. Look at thelucky men in this camp--bums, most of 'em. George Carmack was asquaw-man, and he made the strike. "

Pierce felt no fear of Joe McCaskey, only dislike and a desire toavoid further contact with him. The prospect of a long winter inclose proximity to a proven scoundrel was repugnant. Balancedagainst this was the magic of Big Lars' name. It was a problem;again indecision rose to trouble him. 

"I'll think it over, " he said, finally. 

Farther down the street Phillips' attention was arrested by anannouncement of the opening of the Rialto Saloon and Theater, Miller & Best, proprietors. Challenged by the name of his formeremployer and drawn by the sounds of merriment from within, Pierceentered. He had seen little of Laure since his arrival; he had allbut banished her from his thoughts, in fact; but he determined nowto look her up. 

The Rialto was the newest and the most pretentious of Dawson'samusement palaces. It comprised a drinking-place with a spaciousgambling-room adjoining. In the rear of the latter was thetheater, a huge log annex especially designed as the home ofBacchus and Terpsichore. 

The front room was crowded; through an archway leading to thegambling-hall came the noise of many voices, and over all thestrains of an orchestra at the rear. Ben Miller, a famous sportingcharacter, was busy weighing gold dust at the massive scales nearthe door when Pierce entered. 

The theater, too, was packed. Here a second bar was doing athriving business, and every chair on the floor, every box in thebalcony overhanging three sides of it, was occupied. Waiters werescurrying up and down the wide stairway; the general hubbub waspunctuated by the sound of exploding corks as the Klondikespendthrifts advertised their prosperity in a hilarious contest ofprodigality. 

All Dawson had turned out for the opening, and Pierce recognizedseveral of the El Dorado kings, among them Big Lars Anderson. 

These new-born magnates were as thriftless as locusts, and in themidst of their bacchanalian revels Pierce felt very poor, veryobscure. Here was the roisterous spirit of the Northland at fullplay; it irked the young man intensely to feel that he couldafford no part in it. Laure was not long in discovering him. Shesped to him with the swiftness of a swallow; breathlessly sheinquired:

"Where have you been so long? Why didn't you let me know you wereback?"

"I just got in. I've been everywhere. " He smiled down at her, andshe clutched the lapel of his coat, then drew him out of thecrowd. "I dropped in to see how you were getting along. "

"Well, what do you think of the place?"

"Why, it looks as if you'd all get rich in a night. "

"And you? Have you done anything for yourself?"

Pierce shook his head; in a few words he recounted his goings andhis comings, his efforts and his failures. Laure followed therecital with swift, birdlike nods of understanding; her dark ayeswere warm with sympathy. 

"You're going at it the wrong way, " she asserted when he hadfinished. "You have brains; make them work. Look at Best, look atMiller, his new partner; they know better than to mine. Mining isa fool's game. Play a sure thing, Pierce. Stay here in town andlive like a human being; here's where the money will be made. "

"Do you think I WANT to go flying over hill and dale, like atumbleweed? I haven't had warm feet in a week and I weep salttears when I see a bed. But I'm no Croesus; I've got to hustle. Ithink I've landed something finally. " He told of Tom and Jerry'soffer, but failed to impress his listener. 

"If you go out to Hunker Creek I'll scarcely ever see you, " saidshe. "That's the first objection. I've nearly died these lastthree weeks. But there are other objections. You couldn't getalong with those old men. Why, they can't get along with eachother! Then there's Joe McCaskey to think of. Why run intotrouble?"

"I've thought of all that. But Big Lars is on the crest of hiswave; he has the Midas touch; everything he lays his hands onturns to gold. He believes in Hunker--"

"I'll find out if he does, " Laure said, quickly. "He's drinking. He'll tell me anything. Wait!" With a flashing smile she was off. 

She returned with an air of triumph. "You'll learn to listen tome, " she declared. "He says Hunker is low grade. That's why helets lays on it instead of working it himself. Lars is a fox. "

"He said that?"

"The best there is in it is wages. Those were his very words. Would you put up with Linton and Quirk and the two McCaskeys forwages? Of course not. I've something better fixed up for you. "Without explaining, she led Pierce to the bar, where Morris Bestwas standing. 

Best was genuinely glad to see his former employee; he warmlyshook Pierce's hand, "I've got 'em going, haven't I?" he chuckled. 

Laure broke out, imperiously: "Loosen up. Morris, and let's allhave a drink on the house. You can afford it. "

"Sure!" With a happy grin the proprietor ordered a quart bottle ofwine. "I can afford more than that for a friend. We put it over, didn't we, kid?" He linked arms with Pierce and leaned upon him. "Oy! Such trouble we had with these girls, eh? But we got 'emhere, and now I got Dawson going. I'll be one of these Rockyfellermagnets, believe me. "

Pierce had not tasted liquor since his last farewell to Laure. Three weeks of hard work in the open air had effected a chemicalchange in his make-up, a purification of his tissues, and as aresult Best's liquor mounted quickly to his head and warmed hisblood. When he had emptied his glass Laure saw that it waspromptly refilled. 

"So you've cut out the stampeding, " Morris continued. "Good!You've got sense. Let the rough-necks do it. This here FrontStreet is the best pay-streak in the Klondike and it won't pinchout. Why? Because every miner empties his poke into it. " Thespeaker nodded, and leaned more intimately against Phillips. "Theybring in their Bonanza dust and their El Dorado nuggets and saltour sluices. That's the system. It's simpler as falling down alog. What?"

"Come to the good news, " Laure urged. 

"This little woman hates you, don't she?" Best winked. "Just likeshe hates her right eye. You got her going, kid. Well, you canstart work to-morrow. "

"Start work? Where?" Pierce was bewildered. 

"Miller's looking for a gold-weigher. We'll put you out in thesaloon proper. "

"'Saloon proper'?" Pierce shook his head in good-natured refusal. "I dare say it's the fault of my bringing-up, but--I don't thinkthere's any such thing. I'm an outdoor person. I'm one of therough-necks who salts your sluice-boxes. I think I'd better stickto the hills. It's mighty nice of you, though, and I'm muchobliged. "

"Are you going to take that other offer?" Laure inquired. WhenPierce hesitated she laid hold of his other arm. "I won't let yougo, " she cried. "I want you here--"

"Nonsense!" he protested. "I can't do anything for you. I havenothing--"

"Have I ever asked you for anything?" she blazed at him. "I cantake care of myself, but--I want you. I sha'n't let you go. "

"Better think it over, " Best declared. "We need a good man. "

"Yes!" Laure clung to Pierce's hand. "Don't be in a hurry. Anyhow, stay and dance with me while we talk about it. We've never had adance together. Please!"

The proprietor of the theater was in a genial mood. "Stickaround, " he seconded. "Your credit is good and it won't worry menone if you never take up your tabs. Laure has got the right idea;play 'em safe and sure, and let the other feller do the work. Nowwe'll have another bottle. "

The three of them were still standing at the bar when the curtainfell on the last vaudeville act and the audience swarmed out intothe gambling-room of the main saloon. Hastily, noisily, the chairswere removed from the dance floor, then the orchestra began aspirited two-step and a raucous-voiced caller broke into loudexhortations. In a twinkling the room had refilled, this time withwhirling couples. 

Laure raised her arms, she swayed forward into Pierce's embrace, and they melted into the throng. The girl could dance; she seemedto float in cadence with the music; she became one with herpartner and answered his every impulse. Never before had sheseemed so utterly and so completely to embody the spirit ofpleasure; she was ardent, alive, she pulsated with enjoyment; herbreath was warm, her dark, fragrant hair brushed Phillips' cheek;her olive face was slightly flushed; and her eyes, uplifted tohis, were glowing. They voiced adoration, abandon, surrender. 

The music ended with a crash; a shout, a storm of applausefollowed; then the dancers swarmed to the bar, bearing Pierce andhis companion with them. Laure was panting. She clung fiercely, jealously, to Phillips' arm. 

"Dance with me again. Again! I never knew what it was--" Shetrembled with a vibrant ecstasy. 

Drinks were set before them. The girl spurned hers, but absent-mindedly pocketed the pasteboard check that went with it. Whileyet Pierce's throat was warm from the spirits there began theopening measures of a languorous waltz and the crowd swept intomotion again. There was no refusing the invitation of that music. 

Later in the evening Phillips found Tom and Jerry; his color wasdeeper than usual, his eyes were unnaturally bright. 

"I'm obliged to you, " he told them, "but I've taken a job asweigher with Miller & Best. Good luck, and--I hope you strike itrich. "

When he had gone Tom shook his head. His face was clouded withregret and, too, with a vague expression of surprise. 

"Too bad, " he said. "I didn't think he was that kind. "

"Sure!" Jerry agreed. "I thought he'd make good. "

CHAPTER XX

Morris Best's new partner was a square gambler, so called. Peoplethere were who sneered at this description and considered it acontradiction as absurd as a square circle or an elliptical cube. An elementary knowledge of the principles of geometry and of theretail liquor business proved the non-existence of such a thing asa straight crook, so they maintained. But be that as it may, BenMiller certainly differed from the usual run of sporting-men, andhe professed peculiar ideas regarding the conduct of his trade. Those ideas were almost puritanical in their nature. Proprietorship of recreation centers similar to the Rialto hadbred in Mr. Miller a profound distrust of women as a sex and ofhis own ability successfully to deal with them; in consequence, herefused to tolerate their presence in his immediate vicinity. Thatthey were valuable, nay, necessary, ingredients in the success ofan enterprise such as the present one he well knew--Miller was, above all, a business man--but in making his deal with Best he hadinsisted positively that none of the latter's song-birds were everto enter the front saloon. That room, Miller maintained, was to behis own, and he proposed to exercise dominion over it. As for thegambling-hall, that of necessity was neutral territory and bereluctantly consented to permit the girls to patronize it so longas they behaved themselves. For his part, he yielded allresponsibility over the theater, and what went on therein, toBest. He agreed to stay out of it. 

This division of power worked admirably, and Miller's prohibitionswere scrupulously observed. He was angered, therefore, when, onemorning, his rule was broken. At the moment he was engaged inweighing, checking up, and sacking his previous night's receipts, he looked up with a frown when a woman's--a girl's--voiceinterrupted him. 

"Are you Ben Miller?" the trespasser inquired. 

Miller nodded shortly. He could be colder than a frog when hechose. 

"I'm looking for work, " explained the visitor. 

"You got the wrong door, " he told her. "You want the dance-hall. We don't allow women in here. "

"So I understand. "

Miller's frown deepened. "Well, then, beat it! Saloons aremasculine gender and--"

"I'm not a dance-hall girl, I'm a dealer, " the other broke in. 

"You're a--WHAT?" Ben's jaw dropped; he stared curiously at thespeaker. She was pretty, very pretty, in a still, dignified way;she had a fine, intelligent face and she possessed a poise, acarriage, that challenged attention. 

"A dealer? What the deuce can you deal?" he managed to ask. 

"Anything--the bank, the wheel, the tub, the cage--"

Disapproval returned to the man's countenance; there was anadmonitory sternness to his voice when he said: "It ain't verynice to see a kid like you in a place like this. I don't knowwhere you learned that wise talk, but--cut it out. Go home andbehave yourself, sister. If you're broke, I'll stake you; so'llanybody, for that matter. "

His visitor stirred impatiently. "Let's stick to business. I don'twant a loan. I'm a dealer and I want work. "

Morris Best bustled out of the adjoining room at the moment, and, noting a feminine figure in this forbidden territory, heexclaimed:

"Hey, miss! Theater's in the rear. "

Miller summoned him with a backward jerk of his head. "Morris, this kid's looking for a job--as dealer, " said he. 

"Dealer?" Best halted abruptly. "That's funny. "

"What is funny about it?" demanded the girl. "My father was agambler. I'm Rouletta Kirby. "

"Are you Sam Kirby's girl?" Miller inquired. When Rouletta noddedhe removed his hat, then he extended his hand. "Shake, " said he. "Now I've got you. You've had a hard time, haven't you? We heardabout Sam and we thought you was dead. Step in here and set down. "He motioned to the tiny little office which was curtained off fromgeneral view. 

Rouletta declined with a smile. "I really want work as a dealer. That's the only thing I can do well. I came here first because youhave a good reputation. "

"Kirby's kid don't have to deal nothing. She's good for any kindof a stake on his name. "

"Dad would be glad to hear that. He was a--great man. He ranstraight. " Rouletta's eyes had become misty at Miller's indirecttribute to her father; nevertheless, she summoned a smile and wenton: "He never borrowed, and neither will I. If you can't put me towork I'll try somewhere else. "

"How did you get down from White Horse?" Miller inquired, curiously. 

"'Poleon Doret brought me. "

"I know Doret. He's aces. "

"Can you really deal?" Best broke in. 

"Come. I'll prove that I can. " Rouletta started for the gambling-room and the two men followed. Best spoke to his partner in a lowvoice:

"Say, Ben, if she can make a half-way bluff at it she'll be a bigcard. Think of the play she'll get. "

But Miller was dubious. "She's nothing but a kid, " he protested. "A dealer has got to have experience, and, besides, she ain't thekind that belongs in a dump. Somebody'd get fresh and--I'd have tobust him. "

There was little activity around the tables al this hour of theday; the occupants of the gambling-room were, for the most part, house employees who were waiting for business to begin. Themajority of these employees were gathered about the faro layout, where the cards were being run in a perfunctory manner to anaccompaniment of gossip and reminiscence. The sight of Ben Millerin company with a girl evoked some wonder. This wonder increasedto amazement when Miller ordered the dealer out of his seat; itbecame open-mouthed when the girl took his place, then broke a newdeck of cards, deftly shuffled them, and slipped them into thebox. At this procedure the languid lookout, who had beencomfortably resting upon his spine, uncurled his legs, hoistedhimself into an attitude of attention, and leaned forward with astartled expression upon his face. 

The gamblers crowded closer, exchanging expectant glances; BenMiller and Morris Best helped themselves to chips and began toplay. These were queer doings; the case-hardened onlookersprepared to enjoy a mildly entertaining treat. Soon grins began toappear; the men murmured, they nudged one another, they slappedone another on the back, for what they saw astonished anddelighted them. The girl dealt swiftly, surely; she handled theparaphernalia of the faro-table with the careless familiarity oflong practice; but stranger still, she maintained a poise, acertain reserve and feminine dignity which were totallyincongruous. 

When, during a pause, she absent-mindedly shuffled a stack ofchips, the Mocha Kid permitted his feelings to get the better ofhim. 

"Hang me for a horse-thief!" he snickered. "Will you look atthat?" Now the Mocha Kid was a ribald character, profanity was apart of him, and blasphemy embellished his casual speech. Themildness of his exclamation showed that he was deeply moved. Hecontinued in the same admiring undertone: "I seen a dame once thatcould deal a bank, but she couldn't pay and take. This gal cansize up a stack with her eyes shut!"

Nothing could have more deeply intrigued the attention of thesemen than the sight of a modest, quiet, well-behaved young womanexhibiting all the technic of a finished faro-dealer. It wascontrary to their experience, to their ideas of fitness. Masteryof the gaming-table requires years of practice to acquire, and notone of these professionals but was as proud of his own dexterityas a fine pianist; to behold a mere girl possessed of all theknacks and tricks and mannerisms of the craft excited theirkeenest risibilities. In order the more thoroughly to test herskill several of them bought stacks of chips and began to play inearnest; they played their bets open, they coppered, they split, they strung them, and at the finish they called the turn. Roulettapaid and took; she measured stacks of counters with unerringfacility, she overlooked no bets. She ran out the cards, upset thebox, and began to reshuffle the cards. 

"Well, I'm a son of a gun!" declared the lookout. He doubled up inbreathless merriment, he rocked back and forth in his chair, hestamped his feet. A shout of laughter issued from the others. 

Ben Miller closed the cases with a crash. "You'll do, " heannounced. "If there's anything you don't know I can't teach it toyou. " Then to the bystanders he said: "This is Sam Kirby's girl. She wants work, and if I thought you coyotes knew how to treat alady I'd put her on. "

"Say!" The Mocha Kid scowled darkly at his employer. "What kindaguys do you take us for? What makes you think we don't know--"

He was interrupted by an angry outburst, by a chorus of resentfulprotests, the indignant tone of which seemed to satisfy Miller. The latter shrugged his shoulders and rose. Rouletta stirred as ifto follow suit, but eager hands stayed her, eager voices urged herto remain. 

"Run 'em again, miss, " begged Tommy Ryan, the roulette-dealer. Mr. Ryan was a pale-faced person whose addiction to harmful drugs wasnotorious; his extreme pallor and his nervous lack of repose hadgained for him the title of "Snowbird. " Tommy's hollow eyes wereglowing, his colorless lips were parted in an engaging smile. "Please run 'em once more. I 'ain't had so much fun since my wifeeloped with a drummer in El Paso. "

Rouletta agreed readily enough, and her admiring audience crowdedcloser. Their interest was magnetic, their absorption and theiramusement were communicated to some new-comers who had dropped in. Before the girl had dealt half the cards these bona-fide customershad found seats around the table and were likewise playing. They, too, enjoyed the novel experience, and the vehemence with whichthey insisted that Rouletta retain her office proved beyondquestion the success of Miller's experiment. 

It was not yet midday, nevertheless the news spread quickly that agirl was dealing bank at the Rialto, and soon other curiousvisitors arrived. Among them was Big Lars Anderson. Lars did notoften gamble, but when he did he made a considerable business ofit and the sporting fraternity took him seriously. Anything in thenature of an innovation tickled the big magnate immensely, and toevidence his interest in this one he purchased a stack of chips. Ere long he had lost several hundred dollars. He sent for Miller, finally, and made a good-natured complaint that the game was tooslow for him. 

"Shall I raise the limit?" the proprietor asked of Rouletta. Thegirl shrugged indifferently, whereupon the Mocha Kid and theSnowbird embraced each other and exchanged admiring profanities insmothered tones. 

Big Lars stubbornly backed his luck, but the bank continued towin, and meanwhile new arrivals dropped in. Two, three hours theplay went on, by which time all Dawson knew that a big game wasrunning and that a girl was in the dealer's chair. Few of thevisitors got close enough to verify the intelligence withoutreceiving a sotto voce warning that rough talk was taboo--Miller'sungodly clan saw to that--and on the whole the warning wasrespected. Only once was it disregarded; then a heavy loserbreathed a thoughtless oath. Disapproval was marked, punishmentwas condign; the lookout leisurely descended from his eyrie andfloored the offender with a blow from his fist. 

When the resulting disturbance had quieted down the defender ofdecorum announced with inflexible firmness, but with a total lackof heat:

"Gents, this is a sort of gospel game, and it's got a certain tonewhich we're going to maintain. The limit is off, except oncussing, but it's mighty low on that. Them of you that areindisposed to swallow your cud of regrets will have it knocked outof you. "

"Good!" shouted Big Lars. He pounded the table with the flat ofhis huge palm. "By Jingo! I'll make that unanimous. If anybody hasto cuss let him take ten paces to the rear and cuss the stove. "

It was well along in the afternoon when Rouletta Kirby pushed backher chair and rose. She was very white; she passed an uncertainhand over her face, then groped blindly at the table for support. At these signs of distress a chorus of alarm arose. 

"It's nothing, " she smiled. '"I'm just--hungry. I've been prettyill and I'm not very strong yet. "

Lars Anderson was dumfounded, appalled. "Hungry? My God!" To hiscompanions he shouted: "D'you hear that, boys? She's starved out!"

The boys had heard; already they had begun to scramble. Some ranfor the lunch-counter in the adjoining room, others dashed out tothe nearest restaurants. The Snowbird so far forgot hisresponsibilities as to abandon the roulette-wheel and leave itsbank-roll unguarded while he scurried to the bar and demanded adrink, a tray of assorted drinks, fit for a fainting lady. He cameflying back, yelling, "Gangway!" and, scattering the crowd aheadof him, he offered brandy, whisky, creme de menthe, hootch, absinthe and bitters to Rouletta, all of which she declined. Hewas still arguing the medicinal value of these beverages when theswinging doors from the street burst open and in rushed the MochaKid, a pie in each hand. Other eatables and drinkables appeared asby magic, the faro-table was soon spread with the fruits of ahalf-dozen hasty and hysterical forays. 

Rouletta stared at the apprehensive faces about her, and what sheread therein caused her lips to quiver and her voice to break whenshe tried to express her thanks. 

"Gosh! Don't cry!" begged the Mocha Kid. With a counterfeitassumption of juvenile hilarity he exclaimed: "Oh, look at thepretty pies! They got little Christmas-trees on their lids, 'ain'tthey? Um-yum! Rich and juicy! I stuck up the baker and stole hiswhole stock, but I slipped and spilled 'em F. O. B. --flat on theboardwalk. "

Rouletta laughed. "Let's end the game and all have lunch, " shesuggested, and her invitation was accepted. 

Big Lars spoke up with his mouth full of pastry: "We don't allowanybody to go hungry in this camp, " said he. "We're all yourfriends, miss, and if there's anything you want and can't afford, charge it to me. "

Rouletta stopped to speak with Miller, on her way out. "Do I getthe position?" she inquired. 

"Say! You know you get it!" he told her. "You go on at eight andcome off at midnight. "

"What is the pay?"

"I pay my dealers an ounce a shift, but--you can write your ownticket. How is two ounces?"

"I'll take regular wages, " Rouletta smiled. 

Miller nodded his approval of this attitude; then his faceclouded. "I've been wondering how you're going to protect yourbank-roll. Things won't always be like they were to-day. I s'poseI'll have to put a man on--"

"I'll protect it, " the girl asserted. "Agnes and I will do that. "

The proprietor was interested. "Agnes? Holy Moses! Is there two ofyou? Have you got a sister? Who's Agnes?"

"She's an old friend of my father's. "

Miller shrugged. "Bring her along if you want to, " he said, doubtfully, "but those old dames are trouble-makers. "

"Yes, Agnes is all of that, but"--Rouletta's eyes were dancing--"she minds her own business and she'll guard the bank-roll. "

Lucky Broad and Kid Bridges had found employment at the Rialtosoon after it opened. As they passed the gold-scales on their wayto work Pierce Phillips halted them. 

"I've some good news for you, Lucky, " he announced. "You've lostyour job. "

"Who, me?" Broad was incredulous. 

"Miller has hired a new faro-dealer, and you don't go on untilmidnight. " Briefly Pierce retold the story that had come to hisears when he reported for duty that evening. 

Broad and Bridges listened without comment, but they exchangedglances. They put their heads together and began a low-pitchedconversation. They were still murmuring when Rouletta appeared, incompany with 'Poleon Doret. 

'Poleon's face lighted at sight of the two gamblers. He strodeforward, crying: "Hallo! I'm glad for see you some more. " To thegirl he said: "You 'member dese feller'. Dey he'p save you in derapids. "

Rouletta impulsively extended her hands. "Of course! Could Iforget?" She saw Pierce Phillips behind the scales and nodded tohim. "Why, we're all here, aren't we? I'm so glad. Everywhere I goI meet friends. "

Lucky and the Kid inquired respectfully regarding her health, herjourney down the river, her reasons for being here; then when theyhad drawn her aside the former interrupted her flow ofexplanations to say:

"Listen, Letty. We got just one real question to ask and we'd likea straight answer. Have you got any kick against this Frenchman?"

"Any kick of any kind?" queried Bridges. "We're your friends; youcan tip us off. "

The sudden change in the tone of their voices caused the girl tostart and to stare at them. She saw that both men were in soberearnest; the reason behind their solicitude she apprehended. 

She laid a hand upon the arm of each. Her eyes were very brightwhen she began: "'Poleon told me how you came to his tent thatmorning after--you know, and he told me what you said. Well, itwasn't necessary. He's the dearest thing that ever lived!"

"Why'd he put you to work in a place like this?" Bridges roughlydemanded. 

"He didn't. He begged me not to try it. He offered me all he has--his last dollar. He--"

Swiftly, earnestly, Rouletta told how the big woodsman had caredfor her; how tenderly, faithfully, he had nursed her back tohealth and strength; how he had cast all his plans to the winds inorder to bring her down the river. "He's the best, the kindest, the most generous man I ever knew, " she concluded. "His heart isclean and--his soul is full of music. "

"'Sta bueno!" cried Lucky Broad, in genuine relief. "We had ahunch he was right, but--you can't always trust those Asiaticraces. "

Ben Miller appeared and warmly greeted his new employee. "Restedup, eh? Well, it's going to be a big night. Where's Agnes--theother one? Has she got cold feet?"

"No, just a cold nose. Here she is. " From a small bag on her armRouletta drew Sam Kirby's six-shooter. "Agnes was my father'sfriend. Nobody ever ran out on her. "

Miller blinked, he uttered a feeble exclamation, then he burstinto a mighty laugh. He was still shaking, his face was purple, there were tears of mirth in his eyes, when he followed Broad, Bridges, and Rouletta into the gambling-room. 

There were several players at the faro-table when the girl tookher place. Removing her gloves, she stowed them away in her bag. From this bag she extracted the heavy Colt's revolver, then openedthe drawer before her and laid it inside. She breathed upon herfingers, rubbing the circulation back into them, and began toshuffle the cards. Slipping them into the box, the girl settledherself in her chair and looked up into a circle of grinningfaces. Before her level gaze eyes that had been focused queerlyupon her fell. The case-keeper's lips were twitching, but he bitdown upon them. Gravely he said:

"Well, boys, let's go!"

CHAPTER XXI

In taking charge of a sick girl, a helpless, hopeless stranger, 'Poleon Doret had assumed a responsibility far greater than he hadanticipated, and that responsibility had grown heavier every day. Having, at last, successfully discharged it, he breathed freely, his first relaxation in a long time; he rejoiced in theconsciousness of a difficult duty well performed. So far as hecould see there was nothing at all extraordinary, nothing in theleast improper, about Rouletta's engagement at the Rialto. Anysuggestion of impropriety, in fact, would have greatly surprisedhim, for saloons and gambling-halls filled a recognized place inthe every-day social life of the Northland. Customs were free, standards were liberal in the early days; no one, 'Poleon least ofall, would have dreamed that they were destined to change in anight. Had he been told that soon the country would be dry, andgambling-games and dance-halls be prohibited by law, he would haveconsidered the idea too utterly fantastic for belief; the merecontemplation of such a dreary prospect would have provedextremely dispiriting. He--and the other pioneers of his kind--would have been tempted immediately to pack up and move on to somefreer locality where a man could retain his personal liberty andpursue his happiness in a manner as noisy, as intemperate, and asundignified as suited his individual taste. 

In justice to the saloons, be it said, they were more than meredrinking-places; they were the pivots about which revolved thebusiness life of the North country. They were meeting-places, social centers, marts of trade; looked upon as evidences ofenterprise and general prosperity, they were considered desirableassets to any community. Everybody patronized them; the men whoran them were, on the whole, as reputable as the men engaged inother pursuits. No particular stigma attached either to the placesthemselves or to the people connected with them. 

These gold-camps had a very simple code. Work of any sort waspraiseworthy and honorable, idleness or unproductivity wasreprehensible. Mining, storekeeping, liquor-selling, gambling, steamboating, all were occupations which men followed as necessityor convenience prompted. A citizen gained repute by the manner inwhich he deported himself, not by reason of the nature of thecommodity in which he dealt. Such, at least, was the attitude ofthe "old-timers. "

Rouletta's instant success, the fact that she had fallen amongfriends, delighted a woodsman like 'Poleon, and, now that he washis own master again, he straightway surrendered himself to theselfish enjoyment of his surroundings. His nature and his trainingprescribed the limits of those pleasures; they were quite assimple as his everyday habits of life; he danced, he gambled, andhe drank. 

To-night he did all three, in the reverse order. To him Dawson wasa dream city; its lights were dazzling, its music heavenly, itsgames of chance enticing, and its liquor was the finest, thesmoothest, the most inspiriting his tongue had ever tested. Oldfriends were everywhere, and new ones, too, for that matter. Amongthem were alluring women who smiled and sparkled. Each place'Poleon entered was the home of carnival. 

By midnight he was gloriously drunk. Ere daylight came he had sunghimself hoarse, he had danced two holes in his moccasins, and hadconducted three fist-fights to a satisfactory if not a successfulconclusion. It had been a celebration that was to live in hismemory. He strode blindly off to bed, shouting his completesatisfaction with himself and with the world, retired withoutundressing, and then sang himself to sleep, regardless of theprotests of the other lodgers. 

"Say! That Frenchman is a riot, " Kid Bridges declared while he andLucky Broad were at breakfast. "He's old General Rough-houser, andhe set an altogether new mark in disorderly conduct last night. Letty 'most cried about it. "

"Yeah? Those yokels are all alike--one drink and they declare adividend. " Lucky was only mildly concerned. "I s'pose the vulturespicked him clean. "

"Nothin' like it, " Bridges shook his head. "He gnawed 'em naked, then done a war-dance with their feathers in his hat. He left 'embruised an' bleedin'. "

For a time the two friends ate in silence, then Broad mused, aloud: "Letty 'most cried, eh? Say, I wonder what she reallythinks of him?"

"I don't know. Miller told me she was all broke up, and I wasgoin' to take her home and see if I could fathom her truefeelin's, but--Phillips beat me to it. "

"Phillips! He'll have to throw out the life-line if Laure getsonto that. She'll take to Letty just like a lone timber-wolf. "

"Looks like she'd been kiddin' us, don't it? She calls him her'brother' and he says she's his masseur--you heard him, didn'tyou?" There was another pause. "What's a masseur, anyhow?"

"A masseur, " said Mr. Broad, "is one of those women in a barber-shop that fixes your fingernails. Yes, I heard him, and I'm hereto say that I didn't like the sound of it. I don't yet. He maymean all right, but--them foreigners have got queer ideas abouttheir women. Letty's a swell kid and she's got a swell job. What'smore, she's got a wise gang riding herd on her. It's just like shewas in a church--no danger, no annoyance, nothing. If Doretfigures to start a barber-shop with her for his masseur, why, we'll have to lay him low with one of his own razors. "

Mr. Bridges nodded his complete approval of this suggestion. "Right-o! I'll bust a mirror with him myself. Them barber-shops isno place for good girls. "

Broad and Bridges pondered the matter during the day, and thatevening they confided their apprehensions to their fellow-workers. The other Rialto employees agreed that things did not look right, and after a consultation it was decided to keep a watch upon thegirl. This was done. Prompted by their pride in her, and agenuinely unselfish interest in her future, the boys made guardedattempts to discover the true state of her feelings for the FrenchCanadian, but they learned little. Every indirect inquiry was metwith a tribute to 'Poleon's character so frank, so extravagant, asto completely baffle them. Some of the investigators declared thatRouletta was madly in love with him; others were equally positivethat this extreme frankness in itself proved that she was not. Allagreed, however, that 'Poleon was not in love with her--he wasaltogether too enthusiastic over her growing popularity for alover. Had the gamblers been thoroughly assured of her desires inthe matter, doubtless they would have made some desperate effortto marry 'Poleon to her, regardless of his wishes-they were menwho believed in direct action--but under the circumstances theycould only watch and wait until the uncertainty was cleared up. 

Meanwhile, as 'Poleon continued his celebration, Rouletta grewmore and more miserable; at last he sobered up--sufficiently torealize he was hurting her. He was frankly puzzled at this; he mether reproaches with careless good-nature, brushing aside theremonstrances of Lucky Broad and his fellows by declaring that hewas having the time of his life, and arguing that he injurednobody. In the end the girl prevailed upon him to stop drinking, and then bound him to further sobriety by means of a sacredpledge. When, perhaps a week later, he disappeared into the hillsRouletta and her corps of self-appointed guardians breathedeasier. 

But the boys did not relax their watchfulness; Rouletta was theircharge and they took good care of her. None of the Rialto'spatrons, for instance, was permitted to follow up his firstacquaintance with "the lady dealer. " Some member of the clan wasalways on hand to frown down such an attempt. Broad or Bridgesusually brought her to work and took her home, the Snowbird andthe Mocha Kid made it a practice to take her to supper, and whenshe received invitations from other sources one or the other ofthem firmly declined, in her name, and treated the would-be hostwith such malevolent suspicion that the invitation was neverrepeated. Far from taking offense at this espionage, Roulettarather enjoyed it; she grew to like these ruffians, and thatliking became mutual. Soon most of them took her into theirconfidence with a completeness that threatened to embarrass her, as, for instance, when they discussed in her hearing incidents intheir colorful lives that the Mounted Police would have given muchto know. The Mocha Kid, in particular, was addicted toreminiscence of an incriminating sort, and he totally ignoredRouletta's protests at sharing the secrets of his guilty past. Asfor the Snowbird, he was fond of telling her fairy-stories. Theywere queer fairy-stories, all beginning in the same way:

"Once upon a time there was a beautiful Princess and her name wasRouletta. "

All the familiar characters figured in these narratives, theWicked Witch, the Cruel King, the Handsome Prince; there wereother characters, too, such as the Wise Guy, the Farmer's Son, theBoob Detective, the Tough Mary Ann and the Stony-hearted Jailer. 

The Snowbird possessed a fertile fancy but it ran in crookedchannels; although he launched his stories according to Grimm, hesailed them through seas of crime, of violence, and of bloodshedtoo realistic to be the product of pure imagination. Theadventures of the beautiful Princess Rouletta were blood-curdlingin the extreme, and the doings of her criminal associates wereunmistakably autobiographic. Naturally Rouletta never felt free torepeat these stories, but it was not long before she began to lookforward with avid interest to her nightly entertainment. 

Inasmuch as Pierce Phillips went off shift at the same time as didRouletta, they met frequently, and more than once he acted as herescort. He offered such a marked contrast to the other employeesof the Rialto, his treatment of her was at such total variancewith theirs, that he interested her in an altogether differentway. His was an engaging personality, but just why she grew sofond of him she could not tell; he was neither especially wittyand accomplished nor did he lay himself out to be unusuallyagreeable. He was quiet and reserved; nevertheless, he had theknack of making friends quickly. Rouletta had known men like Broadand Bridges and the Mocha Kid all her life, but Pierce was of atype quite new and diverting. She speculated considerablyregarding him. 

Their acquaintance, while interesting, had not progressed muchbeyond that point when Rouletta experienced a disagreeable shock. She had strolled into the theater one evening and was watching theperformance when Laure accosted her. As Rouletta had not come intoclose contact with any of the dance-hall crowd, she was surprisedat the tone this girl assumed. 

"Hello! Looking for new conquests?" Laure began. 

Miss Kirby shook her head in vague denial, but the speaker eyedher with open hostility and there was an unmistakable sneer behindher next words:

"What's the matter? Have you trimmed all the leading citizens?"

"I've finished my work, if that's what you mean. "

"Now you're going to try your hand at box-rustling, eh?"

Rouletta's expression altered; she regarded her inquisitor moreintently. "You know I'm not, " said she. "What are you driving at?"

"Well, why don't you? Are you too good?"

"Yes. " The visitor spoke coldly. She turned away, but Laurestepped close and cried, in a low, angry voice:

"Oh no, you're not! You've fooled the men, but you can't fool usgirls. I've got your number. I know your game. "

"My game? Then why don't you take a shift in the gambling-room?Why work in here?"

"You understand me, " the other persisted. "Too good for the dance-hall, eh? Too good to associate with us girls; too good to livelike us! YOU stop at the Courteau House, the RESPECTABLE hotel!Bah! Miller fell for you, but--you'd better let well enoughalone. "

"That's precisely what I do. If there were a better hotel than theCourteau House I'd stop there. But there isn't. Now, then, supposeyou tell me what really ails you. "

Laure's dusky eyes were blazing, her voice was hoarse when sheanswered:

"All right. I'll tell you. I want you to mind your own business. Yes, and I'm going to see that you do. You can't go home alone, can you? Afraid of the dark, I suppose, or afraid some man willspeak to you. My goodness! The airs you put on--YOU! Sam Kirby'sgirl, the daughter of a gambler, a--"

"Leave my father out of this!" There was something of Sam Kirby'sforce in this sharp command, something of his cold, forbiddinganger in his daughter's face. "He's my religion, so you'd betterlay off of him. Speak out. Where did I tread on your toes?"

"Well, you tread on them every time you stop at the gold-scales, if you want to know. I have a religion, too, and it's locked up inthe cashier's cage. "

There was a pause; the girls appraised each other with mutualdislike. 

"You mean Mr. Phillips?" "I do. See that you call him 'Mister, 'and learn to walk home alone. "

"Don't order me. I can't take orders. "

Laure was beside herself at this defiance. She grew blind withrage, so much so that she did not notice Phillips himself; he hadapproached within hearing distance. "You've got the boss; he'scrazy about you, but Pierce is mine--"

"What's that?" It was Phillips who spoke. "What are you sayingabout me?" Both girls started. Laure turned upon him furiously. 

"I'm serving notice on this faro-dealer, that's all. But it goesfor you, too--"

Phillips' eyes opened, his face whitened with an emotion neithergirl had before seen. To Rouletta he said, quietly:

"The other boys are busy, so I came to take you home. "

Laure cried, wildly, hysterically: "Don't do it! I warn you!"

"Are you ready to go?"

"All ready, " Rouletta agreed. Together they left the theater. 

Nothing was said as the two trod the snow-banked streets; notuntil they halted at the door of the Courteau House did Roulettaspeak; then she said:

"I wouldn't have let you do this, only--I have! a temper. "

"So have I, " Pierce said, shortly. "It's humiliating to own up. "

"I was wrong. I have no right to hurt that girl's feelings. "

"Right?" He laughed angrily. "She had no right to make a scene. "

"Why not? She's fighting for her own, isn't she? She's honestabout it, at least. " Noting Pierce's expression of surprise, Rouletta went on: "You expect me to be shocked, but I'm not, forI've known the truth in a general way. You think I'm going topreach. Well, I'm not going to do that, either. I've lived a queerlife; I've seen women like Laure--in fact, I was raised amongthem--and nothing they do surprises me very much. But I've learneda good many lessons around saloons and gambling-places. One isthis: never cheat. Father taught me that. He gave everybody asquare deal, including himself. It's a good thing to think about--a square deal all around, even to yourself. "

"That sounds like an allopathic sermon of some sort, " said Pierce, "but I can't see just how it applies to me. However, I'll think itover. You're a brick, Miss Kirby, and I'm sorry if you had anunpleasant moment. " He took Rouletta's hand and held it while hestared at her with a frank, contemplative gaze. "You're an unusualperson, and you're about the nicest girl I've met. I want you tolike me. "

As he walked back down-town Pierce pondered Rouletta's words, "asquare deal all around, even to yourself. " They were a triflepuzzling. Whom had he cheated? Surely not Laure. From the veryfirst he had protested his lack of serious interest in her, andtheir subsequent relations were entirely the result of herunceasing efforts to appropriate him to herself. He had resisted, she had persisted. Nor could he see that he had cheated--in otherwords, injured--himself. This was a liberal country; its code wasfree and it took little account of a man's private conduct. Nobodyseriously blamed him for his affair with Laure; he had lost nostanding by reason of it. It was only a part of the big adventure, a passing phase of his development, an experience such as came toevery man. Since it had left no mark upon him, and had notseriously affected Laure, the score was even. He dismissedRouletta's words as of little consequence. In order, however, toprevent any further unpleasant scenes he determined to put Laurein her place, once for all. 

Rouletta went to her room, vaguely disturbed at her own emotions. She could still feel the touch of Phillips' hand, she could stillfeel his gaze fixed earnestly, meditatively, upon hers, and shewas amazed to discover the importance he had assumed in herthoughts. Importance, that was the word. He was a very real, avery interesting, person, and there was some inexplicableattraction about him that offset his faults and his failings, however grave. For one thing, he was not an automaton, like theother men; he was a living, breathing problem, and he absorbedRouletta's attention. 

She was sitting on the edge of her bed, staring at the wall, whenthe Countess Courteau knocked at her door and entered. The womenhad become good friends; frequently the elder one stopped togossip. The Countess flung herself into a chair, rolled and lit acigarette, then said:

"Well, I see you and Agnes saved the bankroll again. "

Rouletta nodded. "Agnes is an awful bluff. I never load her. Butof course nobody knows that. "

"You're a queer youngster. I've never known a girl quite like you. Everybody is talking about you. "

"Indeed? Not the nice people?"

"Nice people?" The Countess lifted her brows. "You mean those atthe Barracks and up on the hill? Yes, they're talking about you, too. "

"I can imagine what they say. " Rouletta drew her brows together ina frown. "No doubt they think I'm just like the dance-hall girls. I've seen a few of them--at a distance. They avoid me as if I hadmeasles. "

"Naturally. Do you care?"

"Certainly I care. I'd like to be one of them, not a--a specimen. Wouldn't you?"

"Um-m, perhaps. I dare say I could be one of them if it weren'tfor Courteau. People forget things quickly in a new country. "

"Why did you take him back? I'm sure you don't care for him. "

"Not in the least. He's the sort of man you can't love or hate;he's a nine-spot. Just the same, he protects me and--I can't helpbeing sorry for him. "

Rouletta smiled. "Fancy you needing protection and him giving--"

"You don't understand. He protects me from myself. I mean it. I'mas unruly as the average woman and I make a fool of myself on theslightest provocation. Henri is a loafer, a good-for-nothing, tobe sure, but, nevertheless, I have resumed his support. It waseasier than refusing it. I help broken miners. I feed hungry dogs. Why shouldn't I clothe and feed a helpless husband? It's aperfectly feminine, illogical thing to do. "

"Other people don't share your opinion of him. He can be veryagreeable, very charming, when he tries. "

"Of course. That's his stock in trade; that's his excuse forbeing. Women are crazy about him, as you probably know, but--giveme a man the men like. " There was a pause. "So you don't enjoy thething you're doing?"

"I hate it! I hate the whole atmosphere--the whole underworld. It's-unhealthy, stifling. "

"What has happened?"

Slowly, hesitatingly, Rouletta told of her encounter with Laure. The Countess listened silently. 

"It was an unpleasant shock, " the girl concluded, "for it broughtme back to my surroundings. It lifted the curtain and showed mewhat's really going on. It's a pity Pierce Phillips is entangledwith that creature, for he's a nice chap and he's got it in him todo big things. But it wasn't much use my trying to tell him thathe was cheating himself. I don't think he understood. I feelalmost--well, motherly toward him. "

Hilda nodded gravely. "Of course you do. He has it. "

"Has it? What?"

"The call--the appeal--the same thing that lets Henri get by. "

"Oh, he's nothing like the Count!" Rouletta protested, quickly. 

The elder woman did not argue the point. "Pierce has morecharacter than Henri, but a man can lose even that in a gambling-house. I was very fond of him--fonder than I knew. Yes, it's afact. I'm jealous of Laure, jealous of you--"

"JEALOUS? of ME? You're joking!"

"Of course. Don't take me seriously. Nevertheless, I mean it. " TheCountess smiled queerly and rose to her feet. "It's improper for amarried woman to joke about such things, even a woman married to ano-good count, isn't it? And it's foolish, too. Well, I'm going todo something even more foolish--I'm going to give you some advice. Cut out that young man. He hasn't found himself yet; he's runningwild. He's light in ballast and he's rudderless. If he straightensout he'll make some woman very happy; otherwise--he'll create agood deal of havoc. Believe me, I know what I'm talking about, forI collided with Henri and--look at the result!"

CHAPTER XXII

Pierce Phillips possessed the average young American's capacitiesfor good or evil. Had he fallen among healthy surroundings uponhis arrival at Dawson, in all probability he would haveexperienced a healthy growth. But, blown by the winds of chance, he took root where he dropped--in the low grounds. Since hepossessed the youthful power of quick and vigorous adaptation, heassumed a color to match his environment. Of necessity thisalteration was gradual; nevertheless, it was real; without knowingit he suffered a steady deterioration of moral fiber and aprogressive change in ideals. 

His new life was easy; hours at the Rialto were short and the paywas high. Inasmuch as the place was a playground where cares wereforgotten, there was a wholly artificial atmosphere of gaiety andimprovidence about it. When patrons won at the gambling-games, they promptly squandered their winnings at the bar and in thetheater; when they lost, they cheerfully ignored their ill-fortune. Even the gamblers themselves shared this recklessness, this prodigality; they made much money; nevertheless, they wereusually broke. Most of them drank quite as freely as did thecustomers. 

This was not a temperance country. Although alcohol was notconsidered a food, it was none the less regarded as a primeessential of comfort and well-being. It was inevitable, therefore, that Pierce Phillips, a youth in his growing age, should adopt agood deal the same habits, as well as the same spirit and outlook, as the people with whom he came in daily contact. 

Vice is erroneously considered hideous; it is supposed to have avisage so repulsive that the simplest stranger will shudder atsight of it and turn of his own accord to more attractive Virtue. If that were only true! More often than not it is the former thatwears a smile and masquerades in agreeable forms, while the latterrepels. This is true of the complex life of the city, where a manhas landmarks and guide-posts of conduct to go by, and it isequally true of the less complicated life of the far frontierwhere he must blaze his own trail. Along with the strength andvigor and independence derived from the great outdoors, therecomes also a freedom of individual conduct, an impatience atirksome restraints, that frequently offsets any benefits thataccrue from such an environment. 

So it was in Pierce's case. He realized, subconsciously, that hewas changing, had changed; on the whole, he was glad of it. Itfilled him with contemptuous amusement, for instance, to look backupon his old puritanical ideas. They seemed now very narrow, veryimmature, very impractical, and he was gratified at his broadervision. The most significant alteration, however, entirely escapedhis notice. That alteration was one of outlook rather than ofinlook. Bit by bit he had come to regard the general crowd--theminers, merchants, townspeople--as outsiders, and him self as aninsider--one of the wise, clever, ease-loving class whichsubsisted without toil and for whom a freer code of moralsexisted. Those outsiders were stupid, hard-working; they weresomehow inferior. He and his kind were of a higher, more advancedorder of intelligence; moreover, they were bound together by theties of a common purpose and understanding and therefore enjoyedprivileges denied their less efficient brethren. 

If jackals were able to reason, doubtless they would justify theirexistence and prove their superiority to the common herd by somesuch fatuous argument. 

Pierce's complacency received its first jolt when he discoveredthat he had lost caste in the eyes of the better sort of people--people such as he had been accustomed to associate with at home. This discovery came as the result of a chance meeting with astranger, and, but for it, he probably would have remained unawareof the truth, for his newly made friends had treated him withconsideration and nothing had occurred to disturb his complacency. He had acquired a speaking acquaintance with many of the bestcitizens, including the Mounted Police and even the higherDominion officials, all of whom came to the Rialto. These menprofessed a genuine liking for him, and, inasmuch as his time waspretty full and there was plenty of amusement close at hand, hehad never stopped to think that the side of Dawson life which hesaw was merely the under side--that a real social community wasforming, with real homes on the back streets, where already womenof the better sort were living. Oblivious of these facts, it neveroccurred to Pierce to wonder why these men did not ask him totheir cabins or why he did not meet their families. 

He had long since become a night-hawk, mainly through a growingfondness for gambling, and he had arrived at the point wheredaylight impressed him as an artificial and unsatisfactory methodof illumination. Recently, too, he had been drinking more than wasgood for him, and he awoke finally to the unwelcome realizationthat he was badly in need of fresh air and outdoor exercise. 

After numerous half-hearted attempts, he arose one day about noon;then, having eaten a tasteless breakfast and strengthened hislanguid determination by a stiff glass of "hootch, " he strolledout of town, taking he first random trail that offered itself. Itwas a wood trail, leading nowhere in particular, a fact whichprecisely suited his resentful mood. His blood moved sluggishly, he was short of breath, the cold was bitter. Before long hedecided that walking was a profitless and stultifying occupation, a pastime for idiots and solitaire-players; nevertheless, hecontinued in the hope of deriving some benefit, however indirector remote. 

It was a still afternoon. A silvery brightness beyond the mountaincrests far to the southward showed where the low winter sun wassweeping past on its flat arc. The sky to the north was empty, colorless. There had been no wind for some time, and now the firssagged beneath burdens of white; even the bare birch branchescarried evenly balanced inch-deep layers of snow. Underfoot, theearth was smothered in a feathery shroud as light, as clean as thepurest swan's-down, and into it Pierce's moccasins sank to theankles. He walked as silently as a ghost. Through this queer, breathless hush the sounds of chopping, of distant voices, of anoccasional dog barking followed him as he went deeper into thewoods. 

Time was when merely to be out in the forest on such a day wouldhave pleased him, but gone entirely was that pleasure, and in itsplace there came now an irritation at the physical discomfort itentailed. He soon began to perspire freely, too freely;nevertheless, there was no glow to his body; he could think onlyof easy-chairs and warm stoves. He wondered what ailed him. Nothing could be more abhorrent than this, he told himself. Healthwas a valuable thing, no doubt, and he agreed that no price wastoo high to pay for it--no price, perhaps, except dull, uninteresting exercise of this sort. He was upon the point ofturning back when the trail suddenly broke out into a naturalclearing and he saw something which challenged his attention. 

To the left of the path rose a steep bank, and beyond that thebare, sloping mountain-side. In the shelter of the bank the snowhad drifted deep, but, oddly enough, its placid surface waschurned up, as if from an explosion or some desperate conflictthat had been lately waged. It had been tossed up and thrown down. What caused him to stare was the fact that no footprints werediscernible--nothing except queer, wavering parallel streaks thatled downward from the snowy turmoil to the level ground below. They resembled the tracks of some oddly fashioned sled. 

Pierce halted, and with bent head was studying the phenomenon, when close above him he heard the rush of a swiftly approachingbody; he looked up just in time to behold an apparition utterlyunexpected, utterly astounding. Swooping directly down upon himwith incredible velocity was what seemed at first glance to be abird-woman, a valkyr out of the pages of Norse mythology. Winglessshe was, yet she came like the wind, and at the very instantPierce raised his eyes she took the air almost over his head--quite as if he had startled her into an upward flight. Upon herfeet was a pair of long, Norwegian skees, and upon these she hadscudded down the mountain-side; where the bank dropped away shehad leaped, and now, like a meteor, she soared into space. Thisamazing creature was clad in a blue-and-white toboggan suit, shortskirt, sweater jacket, and knitted cap. As she hung outlinedagainst the wintry sky Pierce caught a snap-shot glimpse of afair, flushed, youthful face set in a ludicrous expression ofopen-mouthed dismay at sight of him. He heard, too, a high-pitchedcry, half of warning, half of fright; the next instant there was amighty upheaval of snow, an explosion of feathery white, as thehuman projectile landed, then a blur of blue-and-white stripes asit went rolling down the declivity. 

"Good Lord!" Pierce cried, aghast; then he sped after theapparition. Only for the evidence of that undignified tumble, hewould have doubted the reality of this flying Venus and consideredher some creature of his imagination. There she lay, however, athing of flesh and blood, bruised, broken, helpless;apprehensively he pictured himself staggering back to town withher in his arms. 

He halted, speechless, when the girl sat up, shook the snow out ofher hair, gingerly felt one elbow, then the other, and finallyburst into a peal of ringing laughter. The face she lifted to his, now that it wore a normal expression, was wholly charming; it was, in fact, about the freshest, the cleanest, the healthiest and thefrankest countenance he had ever looked into. 

"Glory be!" he stammered. "I thought you were--completelyspoiled. "

"I'm badly twisted, " the girl managed to gasp, "but I guess I'mall here. Oh! What a bump!"

"You scared me. I never dreamed--I didn't hear a thing until--Well, I looked up and there you were. The sky was full of you. Gee! I thought I'd lost my mind. Are you quite sure you're allright?"

"Oh, I'll be black and blue again, but I'm used to that. That'sthe funniest one I've had, the very funniest. Why don't youlaugh?"

"I'm--too rattled, I suppose. I'm not accustomed to flying girls. Never had them rain down on me out of the heavens. "

The girl's face grew sober. "You're entirely to blame, " she cried, angrily. "I was getting it beautifully until you showed up. Youpopped right out of the ground. What are you doing in the Queen'sPark, anyhow? You've no business at the royal sports. "

"I didn't mean to trespass. "

"I think I'll call the guards. "

"Call the court physician and make sure--"

"Pshaw! I'm not hurt. " Ignoring his extended hand, she scrambledto her feet and brushed herself again. Evidently the queenly angerwas short-lived, for she was beaming again, and in a tone that wasboyishly intimate she explained:

"I'd made three dandy jumps and was going higher each time, butthe sight of you upset me. Think of being upset by a perfectlystrange man. Shows lack of social training, doesn't it? It's awonder I didn't break a skee. "

Pierce glanced apprehensively at the bluff overhead. "Hadn't webetter move out of the way?" he inquired. "If the royal familycomes dropping in, we'll be ironed out like a couple ofhandkerchiefs. I don't want to feel the divine right of the king, or his left, either. "

"There isn't any king-nor any royal family. I'm just the Queen ofPretend. "

"You're skee-jumping, alone? Is that what you mean?"

The girl nodded. 

"Isn't that a dangerous way to amuse self? I thought skees were--tricky. "

"Have you ever ridden them?" the girl inquired, quickly. 

"Never. "

"You don't know what fun is. Here--" The speaker stooped anddetached her feet from the straps. "Just have a go at it. " Pierceprotested, but she insisted in a business-like way. "They're longones--too long for me. They'll just suit you. "

"Really, I don't care to--"

"Oh yes, you do. You must. "

"You'll be sorry, " Pierce solemnly warned her. "When my feetglance off and leave me sticking up in the snow to starve, you'll--Say! I can think of a lot of things I want to do, but I don'tseem to find skee-jumping on the list. "

"You needn't jump right away. " Determination was in the girl'stone; there was a dancing light of malice in her eyes. "You canpractise a bit. Remember, you laughed at me. "

"Nothing of the sort. I was amazed, not amused. I thought I'dflushed a very magnificent pheasant with blue-and-white stripes, and I was afraid it was going to fly away before I got a good lookat it. Now, then--"He slowly finished buckling the runners to hisfeet and looked up interrogatively. "What are your Majesty'sorders?"

"Walk around. Slide down the hill. "

"What on?"

The girl smothered a laugh and waved him away. She looked on whilehe set off with more or less caution. When he managed to maintainan upright position despite the antics of his skees her faceexpressed genuine disappointment. 

"It's not so hard as I thought it would be, " he soon announced, triumphantly. "A little awkward at first, but--" he cast an eye upat the bank. "You never know what you can do until you try. "

"You've been skeeing before, " she accused him, reproachfully. 

"Never. "

"Then you pick it up wonderfully. Try a jump. "

Her mocking invitation spurred him to make the effort, so heremoved the skees and waded a short distance up the hill. When hehad secured his feet in position for a second time he called down:

"I'm going to let go and trust to Providence. Look out. "

"The same to you, " she cried. "You're wonderful, but--men can doanything, can't they?"

There was nothing graceful, nothing of the free abandon of thepractised skee-runner in Pierce's attitude; he crouched apelike, with his muscles set to maintain an equilibrium, and this much hesucceeded in doing--until he reached the jumping, off place. Atthat point, however, gravity, which he had successfully defied, wreaked vengeance upon him; it suddenly reached forth and made himits vindictive toy. He pawed, he fought, he appeared to beclimbing an invisible rope. With a mighty flop he landed flat uponhis back, uttering a loud and dismayed grunt as his breath lefthim. When he had dug himself out he found that the girl, too, wasbreathless. She was rocking in silent ecstasy, she hugged herselfgleefully, and there were tears in her eyes. 

"I'm--so--sorry!" she exclaimed, in a thin, small voice. "Did you--trip over something?"

The young man grinned. "Not at all. I was afraid of a sprainedankle, so I hit on my head. We meet on common ground, as it were. "

Once again he climbed the grade, once again he skidded downward, once again he went sprawling. Nor were his subsequent attemptsmore successful. After a final ignominious failure he sat where hehad fetched up and ruefully took stock of the damage he had donehimself. Seriously he announced:

"I was mistaken. Women are entitled to vote--they're entitled toanything. I've learned something else, too--Mr. Newton'sinteresting little theory is all wrong; falling bodies travelsixteen miles, not sixteen feet, the first second. "

The girl demanded her skees, and, without rising, Piercesurrendered them; then he looked on admiringly while she attachedthem to her feet and went zigzagging up the hill to a point muchhigher than the one from which he had dared to venture. She made avery pretty picture, he acknowledged, for she was vivid with youthand color. She was lithe and strong and confident, too; she wasvibrant with the healthy vigor of the out-of-doors. 

She descended with a terrific rush, and this time she took the airwith grace and certainty. She cleared a very respectable distanceand ricocheted safely down the landing-slope. 

Pierce applauded her with enthusiasm. "Beautiful! My sincerecongratulations, O Bounding Fawn!"

"That's the best I've done, " she crowed. "You put me on my mettle. Now you try it again. "

Pierce did try again; he tried manfully, but with a humiliatinglack of success. He was puffing and blowing, his face was wet withperspiration, he had lost all count of time, when his companionfinally announced it was time for her to be going. 

"You're not very fit, are you?" said she. 

Pierce colored uncomfortably. "Not very, " he confessed. He wasrelieved when she did not ask the reason for his lack of fitness. Just why he experienced such relief he hardly knew, but suddenlyhe felt no great pride in himself nor in the life that had broughthim to such a state of flabbiness. Nor did he care to have thisgirl know who or what he was. Plainly she was one of those "nicepeople" at whom Laure and the other denizens of the Rialto werewont to sneer with open contempt; probably that was why he hadnever chanced to meet her. He felt cheated because they had notmet, for she was the sort of girl he had known at home, the sortwho believed in things and in whom he believed. Despite all hisrecently acquired wisdom, in this short hour she had made him overinto a boy again, and somehow or other the experience wasagreeable. Never had he seen a girl so cool, so candid, sorefreshingly unconscious and unaffected as this one. She was aslimpid as a pool of glacier water; her placidity, he imagined, hadnever been stirred, and in that fact lay much of her fascination. 

With her skees slung over her shoulder, the girl strode alongbeside Phillips, talking freely on various topics, but with nodisposition to chatter. Her mind was alert, inquisitive, and yetshe had that thoughtful gravity of youth, wisdom coming to life. That Pierce had made a good impression upon her she implied atparting by voicing a sincere hope that they would meet again verysoon. 

"Perhaps I'll see you at the next dance, " she suggested. 

"Dance!" The word struck Pierce unpleasantly. 

"Saturday night, at the Barracks. "

"I'd love to come, " he declared. 

"Do. They're loads of fun. All the nice people go. "

With a nod and a smile she was gone, leaving him to realize thathe did not even know her name. Well, that was of no moment; Dawsonwas a small place, and--Saturday was not far off. He had heardabout those official parties at the Barracks and he made up hismind to secure an invitation sufficiently formal to permit him toattend the very next one. 

His opportunity came that night when one of the younger MountedPolice officers paused to exchange greetings with him. LieutenantRock was a familiar figure on the streets of Dawson and on thetrails near by, a tall, upstanding Canadian with a record forunfailing good humor and relentless efficiency. He nodded atPierce's casual reference to the coming dance at Headquarters. 

"Great sport, " said he. "It's about the only chance we fellowshave to play. "

When no invitation to share in the treat was forthcoming Piercetold of meeting a most attractive girl that afternoon, and, havingobtained his hearer's interest, he described the youthful goddessof the snows with more than necessary enthusiasm. He became awareof a peculiar expression upon Rock's face. 

"Yes. I know her well, " the latter said, quietly. "D'you mean tosay she invited you to the ball?"

"It wasn't exactly an invitation--"

"Oh! I see. Well"--Rock shook his head positively--"there'snothing doing, old man. It isn't your kind of a party. Understand?"

"I--don't understand, " Pierce confessed in genuine surprise. 

The officer eyed him with a cool, disconcerting directness. "Wedraw the lines pretty close--have to in a camp like this. Nooffense, I trust. " With a smile and a careless wave of the hand hemoved on, leaving Pierce to stare after him until he was swallowedup by the crowd in the gambling-room. 

A blow in the face would not have amazed Pierce Phillips more, norwould it have more greatly angered him. So, he was ostracized!These men who treated him with such apparent good-fellowshipreally despised him; in their eyes he was a renegade; theyconsidered him unfit to know their women. It was incredible!

This was the first deliberate slight the young man had everreceived. His face burned, his pride withered under it; he wouldhave bitten out his tongue rather than subject himself to such arebuff. Who was Rock? How dared he? Rock knew the girl, oh yes!But he refused to mention her name--as if that name would besullied by his, Pierce's, use of it. That hurt most of all; thatwas the bitterest pill. Society! Caste! On the Arctic Circle! Itwas to laugh!

But Phillips could not laugh. He could more easily have cried, orcursed, or raved; even to pretend to laugh off such an affront wasimpossible. It required no more than this show of opposition tofan the embers of his flickering desire into full flame, and, nowthat he was forbidden to meet that flying goddess, it seemed tohim that he must do so at whatever cost. He'd go to that dance, hedecided, in spite of Rock; he'd go unbidden; he'd force his way inif needs be. 

This sudden ardor died, however, as quickly as it had been born, leaving him cold with apprehension. What would happen if he tookthe bit in his teeth? Rock knew about Laure--those detestableredcoats knew pretty much everything that went on beneath thesurface of Dawson life--and if Pierce ran counter to the fellow'swarning he would probably speak out. Rock was just that sort. Hismethods were direct and forceful. What then? Pierce cringedinwardly at the contemplation. That snow-girl was so clean, sodecent, so radically different from all that Laure stood for, thathe shrank from associating them together even in his thoughts. 

Well, he was paying the fiddler, and the price was high. Even hereon the fringe of the frontier society exacted penalty for thebreach of its conventions. Pierce's rebellion at this discovery, his resentment at the whole situation, prevented him from properlytaking the lesson to heart. The issue was clouded, too, by awholly natural effort at self-justification. The more he triedthis latter, however, the angrier he became and the morehumiliating seemed his situation. 

He was in no mood to calmly withstand another shock, especiallywhen that shock was administered by Joe McCaskey, of all persons;nevertheless, it came close upon the heels of Rock's insult. 

Pierce had not seen either brother since their departure forHunker Creek, therefore Joe's black visage leering through thewindow of the cashier's cage was an unwelcome surprise. 

"Hello, Phillips! How are you making it?" the man inquired. 

"All right. "

Despite this gruffness, Joe's grin widened. There was nothing ofpleasure at the meeting, nor of friendliness behind it, however. On the contrary, it masked both malice and triumph, as was plainwhen he asked:

"Did you hear about our strike?"

"What strike?"

"Why, it's all over town! Frank and I hit pay in our first shaft--three feet of twenty-cent dirt. "

"Really?" Pierce could not restrain a movement of surprise. 

Joe nodded and chuckled, meanwhile keeping his malignant gazefocused upon the younger man's face. "It's big. We came to town tobuy grub and a dog-team and to hire a crew of hands. We've gotcredit at the A. C. Company up to fifty thousand dollars. "

There was a brief pause which Pierce broke by inquiring, ascasually as he could:

"Did Tom and Jerry have any luck?"

"Sure thing! They've hit it, the same as us. You tossed off ahome-stake, kid. Don't believe it, eh? Well, here's the proof-coarse gold from Hunker. " With an ostentatious flourish thespeaker flung down a half-filled poke, together with a bar check. "Cash me in, and don't let any of it stick to your fingers. "

Pierce was impelled to hurl the gold sack at Joe's head, but herestrained himself. His hands were shaky, however, and when heuntied the thongs he was mortified at spilling some of theprecious yellow particles. Mortification changed to anger when theowner cried, sharply:

"Hey! Got cashier's ague, have you? Just cut out the sleight-of-hand!"

Pierce smothered a retort; silently he brushed the dust back intothe blower and set the weights upon his scales. But McCaskey ranon with an insulting attempt at banter:

"I'm onto you short-weighers. Take your bit out of the drunks; I'msober. "

When Pierce had retied the sack and returned it he looked up andinto Joe's face. His own was white, his eyes were blazing. 

"Don't pull any more comedy here, " he said, quietly. "That short-weight joke doesn't go at the Rialto. "

"Oh, it don't? JOKE!" McCaskey snorted. "I s'pose it's a joke tospill dust--when you can't get away with it. Well, I've spotted alot of crooked cashiers in this town. "

"No doubt. It takes a thief to catch a thief. " McCaskey started. His sneer vanished. "Thief! Say--" he blustered, angrily. "D'youmean--" The clash, brief as it had been, had excited attention. Noting the fact that an audience was gathering, the speakerlowered his voice and, thrusting his black, scowling countenancecloser to the cage opening, he said: "You needn't remind me ofanything. I've got a good memory. Damn' good!" After a moment heturned his back and moved away. 

When Pierce went off shift he looked up Lars Anderson and receivedconfirmation of the Hunker strike. Lars was in a boisterous moodand eager to share his triumph. 

"I knew that was a rich piece of ground, " he chuckled, "and I knewI was handing those boys a good thing. But a fellow owes somethingto his friends, doesn't he?"

"I thought you said it was low grade?"

"Low grade!" Big Lars threw back his head and laughed loudly. "Inever said nothing of the kind. Me knock my own ground? Why, I'dhave banked my life on Hunker!"

Here was luck, Pierce told himself. A fortune had been handed himon a silver platter, and he had shoved it aside. He was sick withregret; he was furious with himself for his lack of wisdom; hehated Laure for the deception she had practised upon him. Thewaste he had made of this opportunity bred in him a feeling ofdesperation. 

Toward the close of the show Laure found him braced against thebar; the face he turned upon her was cold, repellent. When sheurged him to take her to supper he shook his head. 

"What's the matter?" she inquired. 

"Big Lars never told you Hunker was low grade, " he declared. 

The girl flushed; she tossed her dark head defiantly. "Well, whatof it?"

"Simply this--Tom and Jerry and the McCaskeys have struck richpay. "

"Indeed?"

"You lied to me. "

Laure's lips parted slowly in a smile. "What did you expect? Whatwould any girl do?" She laid a caressing hand upon his arm. "Idon't care how much they make or how poor you are--"

Pierce disengaged her grasp. "I care!" he cried, roughly. "I'velost my big chance. They've made their piles and I'm--well, lookat me. "

"You blame me?"

He stared at her for a moment. "What's the difference whether Iblame you or myself? I'm through. I've been through for some time, but--this is curtain. "

"Pierce!"

Impatiently he flung her off and strode out of the theater. 

Laure was staring blindly after him when Joe McCaskey spoke toher. "Have a dance?" he inquired. 

She undertook to answer, but her lips refused to frame any words;silently she shook her head. 

"What's the idea? A lovers' quarrel?" McCaskey eyed her curiously, then he chuckled mirthlessly. "You can come clean with me. I don'tlike him any better than you do. "

"Mind your own business, " stormed the girl in a sudden fury. 

"That's what I'm doing, and minding it good. I've got a lot ofbusiness--with that rat. " Joe's sinister black eyes held Laure'sin spite of her effort to avoid them; it was plain that he wishedto say more, but hesitated. "Maybe it would pay us to getacquainted, " he finally suggested. "Frank and me and the Count arehaving a bottle of wine upstairs. Better join us. "

"I will, " said Laure, after a moment. Together they mounted thestairs to the gallery above. 

CHAPTER XXIII

"Wal, w'at I tol' you?" 'Poleon Doret exclaimed, cheerfully. "Me, I'm cut off for poor man. If one dose El Dorado millionaire' giveme his pay-dump, all de gold disappear biffore I get him in desluice-box. Some people is born Jonah. " Despite this melancholyannouncement 'Poleon was far from depressed. On the contrary, hebeamed like a boy and his eyes were sparkling with the joy ofagain beholding his "sister. "

He had returned from the hills late this evening and now he hadcome to fetch Rouletta from her work. This was his firstopportunity for a word with her alone. 

The girl was not unmoved by his tale of blighted expectations; sherefused, nevertheless, to accept it as conclusive. "Nonsense!" shesaid, briskly. "You know very well you haven't prospected yourclaim for what it's worth. You haven't had time. "

"I don' got to prospec' him, " 'Poleon asserted. "Dat's good t'ing'bout dat claim. Some Swede fellers above me cross-cut de wholedam' creek an' don' fin' so much as one color. Sapre! Dat's fonnycreek. She 'ain't got no gravel. " The speaker threw back his headand laughed heartily. "It's fac'! I'scover de only creek on all deYukon wit'out gravel. Muck! Twenty feet of solid frozen muck! It'slucky I stake on soch bum place, eh? S'pose all winter I dig an'don' fin' 'im out?"

For a moment Rouletta remained silent; then she said, wearily:

"Everything is all wrong, all upside down, isn't it? The McCaskeysstruck pay; so did Tom and Jerry. But you--why, in all your yearsin this country you've never found anything. Where's the justice--"

"No, no! I fin' somet'ing more better as dem feller. I fin' asister; I fin' you. By Gar! I don't trade you for t'ousan' pay-streak!" Lowering his voice, 'Poleon said, earnestly, "I don' knowhow much I love you, ma soeur, until I go 'way and t'ink 'boutit. "

Rouletta smiled mistily and touched the big fellow's hand, whereupon he continued:

"All dese year I look in de mos' likely spot for gold, an' don'fin' him. Wal, I mak' change. I don' look in no more creek-bottom;I'm goin' hit de high spot!"

Reproachfully the girl exclaimed, "You promised me to cut thatout. "

With a grin the woodsman reassured her: "No, no! I mean I'm goin'dig on top de mountains. "

"Not--really? Why, 'Poleon, gold is heavy! It sinks. It's deepdown in the creek-beds. "

"It sink, sure 'nough, " he nodded, "but where it sink from, eh? Idon' lak livin' in low place, anyhow--you don' see not'in'. Me, Imus' have good view. "

"What are you driving at?"

"I tell you: long tam ago I know old miner. He's forever talk'bout high bars, old reever-bed, an' soch t'ing. We call him 'HighBar. ' He mak' fonny story 'bout reever dat used to was on top demountain. By golly! I laugh at him! But w'at you t'ink? I'mcrossin' dose hill 'bove El Dorado an' I see place where doseminer is shoot dry timber down into de gulch. Dose log have dug upde snow an' I fin'--what?" Impressively the speaker whispered oneword, "GRAVEL!"

Much to his disappointment, Rouletta remained impassive in theface of this startling announcement. Vaguely she inquired: "Whatof it? There's gravel everywhere. What you want is gold--"

"Mon Dieu!" 'Poleon lifted his hands in despair. "You're worse ascheechako. Where gravel is dere you fin' gold, ain't you?"

"Why--not always. "

With a shrug the woodsman agreed. "Of course, not always, but--"

"On top of a hill?"

"De tip top. "

"How perfectly absurd! How could gold run uphill?"

"I don' know, " the other confessed. "But, for dat matter, how sherun downhill? She 'ain't got no legs. I s'pose de book hexplain itsomehow. Wal! I stake two claim--one for you, one for me. It'sdandy place for cabin! You look forty mile from dat spot. Mak' youfeel jus' lak bird on top of high tree. Dere's plenty dry wood, too, an' down below is de Forks--nice town wit' saloon an' eatin'-place. You can hear de choppin' an' de win'lass creakin' and smellde smoke. It's fine place for singin' songs up dere. "

"'Poleon!" Rouletta tried to look her sternest. "You're a great, overgrown boy. You can't stick to anything. You're merely lonesomeand you want to get in where the people are. "

"Lonesome! Don' I live lak bear when I'm trappin'? Some winter Idon' see nobody in de least. "

"Probably I made a mistake in bringing you down here to Dawson, "the girl continued, meditatively. "You were doing well up theriver, and you were happy. Here you spend your money; you gamble, you drink--the town is spoiling you just as it is spoiling theothers. "

"Um-m! Mebbe so, " the man confessed. "Never I felt lak I dolately. If I don' come in town to-day I swell up an' bus'. I'mfull of t'ing' I can't say. "

"Go to work somewhere. "

"For wages? Me?" Doret shook his head positively. "I try him once--cookin' for gang of rough-neck'--but I mak' joke an' I'm fire'. Dem feller kick 'bout my grub an' it mak' me mad, so one day Isharpen all de table-knife. I put keen edge on dem--lak razor. "The speaker showed his white teeth in a flashing smile. "Dat'smeanes' trick ever I play. Sapre! Dem feller cut deir mouth sofast dey mos' die of bleedin'. No, I ain't hired man for nobody. Imus' be free. "

"Very well, " Rouletta sighed, resignedly, "I won't scold you, for--I'm too glad to see you. " Affectionately she squeezed his arm, whereupon he beamed again in the frankest delight. "Now, then, we'll have supper and you can take me home. "

The Rialto was crowded with its usual midnight throng; there wasthe hubbub of loud voices and the ebb and flow of laughter. Frommidway of the gambling-hall rose the noisy exhortations of someamateur gamester who was breathing upon his dice and pleadingearnestly, feelingly, with "Little Joe"; from the theater issuedthe strains of a sentimental ballad. As Rouletta and her companionedged their way toward the lunch-counter in the next room theywere intercepted by the Snowbird, whose nightly labors had alsoended. 

"All aboard for the big eats, " the latter announced. "Mocha'sbuttoned up in a stud game where he dassen't turn his head tospit. He's good for all night, but I'm on the job. "

"I'm having supper with 'Poleon, " Rouletta told him. 

The Snowbird paused in dismay. "Say! You can't run out on a pal, "he protested. "You got to O. K. My vittles or they won'tharmonize. "

"But 'Poleon has just come in from the creeks and we've a lot totalk about. "

"Won't it keep? I never seen talk spoil overnight. " When Roulettasmilingly shook her head Mr. Ryan dangled a tempting bait beforeher. "I got a swell fairy-story for you. I bet you'd eat it up. It's like this: Once upon a time there was a beautiful Princessnamed Rouletta and she lived in an old castle all covered withivy. It was smothered up in them vines till you'd vamp right byand never see it. Along came a busted Prince who had been spendin'his vacation and some perfectly good ten-dollar bills in the nextcounty that you could scarcely tell from the real thing. He wastakin' it afoot, on account of the jailer's daughter, who hadslipped him a file along with his laundry, but she hadn't thoughtto put in any lunch. See? Well, it's a story of how this herehungry Prince et the greens off of the castle and discovered thesleepin' Princess. It's a knockout. I bet you'd like it. "

"I'm sure I would, " Rouletta agreed. "Save it for to-morrownight. "

The Snowbird was reluctant in yielding; he eyed 'Poleon darkly, and there was both resentment and suspicion in his somber glancewhen he finally turned away. 

Not until Rouletta and her companion were perched upon their highstools at the oilclothcovered lunch-counter did the latter speak;then he inquired, with a frown:

"Tell me, is any dese feller mak' love on you, ma soeur?"

"Why, no! They're perfectly splendid, like you. Why the terribleblack look?"

"Gamblers! Sure-t'ing guys! Boosters! Bah! Better dey lef youalone, dat's all. You're nice gal; too nice for dem feller. "

Rouletta smiled mirthlessly; there was an expression in her eyesthat the woodsman had never seen. "'Too nice!' That's almost funnywhen you think about it. What sort of men would make love to me, if not gamblers, fellows like Ryan?"

'Poleon breathed an exclamation of astonishment at this assertion. "Wat you sayin'?" he cried. "If dat loafer mak' fresh talk wit'you I--pull him in two piece wit' dese fingers. Dere's plenty goodman. I--you--" He paused uncertainly; then his tone changed to oneof appeal. "You won't marry wit' nobody, eh? Promise me dat. "

"That's an easy promise, under the circumstances. "

"Bien! I never t'ink 'bout you gettin' married. By gosh! dat'sfierce t'ing, for sure! Wat I'll do if--" 'Poleon shook hismassive shoulders as if to rid himself of such unwelcomespeculations. 

"No danger!"

Rouletta's crooked smile did not go unnoticed. 'Poleon studied herface intently; then he inquired:

"Wat ail' you, li'l sister?"

"Why--nothing. "

"Oh yes! I got eye lak fox. You seeck?"

"The idea!" Miss Kirby pulled herself together, but there was suchgenuine concern in her companion's face that her chin quivered. She felt the need of saying something diverting; then abruptly sheturned away. 

'Poleon's big hand closed over hers; in a voice too low for anybut her ears he said: "Somet'ing is kill de song in your heart, mapetite. I give my life for mak' you happy. Sometam you care fortell me, mebbe I can he'p li'l bit. "

The girl suddenly bowed her head; her struggling tears overflowedreluctantly; in a weary, heartsick murmur she confessed:

"I'm the most miserable girl in the world. I'm so--unhappy. "

Some instinct of delicacy prompted the woodsman to refrain fromspeaking. In the same listless monotone Rouletta continued:

"I've always been a lucky gambler, but--the cards have turnedagainst me. I've been playing my own stakes and I've lost. "

"You been playing de bank?" he queried, in some bewilderment. 

"No, a gambler never plays his own game. He always bucks the otherfellow's. I've been playing--hearts. "

'Poleon's grasp upon her hand tightened. "I see, " he said. "Wal, bad luck is boun' to change. "

In Rouletta's eyes, when she looked up, was a vision of some gloryfar beyond the woodsman's sight. Her lips had parted, her tearshad dried. "I wonder--" she breathed. "Father's luck alwaysturned. 'Don't weaken; be a thoroughbred!' That's what he used totell me. He'd be ashamed of me now, wouldn't he? I've told you mytroubles, 'Poleon, because you're all I have left. Forgive me, please, big brother. "

"Forgive? Mon Dieu!" said he. 

Their midnight meal was set out; to them it was tasteless, andneither one made more than a silent pretense of eating it. Theywere absorbed in their own thoughts when the sound of high voices, a commotion of some sort at the front of the saloon, attractedtheir attention. Rouletta's ears were the first to catch it; sheturned, then uttered a breathless exclamation. The next instantshe had slid down from her perch and was hurrying away. 'Poleonstrode after her; he was at her back when she paused on theoutskirts of a group which had assembled near the cashier's cage. 

Pierce Phillips had left his post behind the scales; he, CountCourteau, and Ben Miller, the proprietor, were arguing hotly. Rock, the Police lieutenant, was listening to first one thenanother. The Count was deeply intoxicated; nevertheless, hemanaged to carry himself with something of an air, and at themoment he was making himself heard with considerable vehemence. 

"I have been drinking, to be sure, " he acknowledged, "but am Idrunk? No. Damnation! There is the evidence. " In his hand he washolding a small gold-sack, and this he shook defiantly under theofficer's nose. "Do you call that eight hundred dollars? I askyou. Weigh it! Weigh it!"

Rock took the little leather bag in his fingers; then he agreed. "It's a lot short of eight hundred, for a fact, but--"

In a strong voice Phillips cried: "I don't know what he had. That's all there was in the sack when he paid his check. "

The Count lurched forward, his face purple with indignation. "Forshame!" he cried. "You thought I was blind. You thought I was likethese other--cattle. But I know to a dollar--" He turned to thecrowd. "Here! I will prove what I say. McCaskey, bear me out. "

With a show of some reluctance Frank, the younger and the smallerof the two brothers, nodded to the Police lieutenant. "He's givingyou the straight goods. He had eight hundred and something on him. When he went up to the cage. "

Rock eyed the speaker sharply. "How do you know?" said he. 

"Joe and I was with him for the last hour and a half. Ain't thatright, Joe?" Joe verified this statement. "Understand, this ain'tany of our doings. We don't want to mix up in it, but the Counthad a thousand dollars, that much I'll swear to. He lost about ahundred and forty up the street and he bought two rounds of drinksafterward. I ain't quick at figures--"

Pierce uttered a threatening cry. He moved toward the speaker, butRock laid a hand on his arm and in a tone of authority exclaimed:"None of that, Phillips. I'll do all the fighting. "

Ben Miller, who likewise had bestirred himself to forestallviolence, now spoke up. "I'm not boosting for the house, " said he, "but I want more proof than this kind of chatter. Pierce has beenweighing here since last fall, and nobody ever saw him go southwith a color. If he split this poke he must have the stuff on him. Let Rock search you, Pierce. "

Phillips agreed readily enough to this suggestion, and assistedthe officer's search of his pockets, a procedure which yieldednothing. 

"Dat boy's no t'ief, " 'Poleon whispered to Rouletta. "M'sieu' leComte has been frisk' by somebody. " The girl did not answer. Shewas intently watching the little drama before her. 

During the search Miller forced his way out of the ring ofspectators, unlocked the gate of the cashier's cage, and passedinside. "We keep our takin's in one pile, and I'll lay a littleeight to five that they'll balance up with the checks to apennyweight, " said he. "Just wait till I add up the figgers andweigh--" He paused; he stooped; then he rose with something he hadpicked up from the floor beneath his feet. 

"What have you got, Ben?" It was Rock speaking. 

"Dam' if I know! There it is. " The proprietor shoved a clean, newmoose-skin gold-sack through the wicket. 

Rock examined the bag, then he lifted an inquiring gaze to PiercePhillips. There was a general craning of necks, a shifting offeet, a rustle of whispers. 

"Ah!" mockingly exclaimed Courteau. "I was dreaming, eh? To besure!" He laughed disagreeably. 

"Is this 'house' money?" inquired the redcoat. 

Miller shook his head in some bewilderment. "We don't keep twokitties. I'll weigh it and see if it adds up with the Count's--"

"Oh, it will add up!" Phillips declared, his face even whiter thanbefore. "It's a plant, so of course it will add up. "

Defiantly he met the glances that were fixed upon him. As his eyesroved over the faces turned upon him he became conscious for thefirst tune of 'Poleon's and Rouletta's presence, also that Laurehad somehow appeared upon the scene. The latter was watching himwith a peculiar expression of hostility frozen upon her features;her dark eyes were glowing, she was sneering faintly. Of all thebystanders, perhaps the two McCaskeys seemed the least inclined totake part in the affair. Both brothers, in fact, appeared desirousof effacing themselves as effectively as possible. 

But Courteau's indignation grew, and in a burst of excitement hedisclaimed the guilt implied in Pierce's words. "So! You pleadinnocence! You imply that I robbed myself, eh? Well, how did Iplace the gold yonder? I ask you? Am I a magician?" He waved hisarms wildly, then in a tone of malevolence he cried: "This is notthe first time you have been accused of theft. I have heard thatstory about Sheep Camp. "

"Sheep Camp, yes!" Phillips' eyes ignored the speaker; his gazeflew to Joe McCaskey's face and to him he directed his next words:"The whole thing is plain enough to me. You tried something likethis once before, Joe, and failed. I suppose your back is wellenough now for the rest of those forty lashes. Well, you'll get'em--"

The Count came promptly to the rescue of his friend. "Ho! Againyou lay your guilt upon others. Those miners at Sheep Camp let youoff easy. Well, a pretty woman can do much with a miners' meeting, but here there will be no devoted lady to the rescue--no skirt tohide behind, for--"

Courteau got no further. Ignoring Rock's previous admonition, Pierce knocked the fellow down with a swift, clean blow. He wouldhave followed up his attack only for the lieutenant, who grappledwith him. 

"Here! Do you want me to put you in irons?"

Courteau raised himself with difficulty; he groped for the bar andsupported himself dizzily thereon, snarling from the pain. Withhis free hand he felt his cheek where Pierce's knuckles had foundlodgment; then, as a fuller realization of the indignity hisprivileged person had suffered came home to him, he burst into atorrent of frenzied abuse. 

"Shut up!" the officer growled, unsympathetically. "I know as muchabout that trial at Sheep Camp as you do, and if Phillips hadn'tfloored you I would. That's how you stand with me. You, too!" heshot at the McCaskeys. "Let me warn you if this is a frame-upyou'll all go on the woodpile for the winter. D'you hear me? Ofcourse, if you want to press this charge I'll make the arrest, butI'll just take you three fellows along so you can do some swearingbefore the colonel, where it'll go on the records. "

"Arrest? But certainly!" screamed the Count. "The fellow is athief, a pig. He struck me. ME! You saw him. I--"

"Sure, I saw him!" the officer grinned. "I was afraid he'd missyou. Stop yelling and come along. " With a nod that included theMcCaskeys as well as the titled speaker he linked arms with PiercePhillips and led the way out into the night. 

"W'at fool biznesse!" Doret indignantly exclaimed. "Dat boy ishones' as church. "

He looked down at the sound of Rouletta's voice; then he started. The girl's face was strained and white and miserable; her handswere clasped over her bosom; she was staring horrified at the doorthrough which Phillips had been taken. She swayed as if about tofall. 'Poleon half dragged, half carried her out into the street;with his arm about her waist he helped her toward her hotel. 

The walk was a silent one, for Rouletta was in a state borderingupon collapse; gradually she regained control of herself andstumbled along beside him. 

"They're three to one, " she said, finally. "Oh, 'Poleon! They'llswear it on him. The Police are strict; they'll give him fiveyears. I heard the colonel say so. "

"Dere's been good deal of short-weighin', but--" Doret shook hishead. "Nobody goin' believe Courteau. And McCaskey is dam' t'ief. "

"If--only I--could help him. You'll go to him, 'Poleon, won't you?Promise. "

Silently the Canadian assented. They had reached the door of thehotel before he spoke again; then he said slowly, quietly:

"You been playin' 'hearts' wit' HIM, ma soeur? You--you love him?Yes?"

"Oh--yes!" The confession came in a miserable gasp. 

"Bien! I never s'pect biff ore. Wal, dat's all right. "

"The Police are swift and merciless, " Rouletta persisted, fearfully. "They hate the Front Street crowd; they'd like to makean example. "

"Go in your li'l bed an' sleep, " he told her, gently. "Dis t'ingis comin' out all right. 'Poleon fix it, sure; he's dandy fixer. "

For some time after the door had closed upon Rouletta the bigfellow stood with bent head, staring at the snow beneath his feet. The cheer, the sympathy, had left his face; the smile had vanishedfrom his lips; his features were set and stony. With an effort heshook himself, then, murmured:

"Poor li'l bird! Wal, I s'pose now I got to bus' dat jail!"

CHAPTER XXIV

Although 'Poleon had spoken with confidence, he found, uponarriving at Police Headquarters, that the situation was by nomeans as simple as it had appeared, and that something more than amere word regarding Phillips' character would be required tooffset the very definite accusation against him. Courteau, helearned, had pressed his charge with vigor, and although the twoMcCaskeys had maintained their outward show of reluctance at beingdragged into the affair, they had, nevertheless, substantiated hisstatements with a thoroughness and a detail that hinted more thana little at vindictiveness. Pierce, of course, had denied hisguilt, but his total inability to explain how the gold-dust indispute came to be concealed in the cashier's cage, to which noone but he had access, had left the Police no alternative exceptto hold him. By the time 'Poleon arrived Pierce had been locked upfor the night. 

Drawing Rock aside, Doret put in an earnest plea for his youngfriend. The lieutenant answered him with some impatience:

"I admit it looks fishy, but what is there to do? The colonellikes Pierce, as we all do, but--he had no choice. "

"It's dirty frame-up. "

"I imagine he believes so. And yet--how the deuce did that sackget where it was? I was standing alongside the McCaskeys whenCourteau went up to pay his check, and I'm sure they had no partin it. "

"M'sieu' le Comte is sore, " 'Poleon asserted. "Me, I savvy plenty. Wal, how we goin' get dat boy from out of jail, eh? By Gar! I betI don' sleep none if I'm lock up. "

"Get bail for him. "

'Poleon was frankly puzzled at this suggestion, but when itsnature had been explained his face lit up. 

"Ho! Dat's nice arrangements, for sure. Come! I fix it now. "

"Have you got enough money?"

"I got 'bout t'irty dollar, but dat ain't mak' no differ. I go toworkin' somewhere. Me, I'm good for anyt'ing. "

"That won't do, " Rock smiled. "You don't understand. " Laboriouslyhe made more plain the mysteries of court procedure, whereupon hishearer expressed the frankest astonishment. 

"Sacre!" the latter exclaimed. "What for you say two, freeT'OUSAN' dollar? Courteau 'ain't lose but six hundred, an' he'sgot it back. No! I'm t'inkin' you Policemans is got good sense, but I lak better a miners' meetin'. Us 'sour-dough' mak' betterlaw as dem feller at Ottawa. "

"Morris Best was willing to go his bail, " Rock informed him, "butMiller wouldn't allow it. Ben is sore at having the Rialtoimplicated--there's been so much short-weighing going on. Understand?"

'Poleon wagged his head in bewilderment. "I don' savvy dis newkin' of law you feller is bring in de country. S'pose I say, 'M'sieu' Jodge, I know dis boy long tam; he don' steal dat gold. 'De Jodge he say, 'Doret, how much money you got? T'ousand dollar?'I say, 'Sure! I got 'bout t'ousand dollar. ' Den he tell me, 'Wal, dat ain't 'nough. Mebbe so you better gimme two t'ousan' dollarbiffore I b'lieve you. ' Bien! I go down-town an' win 'nodert'ousan' on de high card, or mebbe so I stick up some feller, denI come back and m'sieu' le jodge he say: 'Dat's fine! Now we letPhillips go home. He don' steal not'in'. ' Wat I t'ink of demproceedin's? Eh? I t'ink de jodge is dam' grafter!"

Rock laughed heartily. "Don't let Colonel Cavendish hear you, " hecautioned. "Seriously now, he'd let Pierce go if he could; he toldme so. He'll undoubtedly allow him the freedom of the Barracks, sohe'll really be on parole until his trial. "

"Trial? You goin' try him again?" The woodsman could make littleof the affair. "If you try him two tam, dose crook is mak' t'iefof Pierce for sure. One trial is plenty. I s'pose mebbe I betterkill dem feller off an' settle dis t'ing. "

"Don't talk like that, " Rock told him. "I'm not saying they don'tneed killing, but--nobody gets away with that stuff nowadays. "

"No?" 'Poleon was interested and a trifle defiant. "For why? Younever catch me, M'sieu'. Nobody is able for doin' dat. I'm goodtraveler. "

Rock eyed the stalwart speaker meditatively. "I'd hate to takeyour trail, that's a fact, but I'd have to do it. However, thatwould be a poor way to help Pierce. If he's really innocent, Courteau will have a hard job to convict him. I suggest that youlet matters rest as they are for a day or so. We'll treat the kidall right. "

On the way to her room Rouletta met the Countess Courteau, and ina few words made known the facts of Pierce's arrest. The elderwoman listened in astonishment. 

"Arrested? For theft? Absurd! Who made the charge?"

"Count Courteau. "

"COURTEAU? Where did he get a thousand dollars?" The speaker'sface was set in an expression of utter incredulity. 

"I don't know. It's all too wretched, too terrible--" Rouletta'svoice broke; she hid her face in her hands. For a moment there wassilence; then the elder woman exclaimed, harshly, peremptorily:

"Tell me everything. Quick! There's a reason why I must know allabout it. "

Drawing Rouletta into her room, she forced her into a chair, thenstood over her while the latter repeated the story in greaterdetail. 

"So! That's it!" the Countess cried, at last. "The McCaskeysbacked him up. Of course! And he referred to Sheep Camp--to me. He's the sort to do a thing like that. God! What a dog!" After atime she went on: "I'm sorry Pierce struck him; he'll never getover that and it will make it harder--much harder. "

"You think it can be straightened out?" Rouletta s face wasstrained; her eyes searched the former speaker's face eagerly. 

"It's GOT to be straightened out. It would be monstrous to allow--" The Countess shook her head, then, with a mirthless smile, exclaimed: "But what a situation! Henri, of all persons! It'spleasant for me, isn't it? Well, somebody planted that poke--probably one of the McCaskeys. They'd like to railroad the boy. Joe is as vindictive as an Indian and he blames Pierce and me forhis brother's death. "

In desperation Rouletta cried: "I'll pay the Count back his money--I'll double it. "

"HIS money?" sneered the woman. "He hasn't a cent, except what Igive him. That was McCaskey's dust. " She stared at theapprehensive figure crouched upon the edge of the chair, andslowly her expression softened. In a gentler tone she said, "I seeyou didn't take my advice; you didn't heed my warning. "

"Who ever heeds a warning like yours?"

"Does Pierce know that you--feel this way about him?"

Rouletta sighed wearily. "I didn't know myself, although I morethan half suspected. I didn't permit myself to think, it made meso unhappy. "

"It ought to satisfy me somewhat to learn that he doesn't care foryou, but--somehow it doesn't. He didn't care for me, either. But Icared for him. I love him now, just as you love him--better, probably. Oh, why conceal it? I've spent a good many black hoursthinking about it and trying to fight it. Mind you, it wasn't hisfault; it was just fate. There are some fellows who go smiling andsinging along through life--clean, decent fellows, too--attendingto their own affairs in a perfectly proper manner, but leaving atrail of havoc behind them. It isn't so true of women--they'reusually flirts--their smiles don't last and the echo of theirsongs dies out. He's perfectly impossible for me. I wouldn't marryhim if I were free and if he asked me. But that has nothingwhatever to do with the case. "

"I had no idea!" Rouletta said. "I suppose there's no hope for me, either. I'm not his kind. He's told me about his life, his people. I wouldn't fit in. "

"It isn't that--people are adaptable, they make themselves fit, for a while at least--it's a question of identities. As much amatter of family histories as anything else. You're his antithesisin every respect and--like should mate with like. Now then, aboutthis other trouble. I must work in my own way, and I see but one. I'll have to pay high, but--" The speaker lifted her shoulders asif a cold wind had chilled her. "I've paid high, up to date, and Isuppose I shall to the end. Meanwhile, if you can get him out ofjail, do so by all means. I can't. I daren't even try. "

When, at a late hour, Count Henri Courteau entered theestablishment that bore his name he was both surprised and angeredto find his wife still awake. The guests of the hotel were asleep, the place was quiet, but the Countess was reading in an easy-chairbeside the office stove. She was in negligee, her feet wereresting upon the stove fender. She turned her head to say:

"Well, Henri, you look better than I thought you would. "

The Count passed a caressing hand over his swollen cheek and hisdiscolored left eye. "You heard about the fight, eh?" he inquired, thickly. 

"Yes--if you'd call it that. "

Courteau grimaced, but there was a ring of triumph and ofsatisfaction in his voice when he cried:

"Well, what do you think of that fellow? It was like him, wasn'tit, after I had caught him red-handed?"

"To punch you? Quite like him, " agreed the woman. 

"Pig! To strike a defenseless man. Without warning, too. It showshis breeding. And now"--the speaker sneered openly--"I suppose youwill bail him out. "

"Indeed! Why should I?"

"Oh, don't pretend innocence!" the Count stormed. "Don't act sounconcerned. What's your game, anyhow? Whatever it is, that fellowwill cut cord-wood for the rest of the winter where the whole ofDawson can see him and say, 'Behold the lover of the CountessCourteau!'"

"There's some mistake. He isn't a thief. "

"No?" The husband swayed a few steps closer, his face workingdisagreeably. "Already it is proved. He is exposed, ruined. Bah!He made of me a laughing-stock. Well, he shall suffer! A bornthief, that's what he is. What have you to say?"

"Why--nothing. I hoped it was a mistake, that's all. "

"You HOPED! To be sure!" sneered the speaker. "Well, what are yougoing to do about it?" When his wife said nothing the manmuttered, in some astonishment: "I didn't expect you to take it soquietly. I was prepared for a scene. What ails you?"

Hilda laid down her book. She turned to face her accuser. "Whyshould I make a scene?" she asked. "I've had nothing to do withPhillips since we parted company at White Horse. I've scarcelyspoken to him, and you know it. "

"You don't deny there was something between you?"

The woman shrugged non-committally, her lips parted in a faint, cheerless smile. "I deny nothing. I admit nothing. "

Although Courteau's brain was fogged, he experienced a growingsurprise at the self-possession with which his wife had taken thisblow which he had aimed as much at her as at Pierce Phillips; hestudied her intently, a mingling of suspicion, of anger, and ofadmiration in his uncertain gaze. He saw, for one thing, that hiseffort to reach her had failed and that she remained completelythe mistress of herself. She reclined at ease in her comfortablechair, quite unstirred by his derision, his jubilation. He becameaware, also, of the fact that she presented an extremelyattractive picture, for the soft white fur of the loose robe shewore exposed an alluring glimpse of snowy throat and bosom; onewide sleeve had fallen back, showing a smoothly rounded arm; hersilken ankles, lifted to the cozy warmth of the stove, were smalland trim; her feet were shod in neat high-heeled slippers. TheCount admired neatly shod ladies. 

"You're a very smart-looking woman, " he cried, with somereluctance. "You're beautiful, Hilda. I don't blame the young foolfor falling. But you're too old, too wise--"

Hilda nodded. "You've said it. Too old and too wise. If I'd beenas young and as silly as when I met you--who knows? He's ahandsome boy. "

Again the husband's anger blazed up. 

"But I'm not young and silly, " his wife interrupted. 

"Just the same, you played me a rotten trick, " the Count exploded. "And I don't forget. As for him"--he swore savagely--"he'll learnthat it's not safe to humiliate me, to rob me of any woman--wifeor mistress. You've never told me the half; I've had to guess. ButI'm patient, I know how to wait and to use my eyes and my ears. Then to strike me! Perdition! I'll follow this through, neverfear. "

"How did you get a thousand dollars, Henri?" the wife inquired, curiously. 

Courteau's gaze shifted. "What difference? I won it on a turn atthe North Star; it was given to me; I found it. Anyhow, I had it. It was a good night for me; yes, a very good night. I had myrevenge and I showed my friends that I'm a man to be reckonedwith. "

In a tone unexpectedly humble the woman said: "I had no idea youcared very much what I did or how I carried on. After all, it wasyour own fault. "

"Mine?" The Count laughed in derision and astonishment. 

"Exactly! If you had taken the trouble to show me that you cared--well, things might have been different. However--" The Countessrose, and with another change of voice and manner said: "Comealong. Let's do something for your eye. "

The Count stared at her in bewilderment, then he turned away, crying: "Bah! I want no help. " At the door he paused to jeer oncemore. "Pierce Phillips! A common thief, a despicable creature whorobs the very man he had most deeply injured. I've exposed him tothe law and to public scorn. Sleep on that, my dear. Dream on it. "With a chuckle he traced an uncertain course to the stairs, mounted them to his room, and slammed his door behind him. 

He had undressed and flung himself into bed, but he had not yetfallen asleep when the door reopened and his wife entered, bearingin her hand a steaming pitcher of hot water. This she deposited;into it she dipped a folded towel. 

"I'm sorry you're disfigured, Henri, " she told him, quietly. 

Despite his surly protests, she bathed and soothed his swollenfeatures until he dropped asleep, after which she stole out anddown to her room on the floor below. There, however, she paused, staring back up the empty stairway, a look of deepest loathingupon her face. Slowly, carefully, she wiped her hands as if theywere unclean; her lips curled into a mirthless smile; then shepassed into her chamber and turned the key behind her. 

Rock had spoken truly in assuring 'Poleon that Pierce Phillips'lot would be made as easy for him as possible. That is whathappened. No one at the Barracks appeared to take much stock inCourteau's charge, and even Colonel Cavendish, the commandant, took the trouble to send for him early the next morning and to askfor the whole story in detail. When Pierce had given it theofficer nodded. "It looks very much like a spite case. I couldn'timagine your doing such a thing, my boy. "

"It is a spite case, nothing else. "

"Courteau is a rotter, and your affair with his wife explains hisanimosity. "

"It wasn't exactly an 'affair, ' sir. " Pierce colored slightly ashe went on to explain. "You see, I was perfectly honest. I didn'tknow there was a count, and when I learned there was I up stakesand ended it. She was the first woman who ever--Well, sir, Iadmired her tremendously. She--impressed me wonderfully. "

"No doubt, " the colonel smiled. "She's an impressive person. Areyou still fond of her?"

"Not in the same way. "

"What about this girl Laure?"

This time Pierce flushed uncomfortably. "I've no excuses to offerthere, sir--no explanations. We--just drifted together. It was along trip and the Yukon does that sort of thing. Force ofcircumstance as much as anything, I presume. I've been trying tobreak away, but--" he shrugged. 

"You've been a pretty foolish lad. " Pierce remained silent at thisaccusation, and the colonel went on: "However, I didn't bring youhere to lecture you. The Royal Mounted have other things to thinkabout than young wasters who throw themselves away. After all, it's a free-and-easy country and if you want to play ducks anddrakes it's your own business. I merely want you to realize thatyou've put yourself in a bad light and that you don't come intocourt with clean hands. "

"I understand. I put in a wakeful night thinking about it. It'sthe first time in a long while that I've done any seriousthinking. "

"Well, don't be discouraged. A little thinking will benefit you. Now then, I'm going to put Rock at work on your case, andmeanwhile you may have the liberty of the Barracks. You're agentleman, and I trust you to act as one. "

Pierce was only too grateful for this courtesy, and to realizethat he retained the respect of this middle-aged, soldierlyofficer, whom he had long admired, filled him with deep relief. Hegave his promise readily enough. 

Later in the day Broad and Bridges came in to see him, and theirindignation at the outrage, their positive assertion that it wasnothing less than a deliberate conspiracy, and so considered amongthe Front Street resorts, immensely cheered him. 

"You remember the holler I let up when them Sheep-Campers wantedto hang McCaskey?" Broad inquired. "It was my mistake. His ear anda hemp knot would go together like rheumatism and liniment. "

Bridges agreed. "Funny, us three bein' tillicums, ain't it?" hemused. "Especially after the way we dredged you. We didn't needyour loose change, but--there it was, so we took it. "

"You'd of done better if you'd turned on the hollow of your footthat day and romped right back to the old farm, " Broad asserted. "You'd never of doubled up with the McCaskeys and you'd still bethe blushing yokel you was. "

"Yes, you're a different kid, now. " Both gamblers, it seemed, werein the melancholy mood for moralizing. "Why, we was talkin' toRouletta about you this morning. She's all bereaved up over thisthing; she sent us here to cheer you. You was clean as an apple, then--and easier to pick--now you're just a common bar-fly, thesame as us. Laure done it. She's the baby vampire that made a bumof you. "

"You're not very flattering. " Phillips smiled faintly. 

"Oh, I'm sort of repeatin' what Letty said. She put me tothinkin'. She's quite a noisy little missionary when she getsstarted. "

"Missionary!" Broad exclaimed, in disdain. "I don't like the word. Them birds is about useful as a hip pocket in an undershirt. Why, missionaries don't do no real, lasting good outside of Indianvillages! Us sure-thing guys are the best missionaries that everstruck this country. Look at the good we done around Dyea andSkagway. Them gospel-bringers never touched it. We met the suckerson the edge of the Frozen North and we turned 'em back by thescore. Them three walnut husks done more good than the TenCommandments. Yes, sir, a set of cheatin' tools will save morestrayed lambs than a ship-load of Testaments. "

"Letty figgers that somebody tossed that goldsack over the top ofthe cage after you follered the Count out. "

"Impossible, " Pierce declared. 

"I got an idea. " It was Broad speaking again. "The merecontemplation of physical violence unmans that Frog. He'd about assoon have a beatin' as have a leg cut off with a case-knife. S'pose me and the Kid lure him to some lonely spot--some goodyellin'-place--and set upon him with a coupla pick-handles. We'llmake him confess or we'll maim and meller him till he backs outthrough his bootlegs. What d'you say?"

Pierce shook his head. "Something must be done, but I doubt ifthat's it. It's tough to be--disgraced, to have a thing like thishanging over you. I wouldn't mind it half so much if I were up formurder or arson or any man's-sized crime. Anything exceptSTEALING!"

"A mere matter of choice, " the former speaker lightly declared. "We got boys around the Rialto that has tried 'em all. They don'tnotice no particular difference. "

For some time the three friends discussed the situation, then, when his visitors rose to go, Pierce accompanied them to thelimits of the Barracks premises and there stood looking afterthem, realizing with a fresh pang that he was a prisoner. It wasan unfortunate predicament, he reflected, and quite as unpleasantas the one which had brought him into conflict with the angry menof Sheep Camp. That had been an experience fraught with peril, buthis present plight was little better, it seemed to him, foralready he felt the weight of the Dominion over him, already hefancied himself enmeshed in a discouraging tangle of red tape. There was no adventurous thrill to this affair, nothing but anodious feeling of shame and disgrace which he could not shake off. 

He was staring morosely at the ground between his feet when heheard a voice that caused him to start. There, facing him with alight of pleasure in her blue eyes, was the girl of the skees. 

"Hello!" said she. She extended her hand, and her mitten closedover Pierce's fingers with a firm clasp. "I'm awfully glad to seeyou again, Mr--" She hesitated, then with a smile confessed, "Doyou know, you're my only pupil and yet I've never heard yourname. "

"Phillips, " said he. 

"You don't deserve to be remembered at all, for you didn't come tothe dance. And after you had promised, too. "

"I couldn't come, " he assured her, truthfully enough. 

"I looked for you. I was quite hurt when you failed to appear. Then I thought perhaps you expected something more formal than amere verbal invitation, and in that way I managed to save myvanity. If I'd known who you were or how to find you I'd have hadmy father send you a note. If it wasn't that, I'm glad. Well, there's another dance this week and I'll expect you. "

"I--I'm not dancing, " he stammered. "Not at the Barracks, anyhow. "

The girl was puzzled; therefore Pierce summoned his courage andexplained, with as brave an attempt at lightness as he couldafford: "You see before you a victim of unhappy circumstance, " aperson to be shunned. I'm worse than a case of smallpox. I don'tthink you should be seen talking to me. "

"What are you driving at?"

"I'm getting up the spiritual momentum necessary to tell you thatI'm a thief! Truly. Anyhow, three choice gentlemen are so sure ofit that they went to the trouble of perjuring themselves andhaving me arrested--"

"Arrested? YOU?"

"Exactly. And the evidence is very strong. I almost think I mustbe guilty. "

"Are you?"

Pierce shook his head. 

"Of course you're not. I remember, now--something father said atbreakfast, but I paid no attention. You fought with that good-looking French count, didn't you?"

"Thank you for reminding me of the one cheerful feature connectedwith the entire affair. Yes, I raised my hand to him in anger--andlet it fall, but Lieutenant Rock spoiled the whole party. "

"Tell me everything, please. "

Pierce was more than willing to oblige, and he began his recitalat the time of his first meeting with Joe McCaskey on the beach atDyea. While he talked the girl listened with that peculiar open-eyed meditative gravity he had noted upon their former meeting. When he had finished she cried, breathlessly:

"Why, it's as exciting as a book!"

"You think so? I don't. If I were only a clever book character I'dexecute some dramatic coup and confound my enemies--book peoplealways do. But my mind is a blank, my ingenuity is at a completestandstill. I feel perfectly foolish and impotent. To save me, Ican't understand how that gold got where it was, for the cashier'scage is made of wire and the door has a spring-lock. I heard itsnap back of me when I followed the Count outside. I had an insaneidea that his nose would stretch if I pulled it and I believe yetit would. Well, I've spent one night in the dungeon and I'm notcut out to enjoy that mode of life. All I can think about is thePrisoner of Chillon and the Man in the Iron Mask and otherdistressing instances of the law's injustice. I feel as if I'dgrown a gray beard in the last twelve hours. Do I look much olderthan when we met?"

The girl shook her head. "It's tremendously dramatic. Think what astory it will make when it's over and when you look back on it. "

"Do you feel that way, too?" Pierce inquired, curiously. "As ifeverything is an adventure? I used to. I used to stand outside ofmyself and look on, but now--I'm on the inside, looking out. Isuppose it's the effect of the gray beard. Experience comes fastin this country. To one thing I've made up my mind, however; whenI get out of this scrape, if I ever do, I'm going away up into thehills where the wind can blow me clean, and stay there. "

"It's a perfect shame!" the girl said, indignantly. "I shall tellfather to fix it. He fixes everything I ask him to. He'swonderful, as you probably know. "

"Inasmuch as I haven't the faintest idea who he is--"

"Why, he's Colonel Cavendish! I'm Josephine Cavendish. I thoughteverybody knew me. "

Pierce could not restrain a start of surprise. Very humbly heinquired:

"Now that you understand who I am and what I'm charged with, doyou want to--know me; be friends with me?"

"We ARE friends, " Miss Cavendish warmly declared. "That's notsomething that may happen; it has happened. I'm peculiar aboutsuch matters; I have my own way of looking at them. And now thatwe're friends we're going to be friends throughout and I'm goingto help you. Come along and meet mother. "

"I--don't know how far my parole extends, " Pierce ventured, doubtfully. 

"Nonsense! There's only one authority around here. Father thinkshe's it, but he isn't. I am. You're my prisoner now. Give me yourword you won't try to escape--"

"Escape!" Pierce smiled broadly. "I don't much care if I never getout. Prisons aren't half as bad as they're pictured. "

"Then come!"

CHAPTER XXV

"You really must do something for this boy Pierce Phillips. " Mrs. Cavendish spoke with decision. 

The newspaper which the colonel was reading was barely six weeksold, therefore he was deeply engrossed in it, and he looked upsomewhat absentmindedly. 

"Yes, yes. Of course, my dear, " he murmured. "What does he wantnow?"

"Why, he wants his liberty! He wants this absurd charge againsthim dismissed! It's a shame to hold a boy of his character, hisbreeding, on the mere word of a man like Count Courteau. "

Colonel Cavendish smiled quizzically. "You, too, eh?" said he. 

"What do you mean by that?"

"Why, you're the fourth woman who has appealed to me since hisarrest. I dare say I'll hear from others. I never saw a fellow whohad the female vote so solidly behind him. I'm beginning to regardhim as a sort of domestic menace. "

"You surely don't believe him guilty?"

When her husband refused to commit himself Mrs. Cavendishexclaimed, "Rubbish!"

"First Josephine came to me, " the colonel observed. "She wasdeeply indignant and considerably disappointed in me as a man anda father when I refused to quash the entire proceedings andapologize, on behalf of the Dominion Government, for the injury tothe lad's feelings. She was actually peeved. What ails her I don'tknow. Then the Countess Courteau dropped in, and so did that 'ladydealer' from the Rialto. Now you take up his defense. " The speakerpaused thoughtfully for an instant. "It's bad enough to have thefellow hanging around our quarters at all hours, but Josephineactually suggested that we have him DINE with us!"

"I know. She spoke of it to me. But he isn't 'hanging around atall hours. ' Josephine is interested in his case, just as I am, because--"

"My dear! He's a weigher in a saloon, a gambling-house employee. D'you think it wise to raise such a dust about him? I like the boymyself--can't help liking him--but you understand what he's beendoing? He's been cutting up; going the pace. I never knew you tocountenance a fellow--"

"I never saw a boy toward whom I felt so--motherly, " Mrs. Cavendish said, with some irrelevance. "I don't like wild youngmen any better than you do, but--he isn't a thief, of that I'msure. "

"Look here. " Colonel Cavendish laid down his paper, and there wasmore gravity than usual in his tone. "I haven't told youeverything, but it's evidently time I did. Phillips was mixed upwith bad associates, the very worst in town--"

"So he told me. "

"He couldn't have told you what I'm about to. He had a mostunfortunate affair with a dance-hall girl--one that reflects nocredit upon him. He was on the straight path to ruin and going ata gallop, drinking, gambling--everything. "

 "All the more reason for trying to save him. Remember, you werepretty wild yourself. "

"Wait! I don't say he's guilty of this charge; I want to believehim innocent--I'd like to help prove it. For that very reason itoccurred to me that Laure--she's the dance-hall girl--might throwsome light on the matter, so I put Rock to work on her. Well, hisreport wasn't pleasant. The girl talked, but what she said didn'thelp Phillips. She confessed that he'd been stealing right alongand giving her the money. "

Mrs. Cavendish was shocked, incredulous. After a moment, however, she shook her head positively and exclaimed, "I don't believe aword of it. "

"She's going to swear to it. "

"Her oath would be no better than her word--"

"Good Lord!" the colonel cried, testily. "Has this young impcompletely hypnotized you women? The Kirby girl is frightened todeath, and the Countess--well, she told me herself that herhusband's jealousy was at the bottom of the whole thing. Laure, inspite of what she said to Rock, is behaving like a mad person. Idropped in at the Rialto this evening and she asked me what wasthe worst Pierce could expect. I made it strong, purposely, and Ithought she'd faint. No, it's a nasty affair, all through. And, byJove! to cap the climax, you and Josephine take part in it! Iflatter myself that I'm democratic, but--have him here to dine!Gad! That's playing democracy pretty strong. "

"It isn't fair to imply that he's nothing more than a ladies' man. They're detestable. The men like Phillips, too. "

"True, " Cavendish admitted. "He has the God-given faculty ofmaking friends, and for that alone I can forgive him almostanything. It's a wonderful faculty--better than being born luckyor rich or handsome. I'm fond of him, but I've favored him all Ican. If I thought Josephine were seriously interested in him--well, I wouldn't feel so friendly. " The speaker laughed shortly, "No. The man who claims that girl's attention must be cleanthrough and through. He must stand the acid test. "

When his wife silently approved this sentiment the colonel pickedup Ms paper and resumed his reading. 

Pierce's friends were indeed uniformly indignant, and withoutexception they maintained their faith in his innocence; most ofthem, in fact, actually applied themselves to the task of clearinghim of Courteau's charge. But of the latter the one who appliedherself the most thoughtfully, the most seriously, was theCountess Courteau. Having reasoned that she herself was indirectlyresponsible for his plight, she set about aiding him in athoroughly feminine and indirect manner. It was an unpleasantundertaking; she took it up with intense abhorrence; it requiredher utmost determination to carry it on. Her plan had formeditself immediately she had learned what had happened; her meetingwith the Count that evening and her unexpected solicitude, herunbidden attention to his injury, were a part of it. As time wenton she assumed an air that amazed the man. She meekly accepted hisreproaches, she submitted to his abuse; cautiously, patiently shepaved the way to a reconciliation. 

It was by no means easy, for she and Henri had long lived in whatwas little better than a state of open hostility, and she had beenat no pains to conceal the utter disregard and contempt she feltfor him. He, of course, had resented it; her change of demeanornow awoke his suspicion. He was a vain and shallow person, however; his conceit was thoroughly Latin, and Hilda'sperseverance was in a way rewarded. Slowly, grudgingly he gaveground before her subtle advances--they were, in fact, lessadvances on her part than opportunities for him--he experienced afeeling of triumph and began to assume a masterful air that wasindeed trying to one of her disposition. Before his friends heboasted that his energetic defense of his honor had worked amarvel in his home; in her presence he made bold to take on aswagger and an authority hitherto unknown. 

Hilda stood it, with what cost no one could possibly understand. In some manner she managed to convey the idea that he dominatedher and that she cringed spiritually before him. She permitted himoccasionally to surprise a look of bewilderment, almost of fright, in her eyes, and this tickled the man immensely. With a fatuouscomplacency, thoroughly typical, he told himself that she fearedand respected him--was actually falling in love with him all overagain. When he felt the impulse to scout this idea he went to hismirror and examined himself critically, Why not? he asked himself. He was very pleasing. Women had always been wax in his hands; hehad a personality, an air, an irresistible something that had wonhim many conquests. It seemed not unlikely that Hilda had beenshocked into a new and keener realization of his many admirablequalities and was ready to make up, if, or when, he graciouslychose to permit her. 

On the very evening that Colonel Cavendish and his wife werediscussing Pierce Phillips' affair, Courteau, feeling in aparticularly jubilant mood, decided to put the matter to a test;therefore he surprised his wife by walking into her roomunannounced. 

"My dear, " he began, "it's high time we had a talk. "

"Indeed!" said she. "What about?"

"About you, about me, about our affairs. Are we husband and wifeor are we not? I ask you. "

With a queer flicker of her eyelids she answered: "Why--of course. You have appeared to forget it sometimes, but--"

"No reproaches, please. The past is gone. Neither of us is withoutblame. You've had your fling, too, but I've shown you that I'mmade of stern stuff and will tolerate no further foolishness. I ama different Courteau than you ever knew. I've had my rebirth. Nowthen, our present mode of life is not pleasing to me, for I'm afellow of spirit. Think of me--in the attitude of a dependent!"

"I share generously with you. I give you money--"

"The very point, ' he broke in, excitedly. "You give; I accept. Youdirect; I obey. It must end now, at once. I cannot play theaccompaniment while you sing. Either I close my eyes to your follyand forgive, utterly--either we become man and wife again and Iassume leadership--or I make different plans for the future. "

"Just what do you propose, Henri?"

The fellow shrugged. "I offer you a reconciliation; that, to beginwith. You've had your lesson and I flatter myself that you see mein a new light. The brave can afford to be generous. I--well, I'vealways had a feeling for you; I've never been blind to yourattractions, my dear. Lately I've even experienced something ofthe--er--the old spell. Understand me? It's a fact. ' I'm actuallytaken with you, Hilda; I have the fire of an impetuous lover. "

Courteau's eyes gleamed; there was an unusual warmth to his gazeand a vibrance to his tone. He curled his mustache, he swelled hischest, he laughed lightly but deeply. "What do you say, eh? I'mnot altogether displeasing. No? You see something in me to admire?I thrill you? Confess. "

The wife lowered her eyes. "You have some power--" she murmured. 

"Power! Precisely. " The Count nodded and there was a growingvivacity and sparkle to him. "That is my quality--a power tocharm, a power to achieve, a power to triumph. Well, I choose nowto win you again for myself. It is my whim. To rekindle a lovewhich one has lost is a test of any man's power, n'est-ce pas? Youare fond of me. I see it. Am I not right, my sweet?"

He laid his soft white hands upon his wife's shoulders and bent anardent gaze upon her. Hilda faced him with an odd smile; hercheeks were white, her ice-blue eyes were very wide and bright andthey held a curious expression. 

"Come! A kiss!" he persisted. "Oho! You tremble, you shrink like amaiden. I, too, am exhilarated, but--" With a chuckle he foldedher in his embrace and she did not resist. After a moment heresumed: "This is quite too amusing. I wish my friends to see andto understand. Put on your prettiest dress--"

"What for?"

"We are going down-town. We shall celebrate our reunion--we shalldrink to it publicly. All Dawson shall take note. They have said, 'Courteau is a loafer, a ne'er-do-well, and he permits another towin his wife away from him. ' I propose to show them. "

"You mean you propose to show me off. Is that it? Anotherconquest, eh?"

"Have it as you will. I--"

"I won't go, " Hilda cried, furiously. She freed herself from hisarms. "You know I won't go. You'd like to parade me in the placesyou frequent--saloons, dance-halls, gambling-houses. The idea!"

"You won't? Tut, tut! What is this?" Courteau cried, angrily. "Rebellious so soon? Is this recent change of demeanor assumed?Have you been fooling me?"

"What change?" the woman parried. "I don't know--"

"Oh yes, you do! For the first time in years you have treated meas a husband should be treated; half-measures will no longersatisfy me. We have arrived at the show-up. Are you a miserableDelilah or--"

"Please don't ask me to go out with you, Henri, " the womanpleaded, in genuine distress, now that she saw he was in earnest. "To be paraded like an animal on a chain! Think of my feelings. "

"Indeed! Think of mine, " he cried. "This is my hour, my triumph; Ipropose to make it complete. Now that I carefully consider it, Iwill put you to the test. You've had a fine time; if you pay aprice for it, whose fault is that? No! One must be cruel to bekind. "

"Cruel! Kind!" Hilda sneered. "It merely pleases you to humiliateme. "

"Very well!" blazed the Count. "If it pleases me, so be it. Thatis my attitude now and henceforth--my will is to be law. Come!Your prettiest dress and your prettiest smile, for we celebrate. Yes, and money, too; I'm as poverty-ridden as usual. We will treatmy friends, we will gamble here and there, we will watch the showsto an accompaniment of popping corks so that every one shall seeus and say: 'Yonder is Courteau and his wife. They have made upand she adores him like a mistress. Parbleu! The man has a waywith women, eh!' It shall be a great night for me. "

"Are you really serious?"

Courteau stamped his felt-shod foot. "Anger me no more. "

Hilda's face was colorless, her eyes were still glowing with thatpeculiar light of defiance, of desperation, of curiosity;nevertheless, she turned away and began to dress herself. 

Courteau was not disappointed. His appearance in the river-frontresorts, accompanied by his wife, created a sensation indeed. AndHilda's bearing, under the circumstances, added to hisgratification, for, now that the die was cast, she surrenderedcompletely, she clung to him as if feeling a new dependence, andthis filled his cup to overflowing. It was an outrageous thing todo; no one save a Courteau would have thought of subjecting thewoman who bore his name to such a humiliation. But he was aperverse individual; his mind ran in crooked courses; he took abizarre delight in the unusual, and morality of the common sort heknew not. To smirch her, even a little bit, to subject her toseeming disgrace, not only taught her a lesson, but also unitedthem more closely, so he told himself. That he had the ability tocompel her to do anything against her will immensely tickled hisvanity, for her stubborn independence had always been a trial tohim. He knew that her social status was not of the highest;nevertheless, her reputation was far better than his, and amongall except the newest arrivals in Dawson she bore a splendid name. To be, himself, the cause of blackening that name, in order tomatch his own, gratified his feelings of resentment. All in all, it was a night of nights for him and he was at no pains to concealhis satisfaction. From one place to another he led her, takingmalicious enjoyment from the distress he caused. 

Courteau was not loud nor blatant; nevertheless, his triumphantdemeanor, his proprietary air, fairly shouted the fact that he hadtamed this woman and was exhibiting her against her inclinations. At every bar he forced her to drink with him and with his friends;he even called up barroom loafers whom he did not know andintroduced them with an elaborate flourish. The money he spent washers, of course, but he squandered it royally, leaving a trail ofempty champagne-bottles behind. Champagne, at this time, sold fortwenty dollars a quart and, although Hilda saw her earningsmelting away with appalling rapidity, she offered no protest. Together they flung their chips broadcast upon the gambling-tables, and their winnings, which were few, went to buy morepopularity with the satellites who trailed them. 

As time passed and Hilda continued to meet the test, her husband'ssatisfaction gained a keener edge. He beamed, he strutted, hetwisted his mustache to needle-points. She was a thoroughbred, that he assured himself. But, after all, why shouldn't she do thisfor him? The women with whom he was accustomed to associate wouldnot have counted such an evening as this a sacrifice, and, evenhad they so considered it, he was in the habit of exactingsacrifices from women. They liked it; it proved their devotion. 

Her subjugation was made complete when he led her into a box atthe Rialto Theater and insisted upon the two McCaskeys joiningthem. The brothers at first declined, but by this time Courteau'sdetermination carried all before it. 

Joe halted him outside the box door, however, to inquire into themeaning of the affair. 

"It means this, " the Count informed him. "I have effected acomplete reconciliation with my adorable wife. Women are allalike--they fear the iron, they kiss the hand that smites them. Ihave made her my obedient slave, mon ami. That's what it means. "

"It don't look good to me, " Joe said, morosely. "She's got an aceburied somewhere. "

"Eh? What are you trying to say?"

"I've got a hunch she's salving you, Count. She's stuck onPhillips, like I told you, and she's trying to get a peek at yourhole card. "

It was characteristic of Courteau that he should take instantoffense at this reflection upon his sagacity, this doubt of hisability as a charmer. 

"You insult my intelligence, " he cried, stiffly, "and, above all, I possess intelligence. You--do not. No. You are coarse, you aregross. I am full of sentiment--"

"Rats!" McCaskey growled. "I get that way myself sometimes. Sentiment like yours costs twenty dollars a quart. But this ain'tthe time for a spree; we got business on our hands. "

The Count eyed his friend with a frown. "It is a personal affairand concerns our business not in the least. I am a revengefulperson; I have pride and I exact payment from those who wound it. I brought my wife here as a punishment and I propose to make herdrink with you. Your company is not agreeable at any time, myfriend, and she does you an honor--"

"Cut out that tony talk, " Joe said, roughly. "You're a broken-hipped stiff and you're trying to grab her bank-roll. Don't yous'pose I'm on? My company was all right until you got your hand inthe hotel cash-drawer; now I'm coarse. Maybe she's on the square--she fell for you once--but I bet she's working you. Make sure ofthis, my high and mighty nobleman"--for emphasis the speaker laida heavy hand upon the Count's shoulder and thrust his disagreeableface closer--"that you keep your mouth shut. Savvy? Don't let hersweat you--"

The admonitory words ended abruptly, for the door of the boxreopened and Joe found the Countess Courteau facing him. For aninstant their glances met and in her eyes the man saw anexpression uncomfortably reminiscent of that day at Sheep Campwhen she had turned public wrath upon his brother Jim's head. Butthe look was fleeting; she turned it upon her husband, and theCount, with an apology for his delay, entered the box, draggingMcCaskey with him. 

Frank, it appeared, shared his brother's suspicions; the twoexchanged glances as Joe entered; then when the little party hadadjusted itself to the cramped quarters they watched the Countesscuriously, hoping to analyze her true intent. But in this theywere unsuccessful. She treated both of them with a cool, impartialformality, quite natural under the circumstances, but in no otherway did she appear conscious of that clash on the Chilkoot trail. It was not a pleasant situation at best, and Joe especially wasill at ease, but Courteau continued his spendthrift role, keepingthe waiters busy, and under the influence of his potations theelder McCaskey soon regained some of his natural sang-froid. Allthree men drank liberally, and by the time the lower floor hadbeen cleared for dancing they were in a hilarious mood. Theylaughed loudly, they shouted greetings across to other patrons ofthe place, they flung corks at the whirling couples below. 

Meanwhile, they forced the woman to imbibe with them. Joe, inspite of his returning confidence, kept such close watch of herthat she could not spill her glass into the bucket, except rarely. Hilda hated alcohol and its effect; she was not accustomed todrinking. As she felt her intoxication mounting she became fearfulthat the very medium upon which she had counted for success wouldprove to be her undoing. Desperately she battled to retain herwits. More than once, with a reckless defiance utterly foreign toher preconceived plans, she was upon the point of hurling thebubbling contents of her glass into the flushed faces about herand telling these men how completely she was shamming, but shemanaged to resist the temptation. That she felt such an impulse atall made her fearful of committing some action equally rash, ofdropping some word that would prove fatal. 

It was a hideous ordeal. She realized that already the cloak ofdecency, of respectability, which she had been at such pains topreserve during these difficult years, was gone, lost for good andall. She had made herself a Lady Godiva; by this night ofconspicuous revelry she had undone everything. Not only had shecondoned the sins and the shortcomings of her dissolute husband, but also she had put herself on a level with him and with thefallen women of the town--his customary associates. Courteau haddone this to her. It had been his proposal. She could havethrottled him where he sat. 

The long night dragged on interminably. Like leeches the twoMcCaskeys clung to their prodigal host, and not until the earlyhours of morning, when the Count had become sodden, sullen, stupefied, and when they were in a condition little better, didthey permit him to leave them. How Hilda got him home she scarcelyknew, for she, too, had all but lost command of her senses. Therewere moments when she fought unavailingly against a mentalnumbness, a stupor that rolled upward and suffused her like acloud of noxious vapors, leaving her knees weak, her hands clumsy, her vision blurred; again waves of deathly illness surged overher. Under and through it all, however, her subconscious will toconquer remained firm. Over and over she told herself:

"I'll have the truth and then--I'll make him pay. "

Courteau followed his wife into her room, and there his maudlinmanner changed. He roused himself and smiled at her fatuously;into his eyes flamed a desire, into his cheeks came a deeperflush. He pawed at her caressingly; he voiced thick, passionateprotestations. Hilda had expected nothing less; it was for thisthat she had bled her flesh and crucified her spirit these manyhours. 

"You're--wonderful woman, " the man mumbled as he swayed with herin his arms. "Got all the old charm and more. Game, too!" Helaughed foolishly, then in drunken gravity asserted: "Well, I'mthe man, the stronger vessel. To turn hate into love, that--"

"You've taken your price. You've had your hour, " she told him. Herhead was thrown back, her eyes were closed, her teeth wereclenched as if in a final struggle for self-restraint. 

Courteau pressed his lips to hers; then in a sudden frenzy hecrushed her closer and fell to kissing her cheeks, her neck, herthroat. He mistook her shudder of abhorrence for a thrillresponsive to his passion, and hiccoughed:

"You're mine again, all mine, and--I'm mad about you. I'm aflame. This is like the night of our marriage, what?"

"Are you satisfied, now that you've made me suffer? Do you stillimagine I care for that foolish boy?"

"Phillips? Bah! A noisy swine. " Again the Count chuckled, but thistime his merriment ran away with him until he shook and untiltears came to his eyes. 

Without reason Hilda joined in his laughter. Together they stoodrocking, giggling, snickering, as if at some excruciating jest. 

"He--he tried to steal you--from me. From ME. Imagine it! Then hestruck me. Well, where is he now, eh?"

"I never dreamed that you cared enough for me to--do what you did. To risk so much. "

"Risk?"

Hilda nodded, and her loose straw-gold hair brushed Courteau'scheek. "Don't pretend any longer. I knew from the start. But youwere jealous. When a woman loses the power to excite jealousy it'sa sign she's growing old and ugly and losing her fire. She canface anything except that. "

"Fire!" Henri exclaimed. "Parbleu! Don't I know you to be avolcano?"

"How did you manage the affair--that fellow's ruin? It frightensme to realize that you can accomplish such things. "

The Count pushed his wife away. "What are you talking about?" hedemanded. 

"Oh, very well! Carry it out if you wish, " she said, with acareless shrug. "But you're not fooling me in the least. On thecontrary, I admire your spirit. Now then, I'm thirsty. And youare, too. " With a smile she evaded his outstretched arms and leftthe room. She was back in a moment with a bottle and two glasses. The latter she filled; her own she raised with a gesture, andCourteau blindly followed suit. 

In spite of his deep intoxication the man still retained theembers of suspicion, and when she spoke of Pierce Phillips theybegan to glow and threatened to burst into flame. Cunningly, persistently she played upon him, however. She enticed, shecoquetted, she cajoled; she maddened him with her advances; sheteased him with her repulses; she drugged him with her smiles, herfragrant charms. Time and again he was upon the point ofsurrender, but caught himself in time. 

She won at last. She dragged the story from him, bit by bit, playing upon his vanity, until he gabbled boastfully and took acrapulent delight in repeating the details. It was a taledistorted and confused, but the truth was there. She made anexcuse to leave him, finally, and remained out of the room for along time. When she returned it was to find him sprawled acrossher bed and fast asleep. 

For a moment she held dizzily to the bedpost and stared down athim. Her mask had slipped now, her face was distorted withloathing, and so deep were her feelings that she could not bear totouch him, even to cover him over. Leaving him spread-eagled as hewas, she staggered out of his unclean presence. 

Hilda was deathly sick; objects were gyrating before her eyes; shefelt a hideous nightmare sensation of unreality, and was filledwith an intense contempt, a tragic disgust for herself. Pausing atthe foot of the stairs, she strove to gather herself together;then slowly, passionately she cursed the name of Pierce Phillips. 

CHAPTER XXVI

Tom Linton and Jerry Quirk toiled slowly up the trail toward theircabin. Both men were bundled thickly in clothing, both bewhiskeredvisages bore grotesque breath-masks of ice; even their eyebrowswere hoary with frost. The partners were very tired. 

Pausing in the chip-littered space before their door, they gazeddown the trail to a mound of gravel which stood out raw and redagainst the universal whiteness. This mound was in the form of atruncated cone and on its level top was a windlass and a polebucket track. From beneath the windlass issued a cloud of smokewhich mounted in billows, as if breathed forth from a concealedchimney--smoke from the smothered drift fires laid against thefrozen face of pay dirt forty feet below the surface. Evidentlythis fire was burning to suit the partners; after watching it amoment, Tom took a buck-saw and fell stiffly to work upon a dryspruce log which lay on the saw-buck; Jerry spat on his mittensand began to split the blocks as they fell. 

Darkness was close at hand, but both men were so fagged that theyfound it impossible to hurry. Neither did they speak. Patiently, silently they sawed and chopped, then carried the wood into thechilly cabin; while one lit the lamp and went for a sack of ice, the other kindled a fire. These tasks accomplished, by mutualconsent, but still without exchanging a word, they approached thetable. From the window-sill Tom took a coin and balanced it uponhis thumb and forefinger; then, in answer to his bleak, inquiringglance, Jerry nodded and he snapped the piece into the air. Whileit was still spinning Jerry barked, sharply:

"Tails!"

Both gray heads bent and near-sightedly examined the coin. 

"Tails she is, " Tom announced. He replaced the silver piece, crossed the room to his bunk, seated himself upon it, and remainedthere while Jerry, with a sudden access of cheerfulness, hustledto the stove, warmed himself, and then began culinarypreparations. 

These preparations were simple, but precise; also they weredeliberate. Jerry cut one slice of ham, he measured out justenough coffee for one person, he opened one can of corn, and hemixed a half-pan of biscuits. Tom watched him from beneath afrown, meanwhile tugging moodily at the icicles which still clungto his lips. His corner of the cabin was cold, hence it was apainful process. When he had disposed of the last lump and when hecould no longer restrain his irritation, he broke out:

"Of course you had to make BREAD, didn't you? Just because youknow I'm starving. "

"It come tails, didn't it?" Jerry inquired, with aggravatingpleasantness. "It ain't my fault you're starving, and you got allnight to cook what YOU want--after I'm done. _I_ don't care if youbake a layer cake and freeze ice-cream. You can put your frontfeet in the trough and champ your swill; you can root and wallerin it, for all of ME. _I_ won't hurry you, not in the least. "

"It's come tails every time lately, " grumbled the former speaker. 

Jerry giggled. "I always was right lucky, except in pickin'pardners, " he declared. In a cracked and tuneless voice he beganhumming a roundelay, evidently intended to express gaiety andcontentment. 

Unable longer to withstand his gnawing hunger, Tom secured forhimself a large round hardtack, and with this he tried to ward offthe pangs of starvation. But he had small success with theendeavor, for his teeth were poor. He flung the thing of adamantaside, finally, and cried, testily:

"My God! Ain't it bad enough to EAT a phonograph record withouthaving to listen to the damn' machine? Shut up, will you? You'vegot the indecentest singing voice I ever heard. "

"Say!" Jerry looked up belligerently. "You don't have to listen tomy singin'. There's plenty of room outside--all the room from heresouth to Seattle. And you don't have to gum that pilot-bread ifyour teeth is loose. You can boil yourself a pot of mush--whenyour turn comes. You got a free hand. As for me, I eat anything Iwant to and I SING anything I want to whenever I want to, and I'dlike to see anybody stop me. We don't have to toss up for turns atsingin'. " More loudly he raised his high-pitched voice;ostentatiously he rattled his dishes. 

Tom settled back in exasperated silence, but as time wore on andhis hungry nostrils were assailed with the warm, tantalizing odorof frying ham fat he fidgeted nervously. 

Having prepared a meal to his liking, Jerry set the table with asingle plate, cup, and saucer, then seated himself with aluxurious grunt. He ate slowly; he rolled every mouthful withrelish; he fletcherized it with calculated deliberation; he pausedbetweentimes to blow loudly upon his coffee and to smack his lips--sounds that in themselves were a provocation and an insult to hislistener. When he had cleaned up his interminable repast and wasfinishing the last scrap, Tom rose and made for the stove. 

Jerry watched him, paralyzed in mid-motion, until his partner'shand was outstretched, then he suddenly shouted:

"Get away from there!"

Tom started. "What for?" he queried, a light of rebellion flaringinto his eyes. "Ain't you through with your supper? You been at itlong enough. "

"You see me eatin', don't you? After I get fed up and my teethpicked I got all my dishes to wash. "

"That wasn't our arrangement. "

"It was so. "

"You'll eat all night, " Tom complained, almost tearfully. "You'llset there and gorge till you bust. "

"That's my privilege. I don't aim to swaller my grub whole. I'mshy a few teeth and some of the balance don't meet, so I can'tconsume vittles like I was a pulp-mill. I didn't start this row--"

"Who did?"

"Now ain't that a fool question?" Jerry leaned back comfortablyand began an elaborate vacuum-cleaning process of what teeth heretained. "Who starts all our rows, if I don't? No. I'm as easy-going as a greased eel, and 'most anybody can get along with me, but, tread on my tail and I swop ends, pronto. That's me. I go myown even way, but I live up to my bargains and I see to it thatothers do the same. You get the hell away from that stove!"

Tom abandoned his purpose, and with the resignation of a martyrreturned to teeter upon the edge of his bunk. He remained there, glum, malevolent, watchful, until his cabin-mate had leisurelycleared the table, washed and put away his dishes; then with asigh of fat repletion, unmistakably intended as a provocation, thetormentor lit his pipe and stretched himself luxuriously upon hisbed. 

Even then Tom made no move. He merely glowered at the recumbentfigure. Jerry blew a cloud of smoke, then waved a generousgesture. 

"Now then, fly at it, Mr. Linton, " he said, sweetly. "I've et myfill; I've had an ample sufficiency; I'm through and in for thenight. "

"Oh no, you ain't! You get up and wash that skillet. "

Mr. Quirk started guiltily. 

"Hustle your creaking joints and scrub it out. "

"Pshaw! I only fried a slice--"

"Scrub it!" Linton ordered. 

This command Jerry obeyed, although it necessitated heating morewater, a procedure which, of course, he maliciously prolonged. "Waited till I was all spread out, didn't you, " he sneered, as hestooped over the wood-box. "That's like you. Some people are sosmall-calibered they'd rattle around in a gnat's bladder like amustard seed in a bass drum. "

"I'm particular who I eat after, " Tom said, "so be sure you scrubit clean. "

"Thought you'd spoil my smoke. Well, I can smoke standin' on myhead and enjoy it. " There was a silence, broken only by the soundof Jerry's labors. At last he spoke: "Once again I repeat what Itold you yesterday. I took the words out of your own mouth. Yousaid the woman was a hellion--"

"I never did. Even if I had I wouldn't allow a comparativestranger to apply such an epithet to a member of my family. "

"You did say it. And she ain't a member of your family. "

Tom's jaws snapped. "If patience is a virtue, " he declared, inquivering anger, "I'll slide into heaven on skids. Assassinationought not to be a crime; it's warranted, like abating a nuisance;it ain't even a misdemeanor--sometimes. She was a noble woman--"

"Hellion! I got it on the authority of her own husband--you!"

Tom rose and stamped over to the stove; he slammed its door andclattered the coffee-pot to drown this hateful persistence. Havinghad the last word, as usual, Jerry retreated in satisfaction tohis bed and stretched his aching frame upon it. 

The dingy cabin was fragrant with the odor of cooking food for asecond time that evening when the sound of voices and a knock atthe door brought both old men to their feet. 

Before they could answer, the door flew open and in and out of thefrosty evening came Rouletta Kirby and 'Poleon Doret. The girl'scheeks were rosy, her eyes were sparkling; she warmly greetedfirst one partner, then the other. Pausing, she sniffed the airhungrily. 

"Goody!" she cried. "We're just in time. And we're as hungry asbears. "

"Dis gal 'ain't never got 'nough to eat since she's seeck in W'ite'Orse, " 'Poleon laughed. "For las' hour she's been sayin': 'Hurry!Hurry! We goin' be late. ' I 'mos' keel dem dog. "

Linton's seamed face softened; it cracked into a smile of genuinepleasure; there was real hospitality and welcome in his voice whenhe said:

"You're in luck, for sure. Lay off your things and pull up to thefire. It won't take a jiffy to parlay the ham and coffee--onecalls three, as they say. No need to ask if you're well; you'reprettier than ever, and some folks would call that impossible. "

Jerry nodded in vigorous agreement. "You're as sweet as a bunch ofjessamine, Letty. Why, you're like a breath of spring! Whatbrought you out to see us, anyhow?"

"Dat's long story, " 'Poleon answered. "Sapre! We got plentytalkin' to do. Letty she's goin' he'p you mak' de supper now, an'I fix dem dog. We goin' camp wit' you all night. Golly! We havebeeg tam. "

The new-comers had indeed introduced a breath of new, clean air. Of a sudden the cabin had brightened, it was vitalized, it wasfilled with a magic purpose and good humor. Rouletta flung asideher furs and bustled into the supper preparations. Soon the mealwas ready. The first pause in her chatter came when she set thetable for four and when Jerry protested that he had already dined. 

The girl paused, plate in hand. "Then we WERE late and you didn'ttell us, " she pouted, reproachfully. 

"No. I got through early, but Tom--he was held up in the traffic. You see, I don't eat much, anyhow. I just nibble around and take acold snack where I can get it. "

"And you let him!" Rouletta turned to chide the other partner. "He'll come down sick, Tom and you'll have to nurse him again. Ifyou boys won't learn to keep regular meal hours I'll have to comeout and run your house for you. Shall I? Speak up. What am Ioffered?"

Now this was the most insidious flattery. "Boys" indeed! Jerrychuckled, Tom looked up from the stove and his smoke-blue eyeswere twinkling. 

"I can't offer you more 'n a half-interest in the 'lay. ' That'sall I own. "

"Is dis claim so reech lak people say?" 'Poleon inquired. "Dey'retellin' me you goin' mak' hondred t'ousan' dollar. "

"We're just breastin' out--cross-cuttin' the streak, but--looky. "Jerry removed a baking-powder can from the window-shelf and out ofit he poured a considerable amount of coarse gold which thevisitors examined with intense interest. "Them's our pannin's. "

"How splendid!" Rouletta cried. 

"I been clamorin' to hire some men and take life easy. I say puton a gang and h'ist it out, but"--Jerry shot a glance at hispartner--"people tell me I'm vi'lent an' headstrong. They say, 'Prove it up. '"

Linton interrupted by loudly exclaiming, "Come and get it, strangers, or I'll throw it out and wash the skillet. "

Supper was welcome, but, despite the diners' preoccupation withit, despite Tom's and Jerry's effort to conceal the fact of theirestrangement, it became evident that something was amiss. Roulettafinally sat back and, with an accusing glance, demanded to knowwhat was the matter. 

The old men met her eyes with an assumption of blank astonishment. 

"'Fess up, " she persisted. "Have you boys been quarreling again?"

"Who? Us? Why, not exactly--"

"We sort of had words, mebbe. "

"What about?"

There was an awkward, an ominous silence. "That, " Mr. Linton said, in a harsh and firm voice, "is something I can't discuss. It's apersonal matter. " "It ain't personal with me, " Jerry announced, carelessly. "We was talkin' about Tom's married life and Ihappened to say--"

"DON'T!" Linton's cry of warning held a threat. "Don't spill yourindecencies in the presence of this child or--I'll hang thefrying-pan around your neck. The truth is, " he told Letty, "there's no use trying to live with a horn' toad. I've done mybest. I've let him defame me to my face and degrade me beforestrangers, but he remains hostyle to every impulse in my being; hepicks and pesters and poisons me a thousand times a day. Andsnore! My God! You ought to hear him at night. "

Strangely enough, Mr. Quirk did not react to this passionateoutburst. On the contrary, he bore it with indications of a deepand genuine satisfaction. 

"He's workin' up steam to propose another divorce, " said theobject of Tom's tirade. 

"That I am. Divorce is the word, " Linton growled. 

"WHOOP-EE!" Jerry uttered a high-pitched shout. "I been waitin'for that. I wanted him to say it. Now I'm free as air and twice aslight. You heard him propose it, didn't you?"

"Wat you goin' do 'bout dis lay?" Toleon inquired. 

"Split her, " yelled Jerry. 

"Dis cabin, too?"

"Sure. Slam a partition right through her. "

"We won't slam no partition anywhere, " Tom declared. "Think I'mgoing to lay awake every night listening to distant bugles? No. We'll pull her apart, limb from limb, and divvy the logs. It's apest-house, anyhow. I'll burn my share. "

Tom's positive refusal even to permit mention of the cause of thequarrel rendered efforts at a reconciliation difficult; 'Poleon'sand Rouletta's attempts at badinage, therefore, were weakfailures, and their conversation met with only the barestpoliteness. Now that the truth had escaped, neither partner couldbring himself to a serious consideration of anything except hisown injuries. They exchanged evil glances, they came into directverbal contact only seldom, and when they did it was to clash asflint upon steel. No statement of the one was sufficientlyconservative, sufficiently broad, to escape a sneer and animmediate refutation from the other. Evidently the rift was deepand was widening rapidly. 

Of course the facts were revealed eventually--Rouletta had a wayof winning confidences, a subtle, sweet persuasiveness--they hadto do with the former Mrs. Linton, that shadowy female figurewhich had fallen athwart Tom's early life. It seemed that Jerryhad referred to her as a "hellion. "

Now the injured husband himself had often applied even moredisparaging terms to the lady in question, therefore the visitorswere puzzled at his show of rabid resentment; the most they couldmake out of it was that he claimed the right of disparagement as apersonal and exclusive privilege, and considered detraction out ofthe lips of another a trespass upon his intimate private affairs, an aspersion and an insult. The wife of a man's bosom, he averred, was sacred; any creature who breathed disrespect of her into theears of her husband was lower than a hole in the ground and lackedthe first qualifications of a friend, a gentleman, or a citizen. 

Jerry, on the other hand, would not look at the matter in thislight. Tom had called the woman a "hellion, " therefore he wasprivileged to do the same, and any denial of that privilege was aniniquitous encroachment upon HIS sacred rights. Those rights heproposed to safeguard, to fight for if necessary. He would shedhis last drop of blood in their defense. No cantankerous oldgrouch could refuse him free speech and get away with it. 

"You're not really mad at each other, " Rouletta told them. 

"AIN'T we?" they hoarsely chorused. 

She shook her head. "You need a change, that's all. As a matter offact, your devotion to each other is about the most beautiful, themost touching, thing I know. You'd lay down your lives for eachother; you're like man and wife, and well you know it. "

"Who? US?" Jerry was aghast. "Which one of us is the woman? I beeninsulted by experts, but none of 'em ever called me 'Mrs. Linton. 'She was a tough customer, a regular hellion--"

"He's off again!" Tom growled. "Me lay down MY life for asquawking parrot! He'll repeat that pet word for the rest of timeif I don't wring his neck. "

"Mebbe so you lak hear 'bout some other feller's trouble, " 'Poleonbroke in, diplomatically. 

"Wal, ma soeur she's come to you for help, queeck. "

Both old men became instantly alert. "You in trouble?" Tomdemanded of the girl. "Who's been hurting you, I'd like to know?"

Jerry, too, leaned forward, and into his widening eyes came astormy look. "Sure! Has one of them crawlin' worms got fresh withyou, Letty? Say--!" He reached up and removed his six-shooter fromits nail over his bed. 

Rouletta set them upon the right track. Swiftly but earnestly sherecited the nature and the circumstances of the misfortune thathad overtaken Pierce Phillips, and of the fruitless efforts hisfriends were making in his behalf. She concluded by asking herhearers to go his bail. 

"Why, sure!" Linton exclaimed, with manifest relief. "That's easy. I'll go it, if they'll take me. "

"There you are, hoggin' the curtain, as usual, " Jerry protested. "I'll go his bail myself. I got him in trouble at Sheep Camp. Iowe him--"

"I've known the boy longer than you have. Besides, I'm a familyman; I know the anguish of a parent's heart--"

"Lay off that 'family' stuff, " howled Mr. Quirk. "You know itriles me. I could of had as much of a family as you had if I'dwanted to. You'd think it give you some sort of privilege. Why, ever since we set up with Letty you've assumed a fatherly air evento her, and you act like I was a plumb outsider. You remind me ofa hen--settin' on every loose door-knob you find. "

"If you'd lay off the 'family' subject we'd get along better. "

Once again the fray was on; it raged intermittently throughout theevening; it did not die out until bedtime put an end to it. 

Rouletta and her three companions were late in reaching town onthe following day, for they awakened to find a storm raging, andin consequence the trails were heavy. Out of this white smotherthey plodded just as the lights of Dawson were beginning to gleam. Leaving the men at the Barracks, the girl proceeded to her hotel. She had changed out of her trail clothes and was upon the point ofhurrying down-town to her work when she encountered HildaCourteau. 

"Where in the world have you been?" the latter inquired. 

"Nowhere, in the world, " Rouletta smiled. "I've been quite out ofit. " Then she told of her and 'Poleon's trip to the mines and oftheir success. "Pierce will be at liberty inside of an hour, " shedeclared. 

"Well, I've--learned the truth. "

Rouletta started; eagerly she clutched at the elder woman. "What?You mean--?"

"Yes. I wrung it out of Courteau. He confessed. "

"It WAS a frame-up--a plot? Oh, my dear--!"

"Exactly. But don't get hysterical. I'm the one to do that. What anight, what a day I've put in!" The speaker shuddered, andRouletta noticed for the first time how pale, how ill she looked. 

"Then Pierce is free already? He's out--?"

"Not yet. I'll tell you everything if you'll promise not tobreathe a word, not to interfere until Henri has a chance tosquare himself. I--think I've earned the right to demand thatmuch. I told you the whole thing was counterfeit--was the work ofJoe McCaskey. I couldn't believe Henri was up to such villainy. He's dissolute, weak, vain--anything you choose--but he's notvoluntarily criminal. Well, I went to work on him. I pretended to--" the Countess again shivered with disgust. "Oh, you saw what Iwas doing. I hated myself, but there was no choice. Things came toa climax last night. I don't like to talk about it--think aboutit--but you're bound to hear. I consented to go out with him. Hedragged me through the dance-halls and the saloons--made me drinkwith him, publicly, and with the scum of the town. " Noting theexpression on her hearer's face, the Countess laughed shortly, mirthlessly. "Shocking, wasn't it? Low, indecent, wretched? That'swhat everybody is saying. Dawson is humming with it. God! How hehumiliated me! But I loosened his tongue. I got most of thedetails--not all, but enough. It was late, almost daylight, beforeI succeeded. He slept all day, stupefied, and so did I, when Iwasn't too ill. 

"He remembered something about it, he had some shadowyrecollection of talking too much. When he woke up he sent for me. Then we had it. He denied everything, of course. He lied and hetwisted, but I'm the stronger--always have been. I beat him down, as usual. I could have felt sorry for the poor wretch only forwhat he had put me through. He went out not long ago. "

"Where to? Tell me--"

"To the Police--to Colonel Cavendish. I gave him the chance tomake a clean breast of everything and save his hide, if possible. If he weakens I'll take the bit in my teeth. "

Rouletta stood motionless for a moment; then in deep emotion sheexclaimed: "I'm so glad! And yet it must have been a terriblesacrifice. I think I understand how you must loathe yourself. Itwas a very generous thing to do, however. Not many women couldhave risen to it. "

"I--hope he doesn't make me tell. I haven't much pride left, but--I'd like to save what remains, for you can imagine what Cavendishwill think. A wife betraying her husband for her--for another man!What a story for those women on the hill!"

Impulsively Rouletta bent forward and kissed the speaker. "ColonelCavendish will understand. He's a man of honor. But, after all, when a woman really--cares, there's a satisfaction, acompensation, in sacrifice, no matter how great. "

Hilda Courteau's eyes were misty, their dark-fringed lids trembledwearily shut. "Yes, " she nodded, "I suppose so. Bitter and sweet!When a woman of my sort, my age and experience, lets herselfreally care, she tastes both. All I can hope is that Pierce neverlearns what he made me pay for loving him. He wouldn't understand--yet. " She opened her eyes again and met the earnest gaze bentupon her. "I dare say you think I feel the same toward him as youdo, that I want him, that I'm hungry for him. Well, I'm not. I'm'way past that. I've been through fire, and fire purifies. Now runalong, child. I'm sure everything will come out right. "

The earlier snowfall had diminished when Rouletta stepped out intothe night, but a gusty, boisterous wind had risen and this filledthe air with blinding clouds of fine, hard particles, whirled upfrom the streets, and the girl was forced to wade through newlyformed drifts that rose over the sidewalks, in places nearly toher knees. The wind flapped her garments and cut her bare cheekslike a knife; when she pushed her way into the Rialto and stampedthe snow from her feet her face was wet with tears; but they werefrost tears. She dried them quickly and with a song in her heartshe hurried back to the lunch-counter and climbed upon herfavorite stool. There it was that Doret and his two elderlycompanions found her. 

"Well, we sprung him, " Tom announced. 

"All we done was sign on the dotted line, " Jerry explained. "But, say, if that boy hops out of town he'll cost us a lot of money. "

"How's he going to hop out?" Tom demanded. "That's the hell ofthis country--there's no getting away. "

Jerry snorted derisively. "No gettin' away? What are you talkin'about? Ain't the Boundary within ninety miles? 'Ain't plenty ofpeople made get-aways? All they need is a dog-team and a fewhours' start of the Police. "

"Everyt'ing's all fix', " 'Poleon told his sister. "I had talk wit'Pierce. He ain't comin' back here no more. "

"Not coming back?" the girl exclaimed. 

Doret met her startled gaze. "Not in dis kin' of place. He's cut'em out for good. I mak' him promise. "

"A touch of jail ain't a bad thing for a harum-scarum kid, " Tomvolunteered, as he finished giving his supper order. "It's a coldcompress--takes down the fever--"

"Nothing of the sort, " Jerry asserted. "Jails is a total waste oftime. I don't believe in 'em. You think this boy's tamed, do you?Well, I talked with him, an' all I got to say is this: keepCourteau away from him or there's one Count you'll lose count of. The boy's got pizen in him, an' I don't blame him none. If I washim I'd make that Frog hop. You hear me. "

'Poleon met Rouletta's worried glance with a reassuring smile. "Ibeen t'inkin' 'bout dat, too. W'at you say I go pardners wit' him, eh? I got dog-team an' fine claim on hilltop. S'pose I geeve himhalf-interes' to go wit' me?"

"WILL you?" eagerly queried the girl. 

"Already I spoke it to him. He say mebbe so, but firs' he's gotli'l biznesse here. "

"Of course! His case. But that will be cleared up. Mark what Isay. Yes"--Rouletta nodded happily--"take him with you, 'Poleon--out where things are clean and healthy and where he can get a newstart. Oh, you make me very happy!"

The woodsman laid a big hand gently over hers. In a low voice hemurmured: "Dat's all I want, ma soeur--to mak' you happy. If datclaim is wort' million dollar' it ain't too much to pay, but--I'mscare' she's 'noder bum. "

The song was still sounding in Rouletta's heart when she sat downat the faro-table, and all through the evening it seemed to herthat the revelry round about was but an echo of her gladness. Pierce was free, his name was clean. Probably ere this the wholetruth was known to the Mounted Police and by to-morrow it would bemade public. 

Moreover, he and 'Poleon were to be partners. That generouswoodsman, because of his affection for her, proposed to take theyoung fellow into his heart and make a man of him. That was likehim--always giving much and taking little. Well, she was 'Poleon'ssister. Who could tell what might result from this new union ofinterests? Of course, there was no pay out there on that mountain-crest, but hard work, honest poverty, an end of these demoralizingsurroundings were bound to affect Pierce only for the better. Rouletta blessed the name of Hilda Courteau, who had made thispossible, and of 'Poleon Doret, too--'Poleon of the great heart, who loved her so sincerely, so unselfishly. He never failed her;he was a brother, truly--the best, the cheeriest, the most loyalin the world. Rouletta was amazed to realize what a part in herlife the French Canadian had played. His sincere affection wasabout the biggest thing that had come to her, so it seemed. 

Occupied with such comforting thoughts, Rouletta failed to notethat the evening had passed more quickly than usual and that itwas after midnight. When she did realize that fact, she wonderedwhat could have detained Lucky Broad. Promptness was a habit withhim; he and Bridges usually reported at least a half-hour ahead oftime. 

She caught sight of the pair, finally, through the wide archway, and saw that they were surrounded by an excited crowd, a crowdthat grew swiftly as some whisper, some intelligence, spread withelectric rapidity through the barroom. Yielding to a premonitionthat something was amiss, Rouletta asked the lookout to relieveher, and, rising, she hurried into the other hall. Even before shehad come within sound of Lucky's voice the cause of the generalexcitement was made known to her. It came in the form of anexclamation, a word or two snatched out of the air. "Courteau!""Dead!" "Shot--back street--body just found!"

Fiercely Rouletta fought her way through the press, an unvoicedquestion trembling upon her lips. Broad turned at her first touch. 

"Tough, ain't it?" said he. "Me and the Kid stumbled right overhim--kicked him out of the snow. We thought he'd been froze. "

"We never dreamed he'd been shot till we got him clean down to thedrug-store, " Bridges supplemented. "Shot in the back, too. "

Questions were flying back and forth now. Profiting by theconfusion, Rouletta dragged Broad aside and queried, breathlessly:

"Was he dead--quite dead--?"

"Oh, sure!"

"Who--shot him?" The question came with difficulty. Lucky staredat his interrogator queerly, then he shrugged. 

"Quien sabe? Nobody seen or heard the shooting. He'd been croakeda long while when we found him. "

For a moment the two eyed each other silently. "Do you think--?"Rouletta turned her white face toward the cashier's cage. 

"More 'n likely. He was bitter--he made a lot of cracks around theBarracks. The first thing the Police said when we notified 'emwas, 'Where's Phillips?' We didn't know the boy was out until thatvery minute or--we'd 'a' done different. We'd 'a' left the Countin the drift and run Phillips down and framed an alibi. Think ofus, his pals, turnin' up the evidence!" Lucky breathed an oath. 

"Oh, why--?" moaned the girl. "He--It was so useless. Everythingwas all right. Perhaps--after all, he didn't do it. "

"You know him as well as I do. I'm hoping he had better sense, but--he's got a temper. He was always talking about the disgrace. "

"Has he gone? Can't you help him? He might make the Boundary--"

Broad shook his head. "No use. It's too late for that. If he'sstill here me 'n' the Kid will do our best to swear him out ofit. "

Rouletta swayed, she groped blindly at the bar rail for support, whereupon her companion cried in a low voice:

"Here! Brace up, or you'll tip it all off! If he stands pat, howthey going to prove anything? The Count's been dead for hours. Hewas all drifted--"

Broad was interrupted by the Mocha Kid, who entered out of thenight at that instant with the announcement: "Well, they got him!Rock found him, and he denies it, but they've got him at theBarracks, puttin' him through the third degree. I don't mindsayin' that Frenchman needed croakin', bad, and they'd ought togive Phillips a vote of thanks and a bronx tablet. "

Mocha's words added to Rouletta's terror, for it showed that otherminds ran as did hers. Already, it seemed to her, Pierce Phillipshad been adjudged guilty. Through the murk of fright, ofapprehension in which her thoughts were racing there came a name--'Poleon Doret. Here was deep trouble, grave peril, a threat to hernewfound happiness. 'Poleon, her brother, would know what to do, for his head was clear, his judgment was unerring. He never failedher. Blindly she ran for her wraps, hurriedly she flung them on, then plunged out into the night. As she scurried through thestreet, panic-stricken, beset, one man's name was in her thoughts, but another's was upon her lips. Over and over she kept repeating:

"'Poleon! Oh, 'Poleon!"

CHAPTER XXVII

The news of Count Courteau's death traveled fast. 'Poleon Doretwas not long in hearing of it, and of course he went at once insearch of Rouletta. By the time he found her the girl's momentarypanic had been succeeded by a quite unnatural self-possession; herperturbation had changed to an intense but governable agitation, and her mind was working with a clarity and a rapidity more thannormal. This power of rising to an emergency she had doubtlessinherited from her father. "One-armed" Kirby had been a man ofresource, and, so long as he remained sober, he had never lost hishead. Swiftly the girl told of the instant suspicion that hadattached to Phillips and of his prompt apprehension. 

"Who done dat shootin' if he don't?" Doret inquired, quickly. 

"Joe McCaskey--or Frank, " Rouletta answered with positiveness. 'Poleon started. Through the gloom he stared incredulously at thespeaker. 

"I'm sure of it, now that I've had time to think, " the girldeclared. "That's why I ran for you. Now listen! I promised not totell this, but--I must. Courteau confessed to his wife that he andthe McCaskeys trumped up that charge against Pierce. They paidCourteau well for his part--or they promised to--and he perjuredhimself, as did they. Hilda got the truth out of him while he wasdrunk. Of course he denied it later, but she broke him down, andthis evening, just before we got home, he promised to go toColonel Cavendish and make a clean breast of everything. He wentout for that purpose, but--evidently he lacked courage to gothrough with it. Otherwise how did he come to be on the backstreets? The McCaskeys live somewhere back yonder, don't they?"

"Sure!" 'Poleon meditated, briefly. "Mebbe so you're right, " hesaid, finally. 

"I know I'm right, " Rouletta cried. "The first thing to do is findthem. Where are they?"

"I don' see 'em no place. "

"Then we must tell the colonel to look them up. "

But Doret's brows remained puckered in thought. "Wait!" heexclaimed. "I got idea of my own. If dem feller kill Courteau deyain't nowheres roun' here. Dey beat it, firs' t'ing. "

"To Hunker? Perhaps--"

"No. For de Boun'ry. " 'Poleon slapped his thigh in suddenenlightenment. "By golly! Dat's why I don' see 'em no place. Youstay here. I mak' sure. "

He turned and strode away, but Rouletta followed at his heels. 

"I'm going, too, " she stoutly asserted. "Don't argue. I'll bet tento one we find their cabin empty. "

Together they made their way rapidly out of the brightlyilluminated portion of the town and into the maze of blankwarehouses and snow-banked cabins which lay behind. At this hourof the night few lamps were burning even in private residences, and, inasmuch as these back streets were unlighted, the travelershad to feel their way. The wind was diminishing, but even yet theair was thick with flying flakes, and new drifts seriously impededprogress. Wading knee-deep in places, stumbling in and out of cutswhere the late snow had been removed, clambering over treacherousslopes where other snows lay hard packed and slippery, the twopursued their course. 

'Poleon came to a pause at length in the shelter of a poleprovision-cache and indistinctly took his bearings. Silently hepointed to the premises and vigorously nodded his head; then hecraned his neck for a view of the stove-pipe overhead. Neithersparks nor smoke nor heat was rising from it. After a cautiousjourney of exploration he returned to Rouletta and spoke aloud:

"Dey gone. Sled, dogs, ever't'ing gone. "

He pushed open the cache door, and a moment later there came thesound of rending wood as he shouldered his way into the darkcabin, regardless of lock and bar. Rouletta was close behind himwhen he struck a match and held it to a candle which he discoveredfixed in its own wax beside the window. 

Curiously the interlopers surveyed the unfamiliar premises. Rouletta spoke first, with suppressed excitement:

"You were right. And they left in a hurry, too. "

"Sure. Beddin' gone, an'--dey got plenty beddin' on Hunker. Heredey mak' grub-pack, see?" 'Poleon ran his finger through a whitedust of flour which lay thick upon the table. Striding to thestove, he laid his hand upon it; he lifted the lid and felt of theashes within. "Dey lef 'bout five hour' ago. Wal, dat's beegstart. I guess mebbe dey safe enough. "

"Don't say that, " Rouletta implored. "Rock can overtake them. He'sa famous traveler. "

"I dunno. Dey got good team--"

"He must catch them! Why, he has ninety miles to do it in! Hemust, 'Poleon, he MUST! Of course this is evidence, but it isn'tproof. Remember, Pierce talked wildly. People are prejudicedagainst him and--you know the Police. They act on suspicion, andcircumstances are certainly strong. Poor boy! If these men getaway--who knows what may happen to him? I tell you his very lifemay be in danger, for the law is an awful thing. I--I've alwaysbeen afraid of it. So was father, to his dying day. We must sendRock flying. Yes, and without a moment's delay. "

"You still got deep feelin' for dat feller?" 'Poleon inquired, gravely. The quick look of anguish, the frank nod of assent thathe received, were enough. "Bien!" he said, slowly. "I mak'satisfy, dat's all. I never see you so scare' as dis. "

"You know how I feel, " Rouletta said; then, more curiously: "Whydo you need to make sure? Do you think I've changed--?" Shehesitated for an instant; there came a faint pucker ofapprehension between her brows; into her eyes crept a look ofwonder which changed to astonishment, then to incredulity, fright. "Oh--h!" she exclaimed. She raised a faltering hand to her lips asif to stay a further betrayal of the knowledge that had suddenlycome to her. "Oh, 'Poleon, my dear! My brother!"

The man smiled painfully as he met her shocked gaze. "I'm fonnyfeller, ma saeur; always dream-in' de mos' foolish t'ing. Don' payno'tention. "

"I am--I always will be that--your sister. Have I made youunhappy?"

Vigorously he shook his head; his face slowly cleared. "No, no. Indis life one t'ing is give me happiness--one t'ing alone--an' datis bring you joy. Now come. De grass growin' on our feet. "

Together and in silence they hurried back as they had come; then, on the plea that he could make better time alone, 'Poleon left hiscompanion and headed for the Barracks. 

Rouletta let him go without protest; her heart was heavier thanlead; she could find no words whatever. A new tragedy, it seemed, had risen to face her, for she realized now that she had hurt theman who loved her best of all. That certainty filled her with suchregret, such a feeling of guilt, that she could not bear to thinkof it. A very poignant sense of pain troubled her as she turnedinto the Rialto, and as a consequence the lively clatter of theplace grated upon her sensibilities; she felt a miserable, sickdesire to shut her ears to this sound of laughter which was likeribald applause for the death-blow she had dealt. Yes, she haddealt a death-blow, and to one most dear. But how could she haveknown? How could she have foreseen such a wretched complication asthis? Who would have dreamed that gay, careless, laughing 'PoleonDoret was like other men? Rouletta felt the desire to bend herhead and release those scalding tears that trembled on her lashes. 

Lieutenant Rock was preparing for bed when 'Poleon, after somelittle difficulty, forced his way in upon him. The officerlistened to his caller's recital, and even before it was finishedhe had begun to dress himself in his trail clothes. 

"Courteau confessed, eh? And the McCaskeys have disappeared--takenFrench leave. Say! That changes the look of things, for a fact. Ofcourse they may have merely gone back to Hunker--"

"In de middle of snow-storm? Dis tam de night? No. Dey makin' runfor de Line an' it's goin' tak' fas' team for pull 'em down. "

"Well, I've got the best dogs in town. "

Rock's caller smiled. "M'sieu', dey goin' travel some if dey keepin sight of me. "

"YOU?" Rock straightened himself. "Will you go along? Jove! I'dlike that!" he cried, heartily. "I've heard you own a lively bunchof mutts. "

"I give you tas'e of Injun travel. Better you dress light an'buckle up dat belt, for I got reason to fin' out who keelCourteau. I ain't goin' sleep no more till I know. "

The officer smiled as he declared: "That suits me exactly. We maynot catch them, but--they'll know they've been in a race beforethey thumb their noses at us from across the Boundary. Now see howfast you can harness up. "

It was considerably after midnight when 'Poleon swung his dog-teaminto the lighted space in front of the Rialto; nevertheless, manypeople were about, for Dawson was a city of sleep-haters. Thesight of a racing-team equipped for a flying trip at this hour ofthe night evoked instant interest and speculation, pointing, as itdid, to a new gold discovery and a stampede. Stampedes werefrequent, they never failed to create a sensation, therefore thewoodsman was soon the center of an inquisitive crowd. Not until hehad fully explained the nature of his business was suspicionallayed; then his word that Joe and Frank McCaskey had fled forthe Boundary ran up and down the street and caused even greaterexcitement. 

Rouletta came hurrying forth with the others, and to her 'Poleonmade known his intention of accompanying the fleet-footed Rock. 

"Nobody is able to catch dem feller but him an' me, " he explained. "Dey got too long start. "

"You think they may get across?" she queried, apprehensively. 

"Five, six hour, dat's beeg edge. But me--" The speaker shrugged. "Forty Mile, Circle, Fort Yukon, Rampart, it mak' no differ. I get'em some place, if I go plumb to St. Michael's. When I get goin'fas' it tak' me long tam for run down. "

Rouletta's eyes opened. "But, 'Poleon--you can't! There's theBoundary. You're not an officer; you have no warrant. "

"Dem t'ing is dam' nuisance, " he declared. "I don' savvy dis lawbiznesse. You say get 'em. Bien! I do it. "

Rouletta stared curiously, wonderingly into the big fellow's face;she was about to put her thoughts into words when a shout arosefrom the crowd as the Police team streamed into view. Down thestreet it came at a great pace, flashing through shadows and pastglaring lighted fronts, snatching the light hickory sled alongbehind as if it were a thing of paper. Rock balanced himself uponthe runner heels until, with a shout, he put his weight upon thesharp-toothed sled brake and came to a pause near 'Poleon. Therival teams plunged into their collars and set up a pandemonium ofyelping, but willing hands held them from flying at one another'sthroats. Meanwhile, saloon doors were opening, the street wasfilling; dance-hall girls, white-aproned bartenders, bleary-eyedpedestrians, night-owls--all the queerly assorted devotees ofDawson's vivid and roisterous nocturnal life hastened thither;even the second-story windows framed heads, for this clamor putslumber to flight without delay. 

The wind was no longer strong, and already a clearing sky wasevidenced by an occasional winking star; nevertheless, it wasbitterly cold and those who were not heavily clad were forced tostamp their feet and to whip their arms in order to keep theirblood in motion. 

Nothing is more exciting, more ominous, than a man-hunt; doublyportentous was this one, the hasty preparations for which wentforward in the dead of night. Dawson had seen the start of morethan one race for the Boundary and had awaited the outcome withbreathless interest. Most of the fugitives overtaken had walkedback into town, spent, famished, frost-blackened, but there weresome who had returned on their backs, wrapped in robe or canvasand offering mute testimony to the speedy and relentlessefficiency of the men from the Barracks. Of that small pickedcorps Lieutenant Rock was by long odds the favorite. Now, therefore, he was the center of attention, and wagers were laidthat he would catch his men, however rapidly they traveled, however great their start. Only a few old-timers--"sour-doughs"from the distant reaches of the Yukon--knew 'Poleon Doret, butthose few drew close to him and gave the lieutenant little notice. This French Canadian they regarded as the most tireless travelerin all the North; about him, therefore, they assembled, and to himthey addressed their questions and offered their advice. 

The dogs were inspired, now, with the full intoxication of thechase; they strained forward fretfully, their gray plumes waving, their tongues lolling, their staccato chorus adding to the generaldisturbance. When the word came to go, they leaped into theirharness, and with a musical jingle of bells they swept down towardthe river; over the steep bank they poured, and were gone. A shoutof encouragement followed Rock as he was snapped into theblackness, then noisily the crowd bolted for the warm interiorsbehind them. 

Rouletta was slow in leaving; for some time she stood harkening tothe swift diminuendo of those tinkling sleigh-bells, staring intothe night as if to fix in her mind's eye the picture of what shehad last seen, the picture of a mighty man riding the rail of aplunging basket sled. In spite of the biting cold he was strippeddown; a thin drill parka sufficed to break the temper of the wind, light fur boots were upon his feet, the cheek pieces of his ottercap were tied above his crown. He had turned to wave at her and toshout a word of encouragement just before he vanished. That waslike him, she told herself--eager to spare her even the pain ofundue apprehension. The shock of her discovery of an hour ago wasstill too fresh in Rouletta's memory; it was still too new and tooagitating to permit of orderly thought, yet there it stood, starkand dismaying. This woodsman loved her, no longer as a sister, butas the one woman of his choice. As yet she could not reconcileherself to such a state of affairs; her attempts to do so filledher with mixed emotions. Poor 'Poleon! Why had this come to him?Rouletta's throat swelled; tears not of the wind or the cold stoodin her eyes once again; an aching tenderness and pity welled upfrom her heart. 

She became conscious finally that her body was growing numb, soshe bestirred herself. She had taken but a step or two, however, when some movement in the shadows close at hand arrested her. Peering into the gloom, she discovered a figure. It was Laure. 

The girl wore some sort of wrap, evidently snatched at random, butunder it she was clad in her dance-hall finery, and she, too, wasall but frozen. 

Rouletta was about to move on, when the other addressed herthrough teeth that clicked like castanets. 

"I got here--late. Is it true? Have they--gone after Joe andFrank?"

"Yes. "

"What happened? I--I haven't heard. Don't they think--Pierce didit?"

"You KNOW he didn't do it, " Rouletta cried. "Neither did he stealCourteau's money. "

"What do you mean, 'I know'?" Laure's voice was harsh, imperative. She clutched at the other girl; then, as Rouletta hesitated, sheregained control of herself and ran on, in a tone bitterlyresentful: "Oh, you'd like to get him out of it--save him foryourself--wouldn't you? But you can't. You can't have him. I won'tlet you. My God! Letty, he's the only thing I ever cared for! Inever had even a dog or a cat or a canary of my own. Think alittle bit of me. "

Almost dazed by this mingled accusation and appeal, Rouletta atlength responded by a question, "Then why haven't you donesomething to clear him?"

Laure drew her flimsy wrap closer; she was shaking wretchedly. When she spoke her words were spilled from her lips as if by thetremors of her body. "I could help. I would, but--you sha'n't havehim. Nobody shall! I'd rather see him dead. I'd--No, no! I don'tknow what I'm saying. I'd sooner die than hurt him. I'd do my bit, only--McCaskey'd kill me. Say. Will Rock get him, d'you think? Ihear he gets his man every time. But Joe's different; he's not theordinary kind; he's got the devil in him. Frank--he's a dog, butJoe'll fight. He'll kill--at the drop of the hat. So will Rock, Isuppose. Maybe he'll kill them both, eh? Or maybe they'll kill himand get away. I don't care which way it goes--"

"Don't talk like that!" Rouletta exclaimed. 

"I mean it, " Laure ran on, crazily. "Yes, Joe'd kill anybody thatstood in his way or doublecrossed him. I guess I know. Why, hetold me so himself! And Courteau knew it, perfectly well--the poorfool!--but look at him now. He got his, didn't he?"

Rouletta laid a cold hand upon the shivering, distracted creaturebefore her. Sternly she said:

"I believe you know who committed that murder. You act as if youdid. "

"I'm a g-good guesser, but--I can keep my mouth shut. I know whenI'm well off. That's more than the Count knew. "

"And you probably know something about his robbery, too. I meanthat gold-sack--"

Laure cast off the hand that rested upon her; she looked upquickly. "If I did, d'you think I'd tell you? Well, hardly. But Idon't. I don't know anything, except that--Pierce is a thief. Hestole and gave me the money. He did that regularly, and that'smore than he'd do for you. You may as well know the truth. Cavendish knows it. You think he's too good for me, don't you?Well, he isn't. And you're no better than I am, either, for thatmatter. You've got a nerve to put on airs. God! How I hate you andyour superior ways. "

"Never mind me. I want to know who killed Count Courteau. "

"All right. Wait till Rock comes back and ask him. He thinks he'llfind out, but--we'll see. Joe McCaskey'll be over the Line andaway, thank Heaven! If anything happens and they should overtakehim--well, he'll fight. He'll never come in alive, never. "Turning, the speaker stumbled toward the lights of the saloon, andas she went Rouletta heard her mutter again: "He'll never come inalive, never. Thank God for that!"

CHAPTER XXVIII

From Dawson City the Yukon flows in a northwesterly directiontoward the International Boundary, and although the camp isscarcely more than fifty miles due east of American territory, bythe river it is ninety. Since the Yukon is the main artery oftravel, both winter and summer--there being no roads or trails--itbehooved those malefactors who fled the wrath of the NorthwestMounted Police to obtain a liberal start, for ninety miles of deadflat going is no easy run and the Police teams were fleet of foot. Time was when evil-doers had undertaken to escape up-river, or tolose themselves in the hills to the northward, but this was adesperate adventure at best and had issued in such uniformdisaster as to discourage its practice. The Police had won thereputation of never leaving a trail, and, in consequence, none butmadmen longer risked anything except a dash for American soil, andeven then only with a substantial margin of time in their favor. 

But the winter winds are moody, the temper of the Arctic isuncertain, hence luck played a large part in these enterprises. Both Rock and Doret were sufficiently familiar with the hazardsand the disappointments of travel at this time of year to feelextremely doubtful of overhauling the two McCaskeys, and so theywere by no means sanguine of success as they drove headlong intothe night. 

Both teams were loaded light; neither driver carried stove, tent, or camp duffle. Sleeping-bags, a little cooked food forthemselves, a bundle of dried fish for the dogs, that was thelimit the pursuers had allowed themselves. Given good weather, nothing more was needed. In case of a storm, a sudden blizzard, and a drop in temperature, this lack of equipment was apt to provefatal, but neither traveler permitted himself to think about suchthings. Burdened thus lightly, the sleds rode high and themalamutes romped along with them. When the late dawn finally cameit found them far on their way. 

That wind, following the snowfall of the day before, had been ahappy circumstance, for in many places it had blown the trailclean, so that daylight showed it winding away into the distancelike a thread laid down at random. Here and there, of course, itwas hidden; under the lee of bluffs or of wooded bends, forinstance, it was drifted deep, completely obliterated, in fact, and in such places even a seasoned musher would have flounderedaimlessly, trying to hold it. But 'Poleon Doret possessed a sixthsense, it appeared, and his lead dog, too, had unusual sagacity. Rock, from his position in the rear, marveled at the accuracy withwhich the woodsman's sled followed the narrow, hard-packed ridgeconcealed beneath the soft, new covering. Undoubtedly the fellowknew his business and the officer congratulated himself uponbringing him along. 

They had been under way for five or six hours when the tardydaylight came, but even thereafter Doret continued to run with hishand upon his sled. Seldom did he ride, and then only for a momentor two when the going was best. For the most part he maintained asteady, swinging trot that kept pace with the pattering feet aheadof him and caused the miles rapidly to drop behind. Through driftsknee-deep, through long, soft stretches he held to thatunfaltering stride; occasionally he turned his head and flashed asmile or waved his hand at the man behind. 

Along about ten o'clock he halted his team where a dead spruceoverhung the river-bank. By the time Rock had pulled in behind himhe had clambered up the bank, ax in hand, and was making the chipsfly. He sent the dry top crashing down, then explained:

"Dem dogs go better for l'il rest. We boil de kettle, eh?"

Rock wiped the sweat from his face. "You're certainly hitting itoff, old man. We've made good time, but I haven't seen any tracks. Have you?"

"We see 'em bimeby. "

"Kind of a joke if they hadn't come, after all--if they'd reallygone out to Hunker. Gee! The laugh would be on us. "

"Dey come dis way, " 'Poleon stoutly maintained. 

Soon a blaze was going; then, while the ice in the blackened tea-bucket was melting, the drivers sliced a slab of bacon into smallcubes and fed it sparingly to their animals, after which theycarefully examined the dogs' feet and cleaned them of ice and snowpellets. 

The tea was gulped, the hardtack swallowed, and the travelers wereunder way again almost before their sweaty bodies had begun tochill. On they hurried, mile after mile, sweeping past bends, eagerly, hopefully scanning every empty tangent that opened upahead of them. They made fast time indeed, but the immensity ofthe desolation through which they passed, the tremendous scaleupon which this country had been molded, made their progress seemslower than an ant-crawl. 

Eventually 'Poleon shouted something and pointed to the trailunderfoot. Rock fancied he could detect the faint, fresh markingsof sled runners, but into them he could not read muchsignificance. It was an encouragement, to be sure, but, nevertheless, he still had doubts, and those doubts were notdispelled until Doret again halted his team, this time beside thecold embers of a fire. Fresh chips were scattered under the bank, charred fagots had embedded themselves in the ice and were frozenfast, but 'Poleon interpreted the various signs withoutdifficulty. 

"Here dey mak' breakfas'--'bout daylight, " said he. "Dey go sloweras us. "

"But they're going pretty fast, for all that. We'll never get themthis side of Forty Mile. "

"You don' spec' it, do you? Dey got beeg scare, dem feller. Deyrunnin' so fas' dey can. "

Forty Mile, so called because the river of that name enters theYukon forty miles above the Boundary, was a considerable campprior to the Dawson boom, but thereafter it had languished, andthis winter it was all but deserted. So, too, was Cudahy, therival trading-post a half-mile below. It was on the bars of thisstream that the earliest pioneers had first found gold. Here atits mouth, during the famine days before the steamboats came, theyhad cached their supplies; here they had brewed their hootch inthe fall and held high carnival to celebrate their good luck or todrown their ill-fortune. 

Rock and his companion pulled up the bank and in among thewindowless cabins during the afternoon; they had halted their dogsbefore the Mounted Police station, only to find the buildinglocked and cold. The few faithful Forty-Milers who came out toexchange greetings explained that both occupants of the barrackshad gone down-river to succor some sick Indians. 

Rock was disgusted, but his next question elicited informationthat cheered him. Yes, a pair of strangers had just passedthrough, one of them an active, heavy-set fellow, the other atall, dark, sinister man with black eyes and a stormy demeanor. They had come fast and they had tarried only long enough to feedtheir dogs and to make some inquiries. Upon learning that thelocal police were on the main river somewhere below, they had helda consultation and then had headed up the Forty Mile. 

"UP Forty Mile?" Rock cried, in surprise. "Are you sure?"

"We seen 'em go, " his informant declared. "That's what made usthink there was something wrong. That's why we been on the lookoutfor you. We figgered they was on the dodge and hard pressed, butwe couldn't do nothing about it. You see, it's only about twenty-three miles to the Line up Forty Mile. Down the Yukon it's forty. They been gone 'most two hours, now. "

"What do you want 'em for?" another bystander inquired. 

"Murder, " Rock exclaimed, shortly; then he heaved his sled intomotion once more, for 'Poleon had started his team and was makingoff through the town. Down into the bed of the smaller stream thepursuers made their way and up this they turned. Again they urgedtheir dogs into a run. It took some effort to maintain a gallopingpace now, for the teams were tiring, and after some mentalcalculations Rock shook his head doubtfully. Of course, his quarrywas at a disadvantage, there being two men to one sled, but--twenty-three miles, with a two-hour start! It was altogether toogreat a handicap. The lieutenant had figured on that last fortymiles, the last five or ten, in fact, but this change of directionhad upset all his plans and his estimates. Evidently the McCaskeyscared not how nor where they crossed the Line, so long as theycrossed it quickly and got Canadian territory behind them. Barringaccident, therefore, which was extremely unlikely, Rock toldhimself regretfully that they were as good as gone. Two hours! Itwas too much. On the other hand, he and 'Poleon now had a freshtrail to follow, while the fleeing brothers had unbroken snowahead of them, and that meant that they must take turns ahead oftheir dogs. Then, too, fifty miles over drifted trails at thisseason of the year was a heavy day's work, and the McCaskeys mustbe very tired by now, for neither was in the best of condition. Inthe spring, when the snows were wet and sled runners ran as ifupon grease, such a journey would have been no great effort, butin this temperature the steel shoes creaked and a man's musclesdid not work freely. Men had been known to play out unexpectedly. After all, there was a possibility of pulling them down, and aslong as there was that possibility the Mounted Policeman refusedto quit. 

Rock assured himself that this flight had established one thing, at least, and that was Pierce Phillips' innocence of the Courteaukilling. The murderers were here; there could be no doubt of it. Their frantic haste confessed their guilt. Friendship for the boy, pride in his own reputation, the memory of that ovation he hadreceived upon leaving, gave the officer new strength anddetermination, so he shut his teeth and spurred his rebelliouslimbs into swifter action. There was no longer any opportunity ofriding the sled, even where the trail was hard, for some of thePolice dogs were limping and loafing in their collars. This wasindeed a race, a Marathon, a twenty-three-mile test of courage andendurance, and victory would go to him who could call into fullestresponse his last uttermost ounce of reserve power. 

Doret had promised that he would show his trail-mate how totravel, and that promise he had made good; all day he had held thelead, and without assistance from the lash. Even now his dogs, while not fresh, were far from exhausted. As for the man himself, Rock began to feel a conviction that the fellow could go on atthis rate eternally. 

Luck finally seemed to break in favor of the pursuers; accidentappeared to work in their behalf. The day was done, night wasagain upon them, when Doret sent back a cry of warning, and, leaping upon his sled, turned his leader at right angles towardthe bank. 

His companion understood the meaning of that move, but the Policeteam was less responsive to command, and before Rock could swingthem he felt his feet sink into soft slush. 

"Dam' overflow!" Doret panted when the two teams were safely outupon the bank. "You wet your feet, eh?"

Apprehensively the officer felt of his moccasins; they were wet tothe touch, but as yet no moisture had penetrated his socks. "Youyelled in the nick of time, " he declared, as he dried his soles inthe loose snow. 

"Dem feller got in it ankle-deep. I bet we fin' camp-fire soon. "

This prediction came true. As the travelers rounded the next bluffthey smelled the odor of burning spruce and came upon a trampledbed of boughs beside which some embers were still smoldering. 

"Jove! That gives us a chance, doesn't it?" Rock panted. 

His companion smiled. "We goin' start travel now, for sure. Deycan't be more 'n a mile or two ahead. "

Down upon the river-bed the teams rushed. With biting lash andsharp commands the drivers urged them into a swifter run. Rock wasforcing his dogs now; he made the smoke fly from their hides whenthey lagged. He vowed that he would not permit this FrenchCanadian to outdistance him. He swore a good deal at hismalamutes; he cursed himself as a weakling, a quitter; anger athis fatigue ran through him. 

The travelers were up among the hills by now. Occasionally theypassed a deserted cabin, home of some early gold-digger. Valleysdark with night opened up to right and to left as the Forty Milewound higher, deeper into the maze of rounded domes: the Boundarywas close at hand. The hillsides hid their feet in black thicketsof spruce, but their slopes were thinly timbered, their crestswere nearly bare, and the white snow gave off a dim radiance thatmade traveling possible even after the twilight had deepened. Byand by it grew lighter and the north horizon took on a rosy flushthat spread into a tremendous flare. The night was still, clear, crackly; it was surcharged with some static force, and so calm wasthe air, so deathlike the hush, that the empty valley rang like abell. That mysterious illumination in the north grew more and moreimpressive; great ribbons, long pathways of quivering light, unrolled themselves and streamed across the sky; they flamed andflickered, they writhed and melted, disappearing, reappearing, rising, falling. It was as if the lid had been lifted from somestupendous caldron and the heavens reflected the radiance from itswhite-hot contents. Mighty fingers, like the beams of polarsearch-lights, groped through the voids overhead; tumbling wavesof color rushed up and dashed themselves away into space; thewhole arch of the night was lit as from a world in flames. Red, yellow, orange, violet, ultra-violet--the tints merged with oneanother bewilderingly and the snows threw back their flicker untilcoarse print would have been readable. Against that war ofclashing colors the mountain-crests stood out in silhouette andthe fringe of lonely wind-twisted trunks high up on their saddleswere etched in blackest ink. 

It was a weird, an unearthly effect; it was exciting, too. Asalways when the Aurora is in full play, the onlookers marveledthat such a tremendous exhibition of energy could continue in suchsilence. That was the oddest, the most impressive feature of all, for the crash of avalanches, the rumble of thunder, the diapasonof a hundred Niagaras, should have accompanied such appallingphenomena. It seemed odd indeed that the whine of sled runners, the scuff of moccasins, the panting of dogs, should be the onlyaudible sounds. 

There were other overflows underfoot now, but the cold had frozenthem and the going was getting constantly better. The snow wasthin and in places the sleds slewed sidewise and the dogs ran onslack traces across long stretches of bare glare ice. It was whilenegotiating such a place as this that Rock paid the price of hisearlier carelessness. Doret's dry moose-skin soles had a suregrip, hence he never hesitated, but the lieutenant's moccasinswere like a pair of tin shoes now and, without warning, he losthis footing. He was running swiftly at the moment; he strove tosave himself, to twist in midair, but he failed. 'Poleon heard acry of pain and dismay, so he halted his team and came stridingback. Rock raised himself, then took a step, but faltered andclung helplessly to the handlebars. He began to curse furiously;he undertook to estimate the extent of his injury, then explained:

"My foot doubled under me and I came down on it like a ton ofbricks. By Heavens! I believe something broke!"

'Poleon was solicitous. He blamed himself, too. "It's dem wetmoccasin'. I should have stop' an' mak' you change, " said he. 

"We can't stop, " Rock groaned. "I'll be all right as soon as--"The words ended in another explosive oath as he again put hisweight upon the injured member. Blasphemy poured from his lips asrepeatedly he tried to force his foot to carry him. He cursedhimself for a clumsy, blundering ass; he shouted at his dogs; hesent his sled forward and lurched along behind it, half supportinghimself, until 'Poleon finally halted him. 

"It's no good mak' bad t'ing worse, M'sieu', " the woodsmandeclared. "You bus' him for sure, an' it's no use goin' furder. S'pose mebbe we boil de kettle, eh?"

"And let them get away clean? When we had 'em? They can't be amile ahead. Let 'em slip between our fingers?" raved the officer. "I can't. I won't--"

"We mak' li'l fire an' look him over dat foot. Me, I t'ink youdon' walk no more for two, free week'. "

"You go! I'll deputize you! Get 'em, Doret, quick! You can do it!I'll wait! Go ahead!"

The other nodded. "Sure, I can get 'em! I never have no doubt'bout dat in de least, but it's better we fix you comfor'ble. "

"They'll be across, I tell you--over the Line--"

"I came pas' dat place more 'n once or twice"--the French Canadiangrinned--"an' I never seen it no Line. " He forced his companion tolower himself upon the sled, then swung it toward the river-bank, calling upon his own lead dog to follow. Up and into the shelterof the spruce he drove the Police team; quickly he felled dry woodand kindled a fire. This took but a few moments, but Rock was wetwith sweat and in consequence he was shivering wretchedly; histeeth were chattering even before the blaze had taken hold. 'Poleon continued to work with what speed he could, and in asurprisingly short time he had built a snug wickiup and filled itwith boughs. This done, he unhitched and fed both teams, spreadRock's sleeping-bag under the shelter, and set a pail of snow tomelt. By the light of the fire he examined the latter's injury, but could make little of it, for already it was badly swollen andevery manipulation caused its owner extreme pain. There were noremedies available; there was not even a vessel of sufficient sizein which to bathe the foot; hence 'Poleon contented himself bybandaging it and helping his trail-mate into bed. 

Not since leaving Dawson had either man tasted hot food, but theirhunger was as nothing to their thirst. Even in this length of timetheir bodies had shrunk, withered, inside their clothing, and forperhaps an hour they took turns greedily draining the pail of itstepid contents. Under intense cold the human body consumes itselfat a rapid rate. Once it has burned itself out it preys upon thosedeep-hidden forces which nature holds in reserve, and the processof recuperation waits upon a restoration of a normal balance ofmoisture. 

Both men were weighed down by an aching, nightmare fatigue, and asthey sat gulping hot water, absorbing heat from within andwithout, their muscles set and they felt as if their limbs hadturned to stone. 

But, once the first mad craving for drink had been assuaged, theyfried bacon and made tea. Like wolves they fell upon the saltmeat; they dipped the hot grease up in their spoons and swallowedit with relish; they crunched their hardtack and washed thepowdery mouthfuls down with copious draughts from the blackenedpail. When the tea was gone they brewed another scaldingbucketful. 

Rock lay back, finally, but the movement caused him to bare histeeth in agony. At 'Poleon's quick inquiry he shook his head. 

"I'm all right, " he declared. "Good for the night. You can pullout any time you want to. "

"Dere's plenty tam. " 'Poleon lit his pipe and reached again forthe tea-bucket. 

"Better go before you stiffen up. "

"I go bimeby--sooner I get li'l drinkin' done. "

"They'll fight, " Rock announced, after a silence of perhaps fiveminutes. "I feel pretty rotten, playing out like this. "

"You done firs' rate, " the woodsman told him. "If I come alone Icatch 'em ten mile below, but--li'l tam, more less, don' mak' nodiffer. "

"I believe you WOULD have got 'em, " the officer acknowledged. After a time he persisted: "They'll put up a battle, Doret. You'llneed to be careful. "

'Poleon was squatted Indian fashion over the blaze; he was staringfixedly into the flames, and an aboriginal reticence had settledupon him. After a long time he answered: "Mebbe so I keel de beegfeller. I dunno. So long one is lef' I mak' him clear dat boyPhillips. "

"Decent of you to take a chance like that for Pierce, " Rockresumed. "It's different with me; I have to do it. Just the same, I wouldn't care to follow those fellows over the Boundary. I don'tthink you'd better try it. "

In spite of his suffering, the lieutenant fell into a doze;whether he slept ten minutes or an hour he never knew, but heawoke, groaning, to find the big woodsman still bulked over thecampfire, still smoking, still sipping tea. Rock ate and dranksome more; again he slept. For a second time his pain roused him, and once more he marveled to discover 'Poleon occupied as before. It seemed to him that the fellow would never satisfy himself. Eventually, however, the latter arose and made preparations toleave. 

The Northern Lights had flickered out now; the empty sky wassprinkled with a million stars which glittered like scintillatingfrost jewels frozen into the dome of heaven; there were no soundswhatever to break the deathlike silence of the night, for theArctic wastes are all but lifeless. There were no bird-calls, nosounds of insects, not even the whisper of running water, for theriver was locked deep beneath its icy armor. 

"You got 'nough wood to las' long tam, " 'Poleon declared. "If Idon' come back, dem Forty Mile Police is sure to pick you up. "

"I can go in alone if I have to, " the injured man declared. "Aurevoir and good luck. "

'Poleon made no attempt to hurry his tired team; for several mileshe plodded along behind them, guiding them to right or left by alow-spoken word. Years before, he had rocked on the bars of thisstream; therefore its landmarks were familiar to him, and in spiteof the darkness he readily identified them. In time he made outthe monuments marking the International Boundary, and a shortdistance beyond that point he unhitched his dogs, then took acarbine from his sled and slipped it full of shells. Next heremoved his lash rope, coiled it, and placed it in his pocket, after which he resumed his journey alone. 

Occasionally he dimly glimpsed deserted cabins, habitations builtby the gold-diggers of other days. Carefully he followed the allbut indistinguishable sled tracks ahead of him until they swervedabruptly in toward the bank. Here he paused, pulled a mitten, and, moistening a finger, held it up to test the wind. What movementthere was to the air seemed to satisfy him, for, step by step, hemounted the steep slope until his head finally rose over itscrest. Against the skyline he now made out a small clearing;straining his eyes, he could see the black square of a cabin wall. No light shone from it, therefore he argued that his men hadsupped and were asleep. He had assumed that they would not, couldnot, go far beyond the Boundary; he had purposely allowed themsufficient time in which to overcome the first agony of fatigueand to fall asleep. He wondered apprehensively where they had puttheir dogs, and if by any evil chance the McCaskey team includedan "outside" dog of the watchful, barking variety. 

Gingerly he stepped out, and found that the snow underfoot gaveoff only the faintest whisper. Like a shadow he stole closer tothe hut, keeping the imperceptible night breeze in his face. 

So noiseless was his approach that the tired dogs, snugly curledeach in its own deep bed of snow, did not hear him--your malamutesthat are broken to harness are bad watch-dogs at best. Not untilhe had melted into the gloom beneath the wide overhang above thecabin door did the first disturbance come. Then something startedinto life and the silence was broken. 

'Poleon saw that a canvas sled-cover had been used to curtain thedoor opening, and during the instant following the alarm hebrushed the tarpaulin aside and stepped into the pitch-blackinterior. 

It had been a swift maneuver, the result of a lightning-likedecision, and not so reckless as it appeared. 

He stood now with his back to the rough log wall, every muscle inhis body taut, his ears strained for some sound, some challenge. He had been prepared for a shot out of the darkness, but nothingcame. His lungs were filling with the first deep breath of reliefwhen a sleepy voice spoke:

"That you, Frank?" 'Poleon remained fixed in his tracks. "Frank!"There was a moment's pause, then, "FRANK!"

Followed a rustle as of a body turning, then a startled mumble inanswer. 

"Was that you?" Joe McCaskey's voice again demanded. 

"Me? What--?"

"Was you outside?"

"Outside?"

"I heard the dogs rowing. They're stirring now. Hear 'em? I'llswear I saw that fly drop--" McCaskey's words died out and againthe interior of the cabin became soundless. 

"Who's there?" the former speaker suddenly barked. 

When another moment had dragged by, a sulphur match was struck. For a second or two it shed a sickly blue radiance sufficient onlyto silhouette a pair of hands cupped over it; then, as the flameignited the tiny shaft, it burst into a yellow glow and sent theshadows of the cabin leaping. 

Joe McCaskey uttered a cry, a scream. The flame was crushed in hispalms and again the cabin was ink black. It remained as silent asbefore except for a dry rattling of breath in the elder brother'sthroat. 

"Wha--what'd you--see?" the younger one gasped. Both men were nowfully awake, but, disregarding the question, Joe cried, wildly:

"Who are you? What d'you want?" And then, when no answer came:"Christ! SAY something. "

'Poleon could hear the wretch moisten his dry lips; he couldpicture both men sitting bolt upright in their sleeping-bags; hecould feel the terror that was creeping over them. 

"Who'd you see?" Frank whispered again. 

"S-something big! Right there! By God! Something's in here!"

Joe's tone was firmer now; nevertheless, fright still held himmotionless, paralyzed. He was staring with blind eyes into thevelvet blackness, and his flesh was rippling with a superstitioushorror of that formless creature he had glimpsed. What was it thathad walked in out of the night and now crouched ready to spring?Nothing human, nothing natural, that was sure. 

Similar thoughts raced madly through his brother's brain, and thelatter let forth a thin wail--almost a sob. The sound set Joe intomotion. Swiftly but clumsily he fumbled through the dry grass withwhich his bunk was filled. He uttered a throaty curse, for he hadlaid his revolver by his side, right where his hand would fallupon it. Where was the thing--?

Joe's body turned rigid, his shaking fingers grew stiff anduseless, when out of the darkness came a sigh--faint butunmistakable; whence it issued neither brother could tell. 

With another shriek Frank fell back and burrowed into hissleeping-bag. 

CHAPTER XXIX

Rouletta Kirby spent an anxious and a thoughtful night. The moreshe dwelt upon Laure's peculiar behavior the more it roused hersuspicions and the more she felt justified in seeking an interviewwith Colonel Cavendish. She rose early, therefore, and went toPolice Headquarters. 

Two people were in the office when she entered, one a redcoat, evidently acting in some clerical capacity; the other a girl whomRouletta had never seen. The colonel was engaged, so Rouletta wastold, and she sat down to wait. With furtive curiosity she beganto study this other young woman. It was plain that the latter wasa privileged person, for she made herself perfectly at home andappeared to be not in the least chilled by the official formalityof her surroundings. She wandered restlessly about the room, humming a tune under her breath; she readjusted the window-curtains to her liking; she idly thumbed the books upon theshelves; finally she perched herself upon the table in the midstof the documents upon which the officer was engaged, and began alow-voiced conversation with him. 

Rouletta was not a little impressed by this stranger. She hadnever seen a finer, healthier, cleaner-cut girl. Here for once wasa "nice" woman of the town who did not stare at her with open andoffensive curiosity. She was not surprised when she overheard thePolice officer address her as "Miss Cavendish. " No wonder thisgirl had poise and breeding--the Cavendishes were the best peoplein the community. With a jealous pang the caller reflected thatthe colonel's daughter was very much what she herself would liketo be, very much her ideal, so far as she could judge. 

When, eventually, the commandant himself emerged from his sanctum, he paused for a moment at his daughter's side; then he approachedRouletta. 

Very briefly the latter made known the reason of her presence, andthe colonel nodded. 

"You did quite right in coming here, " he declared, "and I'm surethis dance-hall girl knows more than she has told. In fact, I wason the point of sending for her. Please wait until she arrives. Perhaps we can straighten out this whole unpleasant affairinformally. I'll need Phillips, too. Meanwhile, there's a friendof yours inside. " Stepping to the inner door, he spoke to someone, and an instant later the Countess Courteau came forth. 

Rouletta had not seen the Countess alone since early the previousevening. She went swiftly to her now and placed an arm about hershoulders. Hilda responded to this mark of sympathy with a wearysmile. 

"Well, I had to go through with it to the bitter end, " she said, in a low voice. "Henri didn't spare me even that. "

Rouletta pressed her closer, murmuring: "Colonel Cavendish is afine man--I'm sure he understands. You've undergone a dreadfulordeal, but--it's nearly over. He's sending for Laure now. She cantell a good deal, if she will. "

"About the theft, yes. But what about the--murder? Joe McCaskeydid it. There's no doubt about that. Henri weakened, after I gavehim his chance. He got to drinking, I hear, and evidently heconceived the notion of telling those men. He may have gone towarn them, to appeal to them. I don't know. Then they must havequarreled. It's all clear enough when you understand the insidefacts. Without knowing them, it was natural to suspect Pierce, so--I did what I had to do. I doubt if Laure knows anything aboutthis part of the affair. "

The two women were still talking when Laure entered, in companywith the Mounted Police officer who had been sent to fetch her. Atsight of them she halted; a sudden pallor came into her cheeks;she cast a glance of alarm about her as if seeking retreat; butColonel Cavendish grimly invited her to follow him, and steppedinto his private office. The new-comer faltered; then with adefiant toss of her head and with lips curled in disdain sheobeyed; the door closed behind her. 

Rouletta and the Countess Courteau fell silent now. They foundnothing to talk about, and in spite of themselves they strainedtheir ears for some sound from the other room. Even Miss Cavendishseemed vaguely to feel the suspense, for she finally took herstand beside a frost-rimed window and engaged herself in tracingpatterns thereon with the tip of her finger. An occasional stormymurmur of voices, deadened by the thick log partition, indicatedthat Laure and her inquisitor were not getting on well together. 

Suddenly the girl at the window started; her apathy vanished; herexpression of boredom gave place to one of such livelyanticipation as to draw the attention of the two other women. Amagic change came over her; she became suddenly animated, alive, atingle in every nerve; her eyes sparkled and a new color floodedher cheeks. The alteration interested her observers; they weremystified as to its cause until a quick step sounded in the entryand the door opened to admit Pierce Phillips. 

It was natural that he should first see Miss Cavendish, and thathe should greet her before recognizing the other occupants of theroom. It was natural, too, that he should be a trifle nonplussedat finding Hilda here; nevertheless, he managed to cover his lackof ease. Not so, however, when, a moment later, the door toColonel Cavendish's office opened and Laure, of all persons, appeared therein. Quickly Pierce inferred the reason for hissummons, but, happily for him, he was spared furtherembarrassment. Cavendish called to him, took him by the hand inthe friendliest manner, and again disappeared into his retreat, drawing the young man with him. 

Brief as had been the interruption, both Hilda and Rouletta hadgathered much from it; their inference was borne out when Laurepaused before them and in a voice subdued by the very force of heragitation exclaimed:

"Well, I hope you're satisfied! I got it, and got it good. " Herface was livid, her dark eyes were blazing wrathfully. Sheoutthrust a shaking hand and unclenched her fingers, displayingtherein a crumpled sheet of pink paper, a printed official form, the telltale tint of which indicated its fateful character. Bothof her hearers were familiar with the so-called "pink tickets" ofthe Mounted Police; every one in the Northwest Territory, in fact, knew what they were--deportation orders. But in a tone hoarse andsuppressed Laure read, "'--leave by the first safe conveyance!'That's what it says--the first safe conveyance. I suppose you'dlike it better if it were a blue ticket and I had to leave intwenty-four hours. You put it over, but I won't forget. I'll geteven with you. "

"We had nothing to do with that, " the Countess declared, quietly. "I'm sorry you take it so hard, but--it serves you right. "

"Who wouldn't take it hard? To be expelled, fired out like athief, a--" The girl's voice broke; then she pulled herselftogether and uttered a quavering, artificial laugh. She tossed herhead again, with an obvious attempt at defiance. "Oh, it takesmore than a pink ticket to down me! Anyhow, I'm sick of thisplace, sick of the people. I hate them. " With a vicious fling ofher shoulders she swept on to a seat as far from them as possibleand sank into it. 

So the girl had confessed, Hilda reflected. She was glad, forPierce's sake, that this miserable complication was in process ofclearing up and that he would be finally and completelyexonerated; she was glad, too, that her efforts in his behalf, herhumiliation, had borne fruit. He would never know how high he hadmade her pay, but that was all right. She felt very gently towardhim at this moment, and experienced a certain wistful desire thathe might understand how unselfish had been her part. It might makea difference; probably it would. Things now were not as they hadbeen. She was a free woman. This thought obtruded itselfinsistently into the midst of her meditations. Yes, Courteau wasgone; there was no reason now why she could not look any manhonestly in the eye. Of course, there was the same disparity inyears between her and Pierce which she had recognized from thebeginning, but, after all, was that necessarily fatal? He hadloved her genuinely enough at one time. Hilda recalled that windynight on the shores of Linderman when the whimper of a risingstorm came out of the darkness, when the tree-tops tossed theirbranches to the sky, and when her own soul had broken its fettersand defied restraint. She thrilled at memory of those strong youngarms about her, those hot lips pressing hers. That was a moment toremember always. And those dreamy, magic days that had followed, the more delightful, the more unreal because she had deliberatelydrugged her conscience. Then that night at White Horse! He hadtold her bitterly, broken-heartedly, that he could never forget. Perhaps even yet--With an effort Hilda Courteau roused herself. Never forget? Why, he had forgotten the very next day, as wasquite natural. No, she was a foolish sentimentalist, and he--well, he was just one whom fate had cast for a lover's role, onedestined to excite affection in women, good and bad. Some day hewould find his mate and--Hilda believed she loved him well enoughto rejoice in his happiness when it came. There spoke the maternalinstinct which Phillips had the knack of rousing; for want ofsomething better, she determined she would cherish that. 

Meanwhile Laure sat in her corner, her head bowed, her very soulin revolt. She was tasting failure, disappointment, balked desire, and it was like gall in her mouth. She could have cried out aloudin her rage. She hated these other women whom she blamed for herundoing; she hated Cavendish, Pierce Phillips, herself. 

"It serves me right, " she told herself, furiously. "I deserve thepink ticket for making a fool of myself. Yes, a FOOL! What hasPierce ever done for me? Nothing. And I--?" Before her mind's eyecame a vision of the opportunities she had let slip, the chancesshe had ignored. She knew full well that she could have had thepick of many men--the new-made millionaires of Dawson--but insteadshe had chosen him. And why? Merely because he had a way, a smile, a warm and pleasing personality--some magnetic appeal toointangible to identify. It was like her to make the wrong choice--she always did. She had come North with but one desire, onedetermination--namely, to make money, to reap to the full hershare of this free harvest. She had given up the life she liked, the people she knew, the comforts she craved, for that and fornothing else, and what a mess she had made of the venture! Othergirls not half so smart, not half so pretty as she, had featheredtheir nests right here before her eyes, while she was wasting hertime. They had kept their heads, and they would go out in thespring, first class, with good clothes and a bank-roll in thepurser's safe. Some of them were married and respectable. "Neveragain!" she whispered to herself. "The next one will pay. " Chagrinat the treatment she had suffered filled her with a poisonoushatred of all mankind, and soundlessly she cursed Phillips as thecause of her present plight. 

Such thoughts as these ran tumbling through the girl's mind; herrage and her resentment were real enough; nevertheless, throughthis overtone there ran another note; a small voice was speakingin the midst of all her tumult--a small voice which she refused tolisten to. "What I ever saw in him I don't know, " she sneered, goading herself to further bitterness and stiffening her courage. "I never really cared for him; I'm too wise for that. I don't carefor him now. I detest the poor, simple-minded fool. I--HATE him. "So she fought with herself, drowning the persistent piping of thatother voice. Then her eyes dropped to that fatal paper in her lapand suddenly venom fled from her. She wondered if Cavendish wouldtell Pierce that he had given her the pink ticket. Probably not. The Mounted Police were usually close-mouthed about such things, and yet--Laure crushed the paper into a crumpled ball andfurtively hid it in the pocket of her coat; then she raised wild, apprehensive eyes to the door. If only she dared slip out now, before Pierce reappeared, before he had a chance to see her. Itseemed as if she could not bear to have him know, but--Cavendishhad ordered her to wait. "My God!" the girl whispered. "I'll die, if he knows! I'll die!" She began to tremble wretchedly and towring her hands; she could not remove her gaze from the door. 

This waiting-room at the Barracks had housed people of divers andmany sorts during its brief history; it had harbored strainedfaces, it had been the scene of strong emotional conflicts, butnever, perhaps, had its narrow walls encompassed emotions in widercontrast than those experienced by the four silent women whowaited there at this moment. One object of interest dominated thethoughts of each of them. These thoughts were similar in natureand sprang from the same starting-point. Curiously enough, however, they took channels as wide apart as the poles. 

Josephine Cavendish had heard just enough about the incidents ofthe previous night to awaken her apprehensions and to stir herfeeling of loyalty to the depths. The suggestion that PiercePhillips was in the slightest degree responsible for the death ofCount Courteau had roused her indignation and her fighting-blood. Unable to endure the suspense of idle waiting, she had soughtrelief by assuming a sort of sentinel post where she could watchdevelopments. It was something to be close to his affairs. It wasnext to being close to him; hence the reason of her presence andher insistence upon remaining. 

In her mind there had never been the slightest question ofPierce's innocence; any doubt of it, expressed or implied, awokein her a sharp and bitter antagonism quite remarkable; no birdcould have flown quicker to the aid of her chick, no wolf mothercould have bristled more ferociously at threat to her cub, thandid this serene, inexperienced girl-woman at hint of peril toPierce Phillips. And yet, on the surface, at least, she and Piercewere only friends. He had never voiced a word of love to her. But--of what use are words when hearts are full and when confessionlurks in every glance, every gesture; when every commonplace isthrilling and significant?

In her eyes no disgrace whatever attached to him as a result ofthe notoriety he had suffered. On the contrary, she considered hima martyr, a hero, the object of a deep conspiracy, and his wrongssmarted her. He was, in short, a romantic figure. Moreover, shehad recently begun to believe that this entire situation wascontrived purely for the purpose of bringing them together, ofacquainting them with each other, and of testing the strength oftheir mutual regard. These other women, whom she saw to-day forthe first time, she considered merely extra figures in the dramaof which she and Pierce played the leads--witnesses in the casedeserving no attention. She would be grateful to them, of course, if they succeeded in helping him, but, at best, they were minorcharacters, supers in the cast. Once Pierce himself strode intothe scene, she forgot them entirely. 

What a picture her lover made, she reflected; how he filled hereye! What importance he possessed! Surely the world must see andfeel how dominant, how splendid he was. It must recognize howimpossible it would be for him to do wrong. The mere sight of himhad set her to vibrating, and now inspired in her a certainreckless abandon; guilty or innocent, he was her mate and shewould have followed him at a word. But--he was innocent; it washer part to wait here as patiently as she could until the fact wasproved and until he could ask that question which forever trembledbetween them. 

Such thoughts as these were impossible to conceal; they weremirrored upon the face of the colonel's daughter as she stoodraptly gazing at the door through which Pierce Phillips haddisappeared. Her lips were parted; the shadow of the smile hiscoming had evoked still lingered upon them; her soul was in hershining eyes. Unknown to her, at least one of the other womenpresent had read her sudden emotions and now watched hercuriously, with an intent and growing astonishment. 

Rouletta Kirby had been as quick as the Countess to correctlyinterpret Laure's chagrin, and she, too, had experienced atremendous relief. Oddly enough, however, she had felt no suchfierce and jealous exultation as she had anticipated; there hadbeen no selfish thrill such as she had expected. What ailed her?she wondered. While groping for an answer, her attention had beenchallenged by the expression upon Miss Cavendish's face, andvaguely she began to comprehend the truth. Breathlessly now shewatched the girl; slowly conviction grew into certainty. 

So! That was why the colonel's daughter was here. That was why, atsound of a certain step, she had become glorified. That was whyPierce had been blind to her own and Hilda's presence in the room. 

It would be untrue to say that Rouletta was not shocked by thisdiscovery. It came like a thunderclap, and its very unexpectednessjolted her mind out of the ruts it had been following these manydays. But, astonishing to relate, it caused her no anguish. Afterthe first moment or two of dizzy bewilderment had passed she foundthat her whole being was galvanized into new life and that theeyes of her soul were opened to a new light. With understandingcame a peculiar emotional let-down, a sudden, welcome relaxation--almost a sensation of relief. 

Rouletta asked herself, over and over, what could be the matterwith her; why she felt no twinge, no jealousy; why the sight ofthat eager, breathless girl with the rapturous face failed tocause her a heartache. She was amazed at herself. It could not bethat she no longer cared for Pierce, that she had mistaken herfeelings toward him. No, he was what he had always been--herideal--the finest, the most lovable, the dearest creature she hadever met; just the sort of fellow she had always longed to know, the kind any girl would crave for lover, friend, brother. She feltvery tender toward him. She was not greatly surprised that thenicest girl in Dawson had recognized his charm and had surrenderedto it. Well, he deserved the nicest girl in the world. 

Rouletta was startled at the direction her thoughts were taking. Did she love Pierce Phillips as she had believed she did, or hadshe merely fallen in love with his good qualities? Certainly hehad never been dearer to her than he was at this moment, and yet--Rouletta abandoned the problem of self-analysis and allowed herbubbling relief at the turn events had taken to remain a mysteryfor the time being. 

The door to the commandant's office opened without warning. Piercestood framed in it. His head was up, his shoulders were back, hiscountenance was alight; with confident tread he entered the bigroom and crossed it directly to the girl who stood waiting besidethe table. He held out his two hands to her and with a flash ofher clear blue eyes she placed hers in his. Gladness, trust, blindfaith, and adoration were in her face. She murmured somethingwhich Rouletta did not hear, for at that instant Colonel Cavendishappeared with the curt announcement:

"That is all, ladies. You needn't remain longer. "

Blindly, confusedly, Rouletta rose and fumbled with her wraps. Shesaw the colonel go to Laure and speak with her in a stiff, formalway. She saw Pierce and Josephine turn away hand in hand, theirheads close together--he had not even glanced in her direction;then Cavendish was speaking to her directly. 

At first she did not understand him, but finally made out that hewas telling her that everything had been cleared up, includingeven the mystery of Count Courteau's gold-sack. 

"Laure confessed that she got a duplicate key to the cashier'scage, " she heard the colonel say. "Got it from Pierce. It was shewho put the evidence in there during the confusion. Prettyingenious, I call it, and pretty spiteful. "

"Did she--have anything to say about the--the murder?" Roulettainquired. 

"No. But the Countess has that figured out right, I'm sure. We'llhave the proof when Rock brings back his prisoners. "

As Rouletta moved toward the door Pierce stopped her. There was aring in his voice as he said:

"Rouletta, I want you to meet Miss Cavendish. I want the twonicest girls in the world to know each other. Josephine, this isMiss Kirby, of whom I've said so much. " Then without reason helaughed joyously, and so did the colonel's daughter. 

The latter took Rouletta's hand in a warm and friendly clasp. Hersmiling lips were tremulous. Engagingly, shyly, she said:

"Pierce has told me how splendid you've been to him, and I'm sureyou're as happy as we are, but--things always come out right if wewish for them hard enough. Don't you think so?"

The Countess Courteau was walking slowly when Rouletta overtookher a block or so down the street. She looked up as the youngerwoman joined her. 

"Well, " she said, "I presume you saw. Not a look, not a thoughtfor any one but her--that other girl. "

"Yes, I saw. " There was a pause, then: "She's wonderful. I thinkI'm very glad. "

"Glad?" Hilda raised her brows; she glanced curiously at thespeaker. 

"If I had a brother I'd want him to love a girl like that. "

"But--you have no brother, outside of 'Poleon Doret. " Hilda wasmore than ever amazed when her companion laughed softly, contentedly. 

"I know, but if I had one, I'd want him to be like--Pierce. I--Mydear, something has changed in me, oh, surprisingly! I scarcelyknow what it is, but--I'm walking on air and my eyes are open forthe first time. And you? We've been honest with each other--how doyou feel?"

"I?" The Countess smiled wistfully. "Why--it doesn't matter how Ifeel! The boy has found himself, and nothing else is of the leastimportance. "

CHAPTER XXX

Joe McCaskey was not a coward, neither was he a superstitious man, but he had imagination. The steady strain of his and Frank's longflight, the certainty of pursuit close behind, had frayed hisnerve and rendered him jumpy. For a man in his condition to beawakened out of a trancelike sleep by an intruder at onceinvisible, dumb; to feel the presence of that mysterious visitorand actually to see him--it--bulked dim and formless among thedarting shadows cast by a blazing match--was a test indeed. It wastoo much for Joe. 

As for Frank, he had actually seen nothing, heard nothing excepthis brother's voice, and then--that sigh. For that very reason histerror was, if anything, even greater than his brother's. 

During what seemed an age there was no sound except the stertorousbreathing of the McCaskeys themselves and the stir of the dogsoutside. The pale square of the single window, over which ableached-out cotton flour-sack had been tacked, let in only enoughlight to intensify the gloom. Within the cabin was a blacknessthick, tangible, oppressive; the brothers stared into it withbulging eyes and listened with ear-drums strained to the point ofrupture. Oddly enough, this utter silence augmented theiragitation. Unable finally to smother the evidence of his steadilygrowing fright, Frank uttered a half-audible moan. Joe in the nextbunk put it down as a new and threatening phenomenon. What sort ofthing was it that sighed and moaned thus? As evidence of thedirection Joe's mind was taking, he wondered if these sounds couldbe the complaint of Courteau's unshriven spirit. It was a shockingthought, but involuntarily he gasped the dead man's name. 

A guilty conscience is a proven coward-maker; so, too, is a quick, imaginative mind. It took only a moment or two to convince Joethat this nocturnal interloper was not a creature of flesh andblood, but some enormous, unmentionable, creeping thing come outof the other world--out of the cold earth--to visit punishmentupon him for his crime. He could hear it stirring, finally, nowhere, now there; he could make out the rustle of its grave-clothes. There is no doubt that the cabin was full of half-distinguishable sounds--so is any warm habitation--but to Joe'spanicky imagination the nature of these particular soundsindicated that they could not come from any normal, living being. There was, for instance, a slow, asthmatic wheezing, like thebreath of a sorely wounded man; a stretching and straining as of abody racked with mortal agony; even a faint bubbling choke like adeath-rattle heard in an adjoining chamber. These and others ashorribly suggestive. Joe's wild agitation distorted all of them, no matter whether they came from his brother Frank, from thepoorly seasoned pole rafters overhead, or from the sleepy dogsoutside, and 'Poleon Doret, with a grim internal chuckle, tookadvantage of the fact. 

When finally the elder McCaskey heard his own name whispered, thelast shred of self-control left to him was whipped away; his witswent skittering, and for a second time he groped with frantic, twitching fingers for his revolver. He raised it and, with a yell, fired at random into the blackness, meanwhile covering his eyeswith his left arm for fear of beholding in the sulphurous flashthat bloodless, fleshless menace, whatever it might be. 

Somehow he managed to get out of bed and to place his back againstthe wall, and there he cowered until he heard his brother's bodythreshing about the floor. As a matter of fact, that shot had sentFrank sprawling from his bunk, and he was striving to kick off thehampering folds of his sleeping-bag, nothing more; but thethumping of his knees and elbows bore a dreadful significance tothe terrified listener. Evidently the Thing had closed in--hadgrappled with Frank. Its hands, damp with death sweat, even nowwere groping for him, Joe. The thought was unbearable. 

Blindly the elder brother thrust his revolver at full length infront of him and pulled the trigger; Frank shrieked, but again andagain Joe fired, and when the last cartridge was spent hecontinued to snap the weapon. He desisted only when he heard avoice, faint, but hoarse with agony, crying:

"O God! You've shot me, Joe! You've shot me!"

Then and not until then, did a sort of sanity come to the wretch. The revolver slipped from his fingers; he felt his bonesdissolving into water; a horror ten times greater than he hadpreviously suffered fell upon him. He tried to speak, to throw offthis hideous nightmare, but his voice came only as a dry, reedywhisper. 

Frank was still now; he did not respond to his brother'sincoherencies except with a deep groaning that momentarily becamemore alarming. 

"I--I--didn't--Christ! I didn't shoot you . .. Frank! . .. Answerme! Say something. . .. " Even yet the dread of that hobgoblinpresence lay like ice upon the elder brother; he feared to movelest he encounter it, lest he touch it and it enfold him; but whenFrank's twitching body became still he fell to his knees and wentgroping forward on all-fours in search of it. Death was here now. He had slain his brother and there was NO LIGHT!

Joe began to sob and to chatter in a maudlin hysteria of frightand apprehension. He succeeded in finding Frank by the sound ofhis breathing, and he was pawing at him and wildly calling hisname when at his back a match was struck. 

The sound, the flare, brought a scream from his throat. He cringedand cowered; the pallid face he raised was slack-jawed, his gazewas that of a crazy man. 

Slowly, very slowly his dementia left him. His eyes were stilldistended, to be sure, but into them sanity, recognition, began tocreep. He stared dazedly about him, and at last he managed tospeak Doret's name. 

"Wh-what you doing--here?" he breathed. 

"Me? I come to tak' you back. " Joe shook his head weakly. "Youcan't. We're across--safe. " His eyes dropped to the prostrate bodybeside which he knelt, and a new thought swiftly flooded hisvacant mind. "Look! You--Now I understand. YOU did it! YOU shothim. I never--BY GOD!" The fellow's insane vehemence, the pantingeagerness with which he undertook to absolve himself from thehideous results of his deed, argued that he loved his brother. Herose slowly to his feet, his countenance flaming, his gaze fixedin an arresting expression of mingled rage and horror upon thewoodsman's face. "You did it, damn you! Shot him, in the dark, asleep! Now you want me . .. Take me back, eh? You can't do it. I'msafe . .. Safe . .. !"

'Poleon uttered a grunt. He leaned his carbine against the wallbehind him, and from his pocket he drew a thin cotton sled-rope. With this in his hand he advanced upon the slayer. 

McCaskey retreated. Weakly at first he fought off his captor;then, as fear overwhelmed him, he became possessed of a phreneticenergy and struggled with the strength of two men. He struck, hebit, he clawed, he kicked. It was like the battle of a man with abeast--ferocious, merciless--while it lasted. They rocked aboutthe cabin, heedless of the wounded man; the stove came crashingdown and they trampled the pipe under their feet. 

But McCaskey collapsed as suddenly as he had flown to action. When'Poleon trussed him up he had neither strength nor spirit eitherfor resistance or for resentment. He was as spineless as a wetsack. With anguished eyes he watched his captor lift Frank into abunk and then proceed to do what remained to be done. Bleak offace, lifeless of voice, hopeless of expression, he answered thequestions put to him and made no feeblest effort at concealment. He was, in fact, no longer capable of any resistance, mental orphysical. 

Frank died as the first ashen streaks of dawn came through thewindow and lit the sickly face of the brother who had slain him. There was no longer need of the rope; in fact, Joe implored hiscaptor with such earnestness not to leave him alone that 'Poleonuntied his hands, feeling sure that he was impotent. Joe followedhim outside, and stood near by while he harnessed the dogs; heaccompanied every step the woodsman took--wild horses could nothave dragged him away in his present frame of mind--and finally, when they set out back toward the Canadian Line, he shambled alongahead of the team with head down and eyes averted from thegruesome bundle that lay in the sled. His punishment had overtakenhim and he was unequal to it. 

Dawson was in ferment, for the news of another "strike" had comein and a stampede was under way. Discoveries of gold, or rumors ofthem, had been common. The camp had thrilled to many ArabianNights tales, but this one was quite the most sensational of all. So amazing, so unbelievable was it, in truth, that those who hadbeen too often fooled laughed at it and declared it impossible onits face. Some woodcutters on the hills above El Dorado had beengetting out dry timber for the drift fires, so ran the report, andin shooting the tree-trunks down into the valley they haddiscovered a deposit of wash gravel. One of them, possessed of theprospector's instinct, had gophered a capful of the gravel fromoff the rim where the plunging tree-trunks had dug through thesnow and exposed the outcropping bedrock, and, to satisfy hiscuriosity, had taken it down to camp for a test. He had thawed andpanned it; to his amazement, he had discovered that it carried anastonishing value in gold--coarse, rough gold--exactly like thatin the creek pay-streak, except with less signs of abrasion anderosion. Rumor placed the contents of that first prospect at tendollars. Ten cents would have meant the riches of Aladdin, but--ten dollars! No wonder the wiseacres shook their heads. Tendollars to the pan, on a hilltop! Absurd! How did metal of thatspecific gravity get up there? How could there be wash gravel onthe crest of a mountain? There was no sense to such a proposition. 

But such old California placer miners as chanced to hear of itlost no time in hitting the trail. They were familiar with highbars, prehistoric riverbeds, and they went as fast as their oldlegs would carry them. 

More faith was put in the story when it became known that thediggings were being deserted and that the men of El Dorado andBonanza were quitting their jobs, actually leaving their thaweddrifts to freeze while they scattered over the domes and saddlesround about, staking claims. That settled matters, so far asDawson was concerned; men who had dogs hitched them up, those whohad none rolled their packs; soon the trail up the Klondike wasblack and the recorder's office prepared for riotous activity. 

Those who had set out thus late met excited travelers hasteningtownward, and from them obtained confirmation. Yes, the story wastrue, more than true! The half had not been told as yet. Gold layunder the grass roots where anybody could see it; it was moreplentiful than in the creeks--this was the richest thing everknown. "Frenchman's Hill, " the discovery had been named, but allthe ground for miles round about had been already staked and nowmen were going even further afield. It was well to hurry. 

A frenzy took possession of the hearers, and they pressed on morerapidly. This was like the rush of the autumn previous, from Dyeato the Chilkoot, only here dogs flew under snapping lashes;pedestrians, when shouldered aside, abandoned their burdens andsacrificed all to speed. At the Forks the new arrivals scatteredup over the hills, and that night road-houses, cabins, tents, werecrowded; men slept on chairs, on floors; they stood around openfires. 

Dawson awoke, on the second morning, to behold a long queue offur-clad miners waiting outside the Gold Commissioner's office;the town took on an electric liveliness. This signified bigthings; it gave permanence; it meant that Dawson was to be theworld's first placer camp. Business picked up, the saloons becamethronged, on every corner knots of gossiping men assembled. Therebegan a considerable speculation in claims on Frenchman's Hill;merchants planned larger stocks for the next season; the price oftown lots doubled. 

Late that afternoon through the streets ran a cry that took everyfoot-free man hurrying to the river-front. "Rock was coming!" In ajiffy the vantage-points were crowded. Sure enough, far down theYukon two teams were approaching; with the smoke of Dawson intheir nostrils they were coming on the run, and soon the morekeen-eyed spectators announced that they could make out 'PoleonDoret. The lieutenant himself, however, was not in evidence. Instantly speculation became rife. Here was a sensation indeed, and when the second runner was identified beyond question as JoeMcCaskey, excitement doubled. Where was Rock? Where was the otherfugitive? What, in the name of all that was unexpected, hadoccurred?

A shout of relief issued from the crowd when the teams drew inunder the bank and Rock sat up, waving a mittened hand; the shoutwas quickly hushed as the lookers-on saw what sort of burden JoeMcCaskey was driving. 

Up into the main street came the cavalcade. The crowd fell inalongside and ran with it to the Barracks, clamoring for details, pouring questions upon the returning travelers. Joe McCaskey, ofcourse, was speechless, this ordeal proving, as a matter of fact, scarcely less trying than that other one at Sheep Camp when he hadrun the gauntlet. As for Rock and the French Canadian, neither hadmuch to say, and as a result sensational stories soon spreadthrough the resorts. The Mounted Policeman had got his men, asusual, but only after a desperate affray in which Frank McCaskeyhad fallen and the officer himself had been wounded--so ran thefirst account. Those who had gone as far as the Barracks returnedwith a fanciful tale of a siege in the snow and of Rock's single-handed conquest of the two fugitives. These conflicting reportswere confusing and served to set the town so completely agog thatit awaited fuller details with the most feverish impatience. Onething only was certain--the lieutenant had again made himself ahero; he had put a new feather in his cap. Men lifted glasses tohim and to the Force. Such efficiency as this commanded theirdeepest respect and admiration. 

Pierce Phillips, of course, was the most eager member of thatwelcoming throng. At the earliest moment he bore 'Poleon away tohis cabin, and there, when the last morbid curiosity-seeker hadbeen shaken off and the dogs had been attended to, he heard thestory. 

"You don' got no more worry, " 'Poleon told him, with a smile. "Joekeel' de Count. "

"He confessed? Really?"

"Rouletta figger' it out jus' right. By golly! Dat's de smartes'gal!"

"She is indeed. But Frank? What happened? How did you manage--?"

'Poleon hesitated. There was a reason why he did not wish thedetails of that affair on the upper Forty Mile to become public. Joe McCaskey was beginning to talk loudly about his outragedrights, his citizenship, international law, and suchincomprehensible things--but stronger by far than any fear ofconsequences to himself, remote at best, 'Poleon felt a desire tohelp his friend, the Police lieutenant. Rock was deeply humiliatedat his weak failure in living up to his reputation; he felt thathe had cut a very sorry figure indeed; and, although he hadundertaken to conceal that feeling from 'Poleon, the latter hadread him like a book and had secretly made up his mind to givefull credit to the officer, eliminating himself as much aspossible. There was no reason why the actual facts should be madepublic, so far as he could see, and, once an artfully coloredaccount of the exploit had gained currency, Rock could not wellcontradict it. He might, undoubtedly would, make a truthful reportto his superiors, but 'Poleon determined that in the eyes of thehero-worshiping people of Dawson the fellow should still remain ahero and stand for one hundred per cent. Efficiency. That wasquite as it should be. 

It was not difficult to distort the story enough to reverse theroles he and the officer had played, and, when he had finished, Pierce was loud in his praise of the Mounted Policeman. 

"Well, things happened here, too, " the youth declared. Succinctlyhe told the story of Laure's delayed confession proving that hehad been the victim of a deliberate conspiracy. "Believe me, I'mglad it has all come out so well, " he said. "People didn'tactually accuse me, but I was conscious of their suspicion, theirdoubt. I had talked too much. Then, too, there was that beastlyrumor about the Countess and me. It was fierce! Appearances werestrong. I'd--have gone on the stampede, only I didn't have theheart. You've heard about that, of course? The new strike?" When'Poleon shook his head the young man's eyes kindled. "Why, man, "he broke out, "the town's crazy! dippy! It's the biggest thingever! Frenchman's Hill, it's called. Get that? Frenchman's Hill!"

"Some French feller mak' lucky strike, eh?" 'Poleon was notgreatly interested. "Where de place is? Who dis Frenchman?"

"It's a high bar somewhere above El Dorado--a mountain of paygravel--an old river-bed or something. They say it's where all thegold came from, the mother lode. You can see it right at the grassroots--"

'Poleon started and his mouth opened; then he shook his head. 

"By Gar! Dat's fonny! I seen gravel up dere, but me--I'm onlucky. Never I quite get not'in'; always I'm close by when 'noder fellermak' strike. "

Pierce still managed to control himself enough to explain: "Theywere shooting dead timber down into the gulch and they wore thesnow off where the rim cropped out. It happened to be stakedground right there. " Pierce's excitement, the odd light in hisdancing eyes, bore to 'Poleon a significance. "Some Frenchman hadtaken it up, so they called it Frenchman's Hill. "

Doret's blank, confounded stare caused the speaker finally toblurt out: "Good Heavens! man, wake up! I'm trying to break thenews gently that you're a millionaire--the Frenchman ofFrenchman's Hill. I don't want you to faint. First time in historya miner ever left his claim and another fellow came along--"

Doret uttered a feeble cry and rose to his feet. "Ma soeur!" heexclaimed. "She's got claim up dere--I stake it for her. For me, Idon' care if I lose mine--plenty tam I come jus' so close as dis;but if dem feller jump her groun'--"

"Wait, wait! There's no question of anything like that. Nobody hasjumped your claim, or hers, either. The law wouldn't let 'em. Iwonder if she knows--Why, she CAN'T know! I left her not two hoursago--"

"She don' know?"

Pierce shook his head. "She doesn't dream. I wish I'D known. I'dhave loved to tell her. "

'Poleon Doret gazed fixedly, curiously at the speaker. He noddedhis head. A peculiar, set, hopeless look crept into his eyes; hisbroad shoulders sagged wearily. He had traveled far and swiftly onthis young man's affairs; he had slept but little; and now a greatfatigue mastered him. Oddly enough, too, that fierce, consumingdesire to see Rouletta which had hourly gnawed at him was gone;all at once he felt that she was quite the last person he wishedto face. This weakness, this smallness of spirit, was onlytemporary, he assured himself; it would soon pass, and then hewould find the strength to go to her with his customary smile, hismask in place. Now, however, he was empty, cheerless, frightenedby the portent of this new thing. It could have but onesignificance--it meant that he would lose his "sister, " that shewould have no further need of him. 

Well, that was all right. It was something like this that he hadworked for. Why cherish a mean envy of this happy boy? Why permita narrow selfishness to mar this supreme moment?

Doret was not a grudging giver; he straightened himself finally, and into his tired eyes there came the gleam that Phillips hadbeen waiting for. 

"Bien!" he breathed. "My li'l bird goin' wear de plumage shedeserve. She's goin' be reech an' happy all her life. By golly!Dat's nice, for fac'. I feel lak gettin' drunk. "

"She'd never stand for that. "

"I spec' you tol' her you an' me is pardners on dis Frenchman'Hill, eh? An' she's glad 'bout dat--"

"Oh, see here!" Pierce's tone changed abruptly. "Of course Ididn't tell her. That's cold; it's off. D'you think I'd permit--"The boy choked and stammered. "D'you imagine for a minute that I'dlet you go through with a proposition like that? I understand whyyou made it--to get me away from the life I've been leading. Itwas bully of you, but--well, hardly. I'm not that sort. No, I'velaid off the old stuff, absolutely--straightened out. I've livedten years in the last ten days. Wait and see. 'Poleon, I'm thehappiest, the most deliriously happy man you ever saw. I only wantone thing. That's work and lots of it--the harder the better, solong as it's honest and self-respecting. What d'you think ofthat?"

"W'at I t'ink?" the woodsman said, warmly. "I t'ink dat's de bes'news of all. Mon ami, you got reecher pay-streak in you asFrenchman' Hill, if only you work 'im hard. But you need pardnerto get 'im out. " He winked meaningly. "I guess mebbe you fin' datpardner, eh?"

Pierce flushed; he nodded vigorously and laughed in the purest, frankest joy. "You're a good guesser. A partner--life partner! I--She--Oh, my Lord! I'm overflowing! I'm--Funny thing, I've neversaid a word to her; she doesn't know--"

"Ho, ho!" cried the elder man. 

"Oh, she does know, of course. If she didn't I wouldn't feel as Ido, but we've never actually mentioned it. I've got to provemyself, understand? It came to me of a sudden, struck me all in aheap, I can tell you. I saw what a fool I'd made of myself. What adamnable thing chance is, anyhow! It makes you, breaks you;carries you along and leaves you stranded finally, then sweeps youon again. Fortunately, she's big enough to understand and makeallowances. If she weren't, I'd die. I wouldn't want to live andnot make good. It's ecstasy and it's--pain. I'm frightened, too, at my own unworthiness--" Abruptly the speaker's voice ceased andhe bowed his head. 

'Poleon wet his dry lips and essayed to speak, but he could findnothing to say. Of course Rouletta was big enough to understandand make allowance for any human shortcomings. She was the sanest, the most liberal, the most charitable of girls. And it was true, too, that love came unbidden. He had learned that, to his cost. Itwas pretty hard to stand quietly and lend a sympathetic ear tothis lucky devil; it took an effort to maintain a smile, to keep afriendly gaze fixed upon Phillips' face. The big fellow wasgrowing weary of forever fighting himself. It would be a relief toget away and to yield to his misery. 

But with a lover's fatuous absorption in his own affairs Pierceresumed: "I've been thinking lately how I came to this countrylooking for Life, the big adventure. Everything that happened, good or bad, was part of a stage play. I've been two people inone--the fellow who did things and the fellow who looked on andapplauded--actor and audience. It was tremendously interesting inan unreal sort of way, and I jotted everything down mentally. Iwas stocking up with experience. Understand? Well, the whole thinghas suddenly become very different. I'm not in the gallery now, not in the theater at all, not acting. And I thank God for it. Idon't imagine that I make myself plain in the least--"

Evidently he had not; evidently, too, his auditor's mind hadstrayed slightly, for the latter said:

"I s'pose you t'inkin' all at once 'bout gettin'--marry, eh?"

Phillips paled; he uttered a panicky denial. "Not yet! Oh no--!That is, I've THOUGHT about it a good deal--can't think ofanything else--but it's too early yet. I'm in no position; I mustmake good first. "

"For why it's too early? Mebbe dis gal goin' tak' lot of fun inhe'p you mak' good. "

"I wonder--"

"Sure t'ing. All women is lak dat. You goin' t'ink of her afterdis, not yourse'f. She's got money--"

"Oh yes. That makes it hard, still--"

"Wal, you ain't broke, my frien', not wit' half interes' inDiscovery on Frenchman' Hill. "

"Once and for all, " Pierce protested, in extreme agitation, "Itell you I won't take it. My Lord! that's generous! You're aprincely fellow, Doret, but--the most you can give me is a job. Work? Yes, I'll eat that up. "

"All right. We talk 'bout dat 'noder tam. Now, mebbe so she lakhear de lates' news from you. Dere's plenty for tellin' her--'boutJoe McCaskey an' all de res'. You can spoke now, lak hones' man. Sapre! Don' you s'pose she's waitin' to hear you say you love her?An' how you goin' mak' big success? By Gar! I keeck you out discabin if you keep her waitin' some more!"

With a cry, half of trepidation, half of exultance, Phillipscrushed his cap upon his head. "I--I've a notion to. I can ALMOSTsay it; anyhow, I can say enough so she'll understand. Gad! Iwill! I just needed you to stiffen me up. " Fiercely he wrung thewoodsman's hand, and, forgetful of all else but his newdetermination, moved toward the door. "Thanks for all you've donefor me, old man, and all you've offered to do. "

"Frenchman' Hill is nice place for two nestin' doves--fine placefor sing an' be happy, " the other reminded him. 

In a choking voice Pierce exclaimed: "You're a prince, Doret, andI won't forget! A prince!"

He was gone; the cabin door had slammed shut with a crash. 'Poleonsank to a seat and with a long sigh bowed his head. 

It was over; he had done his bit. For a long while he remainedthere inert, his patient, haggard face bent, his eyes fixed uponthe floor. He felt very old, very much used up, and the labor ofthinking was unbearable. When the fire had died and a chill hadcrept into the room he roused himself to note that it had growndark. Manifestly, this would not do; there was the problem ofliving still to face. Sooner or later this very evening he must goto Rouletta and pretend to a joyousness he could never again know. That meant more smiles, more effort; it would take all he had inhim to carry it off, and, meanwhile, the more he let his minddwell upon her the more unbearable became his thoughts. Thissolitude was playing tricks with him. Enough of it! He must getout into the lights; he must hear voices and regain the mastery ofhimself through contact with sane people. Perhaps in the saloons, the restaurants, he could absorb enough laughter to make safe themockery he purposed; perhaps it would enable him to stamp a grinupon his features. 

But his impulse was futile; in spite of himself he shrank frompeople and hid himself unobtrusively in a corner of the firstplace he entered. He was hurt, wounded, sick to death; he longedto creep away somewhere and be alone with his pain. 

In order that he might the sooner be free to do so, he rosefinally and slunk out upon the street. It would soon be time forRouletta to go to work. He would get it over with. 

Cap in hand, his heart beating heavily at the prospect of merelyseeing her, he came on noiseless soles to her door. He could hearher stirring inside, so he took a deep breath and rapped softly. 

She uttered a cry when she saw him standing there; then a suddenpallor crept into her cheeks, a queer constraint enveloped her. Nevertheless, she put both her hands in his and drew him acrossthe threshold. She said something which neither of themunderstood. 

'Poleon's ears were roaring, but after a few moments he discoveredthat she was gently chiding him. Where had he been? Why had hedelayed so long, knowing all the time that she was dying to seehim and to hear his story? He could not understand herembarrassment, her shyness, the fact that she seemed hurt. 

"Wal, I'm tucker' out wit' travelin', " he declared. "Dat's hardes'trip ever I mak'. You hear 'bout 'im, eh?--'bout how McCaskey tellde truth?"

Rouletta nodded, with a curious little smile upon her lips. "Yes. I heard all about it, the first thing--how Rock ran down thosefellows--everything. The town was ringing with his name inside ofan hour. Of course, I went to the Barracks, finally, looking foryou. I'm just back. I saw the lieutenant and--he told me the truestory. "

'Poleon stirred uncomfortably. 

"He swore at you roundly and said he'd take it out of your skin assoon as he was able--giving him the credit. He told me it was youwho did it all--how you followed those men over the Line, alone, after he played out; how Joe McCaskey killed his own brother intrying to kill you. But the whole thing is public now. I heard itas I came back. You're quite a famous character in Dawson to-night, 'Poleon dear, what with this and with Frenchman's Hill. "

"Ho! Dat Frenchman' Hill, " the man broke out, hurriedly. "It'sbeeg s'prise for us, eh? Pierce told you 'bout dat?"

"Pierce?" The girl shook her head vaguely. 

"You 'member I stake two claim', one for you, one for me. Bygolly! ma soeur, you're millionaire. "

"I remembered, of course, " Rouletta said, faintly. I--" She closedher eyes. "I couldn't believe it, however. At first I didn'tunderstand where the strike had been made; then I couldn't creditit. I thought I was dreaming--"

"You dream as much as you can, " 'Poleon said, warmly. "Dey allcome true now. What? Everyt'ing come out nice, eh?"

Rouletta opened her eyes. They were shining; so, too, was herface. "Yes, my dream has come true--that is, my biggest, finestdream. I'm--the happiest girl in the world, 'Poleon. "

"Ma soeur!" the man cried brokenly and with a depth of feelingthat even Rouletta could not fathom. "I give my life to hear yousay dose word', to see dat light in your eye. No price too highfor dat. "

A silence, throbbing, intense, fell between them, Rouletta felther heart-beats swaying her. She opened her lips, but no soundissued. The figure before her was growing misty and she had towink the tears back into place. 

"'Ma soeur!'" she echoed, faintly. "I love to hear you say that, dear. It has grown to be a caress, a--kiss, when you say it. ButI've something to tell you--"

"I know. "

"Something you don't know and would never guess. I've foundanother brother. " When he stared at her in open bewilderment sherepeated: "Yes, another brother. I took him for somethingaltogether different, but--" She laughed happily. "What do youthink of a girl who doesn't know her own mind? Who lets the oneman, the real man, go away? She doesn't deserve much, does she?"

"Ma soeur! Ma soeur!" the big fellow cried, hoarsely. He hadfallen all atremble now; he could have believed himself dementedonly for something in Rouletta's face. "You mean--HIM? Wat's disyou sayin'?"

"I mean him--you. Who else could I mean? He doesn't care for me, but for another, and I'm--oh, so glad!"

"Mon Dieu!" 'Poleon gasped. "For why you look at me lak dat? Don'--don'--!" His cry was one of pain, of reproach; he closed his eyesthe while he strove to still his working features. He opened themwith a snap when a small, warm, tremulous hand closed over his. 

"You wouldn't mind if he called me his sister, if--if you calledme--something else, would you, dear?"

"Oh, ma soeur!" he whispered. "I'm poor, ignorant feller. I ain'tno good. But you--de bes' man in all de worl' would love you. "

"He does, but he won't say so, " Rouletta declared. "Come, must Isay it for him?"

One last protest the fellow voiced. "Me, I'm rough-neck man. Iscarcely read an' write. But you--"

"I'm a gambler's daughter, nothing more--a bold and forwardcreature. But I'm done with dealing. I'm tired of the game andhenceforth I'm going to be the 'lookout'--your 'lookout, ' dear. "With a choking little laugh the girl drew nearer, and, lifting hishands, she crept inside his arms. Then as life, vigor, firesucceeded his paralysis, she swayed closer, until her breast wasagainst his. 

With a wordless, hungry cry of ecstasy, so keen that it was akinto agony, 'Poleon Doret enfolded her in his great embrace. "Don'spoke no more, " he implored her. "I'll be wakin' up too soon. "

They stood so for a long time before she raised her dewy lips tohis. 

THE END