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Title: The Silver Horde

Author: Rex Beach

Release Date: July, 2004  [EBook #6017]
[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
[This file was first posted on October 17, 2002]

Edition: 10

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE SILVER HORDE ***




Carel Lyn Miske, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.



THE SILVER HORDE

BY REX BEACH

Author of "The Auction Block" "The Spoilers" "The Iron Trail" etc.





BOOKS BY REX BEACH


TOO FAT TO FIGHT
THE WINDS OF CHANCE
LAUGHING BILL HYDE
RAINBOW'S END
THE CRIMSON GARDENIA AND OTHER TALES OF ADVENTURE
HEART OF THE SUNSET
THE AUCTION BLOCK
THE IRON TRAIL
THE NET
THE NE'ER-DO-WELL
THE SPOILERS
THE BARRIER
THE SILVER HORDE
GOING SOME





CONTENTS




    I. WHEREIN A SPIRITLESS MAN AND A ROGUE APPEAR
   II. IN WHICH THEY BREAK BREAD WITH A LONELY WOMAN
  III. IN WHICH CHERRY MALOTTE DISPLAYS A TEMPER
   IV. IN WHICH SHE GIVES HEART TO A HOPELESS MAN
    V. IN WHICH A COMPACT IS FORMED
   VI. WHEREIN BOREAS TAKES A HAND
  VII. AND NEPTUNE TAKES ANOTHER
 VIII. WHEREIN BOYD ADMITS HIS FAILURE
   IX. AND IS GRANTED A YEAR OF GRACE
    X. IN WHICH BIG GEORGE MEETS HIS ENEMY
   XI. WHEREIN BOYD EMERSON IS TWICE AMAZED
  XII. IN WHICH MISS WAYLAND IS OF TWO MINDS
 XIII. IN WHICH CHERRY MALOTTE BECOMES SUSPICIOUS
  XIV. IN WHICH THEY RECOGNIZE THE ENEMY
   XV. THE DOORS OF THE VAULT SWING SHUT
  XVI. WILLIS MARSH COMES OUT FROM COVER
 XVII. A NEW ENEMY APPEARS
XVIII. WILLIS MARSH SPRINGS A TRAP
  XIX. IN WHICH A MUTINY IS THREATENED
   XX. WHEREIN "FINGERLESS" FRASER RETURNS
  XXI. A HAND IN THE DARK
 XXII. THE SILVER HORDE
XXIII. IN WHICH MORE PLANS ARE LAID
 XXIV. WHEREIN "THE GRANDE DAME" ARRIVES, LADEN WITH DISAPPOINTMENTS
  XXV. THE CHASE
 XXVI. IN WHICH A SCORE IS SETTLED
XXVII. AND A DREAM COMES TRUE





ILLUSTRATIONS




THE GIRL STOOD BAREHEADED UNDER THE WINTRY SKY
OUT ACROSS THE LONESOME WASTE THEY JOURNEYED
MILDRED CEASED PLAYING AND SWUNG ABOUT--"WHAT DO YOU MEAN?"




[Illustration: THE GIRL STOOD BAREHEADED UNDER THE WINTRY SKY]




THE SILVER HORDE




CHAPTER I

WHEREIN A SPIRITLESS MAN AND A ROGUE APPEAR




The trail to Kalvik leads down from the northward mountains over the
tundra which flanks the tide flats, then creeps out upon the salt ice of
the river and across to the village. It boasts no travel in summer, but by
winter an occasional toil-worn traveller may be seen issuing forth from
the Great Country beyond, bound for the open water; while once in thirty
days the mail-team whirls out of the forest to the south, pauses one night
to leave word of the world, and then is swallowed up in the silent hills.
Kalvik, to be sure, is not much of a place, being hidden away from the
main-travelled routes to the interior and wholly unknown except to those
interested in the fisheries.

A Greek church, a Russian school with a cassocked priest presiding, and,
about a hundred houses, beside the cannery buildings, make up the village.
At first glance these canneries might convey the impression of a
considerable city, for there are ten plants, in all, scattered along
several miles of the river-bank; but in winter they stand empty and still,
their great roofs drummed upon by the fierce Arctic storms, their high
stacks pointing skyward like long, frozen fingers black with frost. There
are the natives, of course, but they do not count, concealed as they are
in burrows. No one knows their number, not even the priest who gathers
toll from them.

Early one December afternoon there entered upon this trail from the
timberless hills far away to the northward a weary team of six dogs,
driven by two men. It had been snowing since dawn, and the dim sled-tracks
were hidden beneath a six-inch fluff which rendered progress difficult and
called the whip into cruel service. A gray smother sifted down sluggishly,
shutting out hill and horizon, blending sky and landscape into a blurred
monotone, playing strange pranks with the eye that grew tired trying to
pierce it.

The travellers had been plodding sullenly, hour after hour, dispirited by
the weight of the storm, which bore them down like some impalpable,
resistless burden. There was no reality in earth, air, or sky. Their
vision was rested by no spot of color save themselves, apparently swimming
through an endless, formless atmosphere of gray.

"Fingerless" Fraser broke trail, but to Boyd Emerson, who drove, he seemed
to be a sort of dancing doll, bobbing and swaying grotesquely, as if
suspended by invisible wires. At times, it seemed to the driver's
whimsical fancy as if each of them trod a measure in the centre of a
colorless universe, something after the fashion of goldfish floating in a
globe.

Fraser pulled up without warning and instantly the dogs stopped,
straightway beginning to soothe their trail-worn pads and to strip the
ice-pellets from between their toes. But the "wheelers" were too tired to
make the effort, so Emerson went forward and performed the task for them,
while Fraser floundered back and sank to a sitting posture on the sled.

"Whew!" he exclaimed, "this is sure tough. If I don't see a tree or
something with enough color to bust this monotony I'll go dotty."

"Another day like this and we'd both be snow-blind," observed Emerson
grimly, as he bent to his task. "But it can't be far to the river now."

"This fall has covered the trail till I have to feel it out with my feet,"
grumbled Fraser. "When I step off to one side I go in up to my hips. It's
like walking a plank a foot deep in feathers, and I feel like I was a mile
above the earth in a heavy fog." After a moment he continued: "Speaking of
feathers, how'd you like to have a fried chicken _a la_ Maryland?"

"Shut up!" said the man at the dogs, crossly.

"Well, it don't do any harm to think about it," growled Fraser, good-
naturedly. He felt out a pipe from his pocket and endeavored
unsuccessfully to blow through it, then complained:

"The damn thing is froze. It seems like a man can't practice no vices
whatever in this country. I'm glad I'm getting out of it."

"So am I," agreed the younger man. Having completed his task, he came back
to the sled and seated himself beside the other.

"As I was saying a mile back yonder," Fraser resumed, "whatever made you
snatch me away from them blue-coated minions of the law, I don't know. You
says it's for company, to be sure, but we visit with one another about
like two deef-mutes. Why did you do it, Bo?"

"Well, you talk enough for both of us."

"Yes, but that ain't no reason why you should lay yourself liable to the
'square-toes.' You ain't the kind to take a chance just because you're
lonesome."

"I picked you up because of your moth-eaten morals, I dare say. I was
tired of myself, and you interested me. Besides," Emerson added,
reflectively, "I have no particular cause to love the law, either."

"That's how I sized it," said Fraser, wagging his head with animation, "I
knew you'd had some kind of a run-in. What was it? This is low down, see,
and confidential, as between two crooks. I'll never snitch."

"Hold on there! I'm not a crook. I'm not sufficiently ingenious to be a
member of your honorable profession."

"Well, I guess my profession is as honorable as most. I've tried all of
them, and they're all alike. It's simply a question of how the other
fellow will separate easiest." He stopped and tightened his snow-shoe
thong, then rising, gazed curiously at the listless countenance of his
travelling companion, feeling anew the curiosity that had fretted him for
the past three weeks; finally he observed, with a trace of impatience:

"Well, if you ain't one of us, you'd ought to be. You've got the best
poker face I ever see; it's as blind as a plastered wall. You ain't had a
real expression on it since you hauled me off that ice-floe in Norton
Sound."

He swung ahead of the dogs; they rose reluctantly, and with a crack of the
whip the little caravan crawled noiselessly into the gray twilight.

An hour later they dropped from the plain, down through a gutter-like
gully to the river, where they found a trail, glass-hard beneath its downy
covering. A cold breath sucked up from the sea; ahead they saw the ragged
ice up-ended by the tide, but their course was well marked now, so they
swung themselves upon the sled, while the dogs shook off their lethargy
and broke into their pattering, tireless wolf-trot.

At length they came to a point where the trail divided, one branch leading
off at right angles from the shore and penetrating the hummocks that
marked the tide limit. Evidently it led to the village which they knew lay
somewhere on the farther side, hidden by a mile or more of sifting snow,
so they altered their course and bore out upon the river.

The going here was so rough that both men leaped from their seats and ran
beside the sled, one at the front, the other guiding it from the rear. Up
and down over the ridges the trail led, winding through the frozen
inequalities, the dogs never breaking their tireless trot. They mounted a
swelling ridge and rushed down to the level river ice beyond, but as they
did so they felt their footing sag beneath them, heard a shivering creak
on every side, and, before they could do more than cry out warningly, saw
water rising about the sled-runners. The momentum of the heavy sledge,
together with the speed of the racing dogs, forced them out upon the
treacherous ice before they could check their speed. Emerson shouted, the
dogs leaped, but with a crash the ice gave way, and for a moment the water
closed over him.

Clinging to the sled to save himself, his weight slowed it down, and the
dogs stopped. "Fingerless" Fraser broke through in turn, gasping as the
icy water rose to his armpits. Slowly at first the sled sank, till it
floated half submerged, and this spot which a moment before had seemed so
safe and solid became now a churning tangle of broken fragments, men and
dogs struggling in a liquid that seemed dark as syrup contrasted with the
surrounding whiteness. The lead animals, under whose feet the ice was
still firm, turned inquiringly, then settled on their haunches with
lolling tongues. The pair next ahead of the sledge paddled frantically,
straining to reach the solid sheet beyond, but were held back by their
harness. Emerson used the sled for a footing and endeavored to gain the
ice at one side, but it broke beneath him and he lunged in up to his
shoulders. Again he tried, but again the ice broke under his hand, more
easily now.

Fraser struggled to get out in the opposite direction, each man aiming to
secure an independent footing, but their efforts only enlarged the pool.
The chill went through them like thin blades, and they chattered
gaspingly, fighting with desperation, while the wheel dogs, involved in
the harness, began to whine and cough, at which Emerson shouted:

"Cut the team loose, quick!" But the other spat out a mouthful of salt
water and spluttered:

"I--I can't swim!"

Whereupon the first speaker half swam half dragged himself through the
slush and broken debris to the forward end of the sled, and seeking out
the sheath-knife from beneath his parka, cut the harness of the two
distressed animals. Once free, they scrambled to safety, shook themselves,
and rolled in the dry snow.

Emerson next attempted to lift the nose of the sled up on the ice,
shouting at the remainder of the team to pull, but they only wagged their
tails and whined excitedly at this unusual form of entertainment. Each
time he tried to lift the sled he crashed through fresh ice, finally
bearing the next pair of dogs with him, and then the two animals in the
lead. All of them became hopelessly entangled.

He could have won his way back to the permanent ice as Fraser was doing,
but there was no way of getting his team there and he would not sacrifice
those dumb brutes now growing frantic. One of them pawed the sheath-knife
from his hand. He had become almost numb with cold and despair when he
heard the jingle of many small bells, and a sharp command uttered in a new
voice.

Out of the snow fog from the direction in which they were headed broke a
team running full and free. At a word they veered to the right and came to
a pause, avoiding the danger-spot. Even from his hasty glance Emerson
marvelled at the outfit, having never seen the like in all his travels
through the North, for each animal of the twelve stood hip-high to a tall
man, and they were like wolves of one pack, gray and gaunt and wicked. The
basket-sled behind them was long and light, and of a design that was new
to him, while the furs in it were of white fox.

The figure wrapped up in them spoke again sharply, whereupon a tall Indian
runner left the team and headed swiftly for the scene of the accident. As
he approached, Emerson noted the fellow's flowing parka of ground-squirrel
skins, from which a score of fluffy tails fell free, and he saw that this
was no Indian, but a half-breed of peculiar coppery lightness. The man ran
forward till he neared the edge of the opening where the tide had caused
the floes to separate and the cold had not had time as yet to heal it;
then flattening his body to its full length on the ice, he crawled out
cautiously and seized the lead dog. Carefully he wormed his way backward
to security, then leaned his weight upon the tugline.

It had been a ticklish operation, requiring nice skill and dexterity, but
now that his footing was sure the runner exerted his whole strength, and
as the dogs scratched and tore for firm foothold, the sled came crunching
closer and closer through the half-inch skin of ice. Then he reached down
and dragged Emerson out, dripping and nerveless from his immersion.
Together they rescued the outfit.

The person in the sledge had watched them silently, but now spoke in a
strange patois, and the breed gave voice to her words, for it was a woman.

"One mile you go--white man house. Go quick--you freeze." He pointed back
whence the two men had come, indicating the other branch of the trail.

Fraser had emerged meanwhile and circled the water-hole, but even this
brief exposure to the open air had served to harden his wet garments into
a crackling armor. With rattling teeth, he asked:

"Ain't you got no dry clothes? Our stuff is soaked."

Again the Indian translated some words from the girl.

"No! You hurry and no stop here. We go quick over yonder. No can stop at
all."

He hurried back to his mistress, cried once to the pack of gray dogs,
"Oonah!" and they were off as if in chase. They left the trail and circled
toward the shore, the driver standing erect upon the heels of the runners,
guiding his team with wide-flung gestures and sharp cries, the rush of air
fluttering the many squirrel-tails of his parka like fairy streamers.

As they dashed past, both white men had one fleeting glimpse of a woman's
face beneath a furred hood, and then it was gone. For a moment they stood
and stared after the fast-dwindling team, while the breath of the Arctic
sea stiffened their garments and froze their boot-soles to the ice.

"Did you see?" Fraser ejaculated. "Good Lord, it's a _woman!_ A
_blonde_ woman!"

Emerson stirred himself. "Nonsense! She must be a breed," said he.

"Breeds don't have yellow hair!" declared the other.

Swiftly they bent in the free dogs and lashed the team to a run. They felt
the chill of death in their bones, and instead of riding they ran with the
sled till their blood beat painfully. Their outer coverings were like
shells, their underclothes were soaked, and although their going was
difficult and clumsy, they dared not stop, for this is the extremest peril
of the North.

Ten minutes later they swung over the river-bank and into the midst of
great rambling frame buildings, seen dimly through the falling snow. Their
trail led them to a high-banked cabin, from the stovepipe of which they
saw heat-waves pouring. The dogs broke into cry, and were answered by many
others conjured from their hiding-places. Both men were greatly distressed
by now, and could handle themselves only with difficulty. Another mile
would have meant disaster.

"Rout out the owner and tell him we're wet," said Emerson; "I'll free the
dogs."

As Fraser disappeared, the young man ran forward to slip the harness from
his animals, but found it frozen into their fur, the knots and buckles
transformed into unmanageable lumps of ice, so he wrenched the camp axe
from the sled and cut the thongs, then hacked loose the stiff sled-
lashings, seized the sodden sleeping-bags, and made for the house. A
traveller's first concern is for his dogs, then for his bedding.

Before he could reach the cabin the door opened and Fraser appeared, a
strange, dazed look on his face. He was followed by a large man of coarse
and sullen countenance, who paused on the threshold.

"Don't bother with the rest of the stuff," Emerson chattered.

"It's no use," Fraser replied; "we can't go in."

The former paused, forgetting the cold in his amazement.

"What's wrong? Somebody sick?"

"I don't know what's the matter. This man just says 'nix,' that's all."

The fellow, evidently a watchman, nodded his head, and growled, "Yaas! Ay
got no room."

"But you don't understand," said Emerson. "We're wet. We broke through the
ice. Never mind the room, we'll get along somehow." He advanced with the
tight-rolled sleeping-bags under his arm, but the man stood immovable,
blocking the entrance.

"You can't come in har! You find anoder house t'ree mile furder."

The traveller, however, paid no heed to these words, but pushed forward,
shifting the bundle to his shoulder and holding it so that it was thrust
into the Swede's face. Involuntarily the watchman drew back, whereupon the
unwelcome visitor crowded past, jostling his inhospitable host roughly,
laughing the while, although in his laughter there rang a dangerous
metallic note. Emerson's quick action gained him entrance and Fraser
followed behind into the living-room, where a flat-nosed squaw withdrew
before them. The young man flung down his burden, and addressed her
peremptorily.

"Punch up that fire, and get us something to eat, quick!" Turning to the
owner of the house, who lumbered in after them, he disregarded the
fellow's scowl, and said:

"Why, you've got lots of room, old man! We'll pay our way. Now get some
more firewood, will you? I'm chilled to the bone. That's a good fellow."
His forceful heartiness forbade dispute, and the man obeyed, sourly.

The two new-comers stripped off their outer clothing, and in a trice the
small room became littered and hung with steaming garments. They took
possession of the house, and ordered the Swede and his squaw about with
firm good nature, until the couple slunk into an inner room and began to
talk in low tones.

Fraser had been watching the fellow, and now remarked to his companion:

"Say, what ails that ginney?"

The assumption of good-nature fell away from Boyd Emerson as he replied:

"I never knew anybody to refuse shelter to freezing men before. There's
something back of this--he's got some reason for his refusal. I don't want
any trouble, but--"

The inner door opened, and the watchman reappeared. Evidently his sluggish
resolution had finally set itself.

"You can't stop har!" he said. "Ay got orders."

Emerson was at the fire, busy rubbing the cramps from his arms, and did
not answer. When Fraser likewise ignored the Swede, he repeated his
command, louder this time.

"Get out of may house, quick!"

Both men kept their backs turned and continued to ignore him, at which the
fellow advanced heavily, and threatened them in a big, raucous voice,
trembling with rage:

"By Yingo, Ay trow you out!"

He stooped and gathered up the garments nearest him, then stepped toward
the outer door; but before he could make good his threat, Emerson whirled
like a cat, his deep-set eyes dark with sudden fury, and seized his host
by the nape of the neck. He jerked him back so roughly that the wet
clothes flapped to the floor in four directions, whereat the Scandinavian
let forth a bellow; but Emerson struck him heavily on the jaw with his
open hand, then hurled him backward into the room so violently that he
reeled, and his legs colliding with a bench, he fell against the wall.
Before he could recover, his assailant stepped in between his wide-flung
hands and throttled him, beating his head violently against the logs. The
fellow undertook to grapple with him, at which Emerson wrenched himself
free, and, stepping back, spoke in a quivering voice which Fraser had
never heard before:

"I'm just playing with you now--I don't want to hurt you."

"Get out of my house! Ay got orders!" cried the watchman wildly, and made
for him again. It was evident that the man was not lacking in stupid
courage, but Emerson, driven to it, stepped aside, and swung heavily. The
squaw in the doorway screamed, and the Swede fell full length. Again Boyd
was upon him, the restraint of the past long weeks now unbridled, his
temper unchecked. He dragged his victim through the store-room, grinding
his face into the floor at every effort to rise. He forced him to his own
door-sill, jerked the door open, and kicked him out into the snow; then
barred the entrance, and returned to the warmth of the logs, his face
convulsed and his lips working.

"Fingerless" Fraser gazed at him queerly, as if at some utterly strange
phenomenon, then drawled, with a sly chuckle:

"Well, well, you're bloody gentle, I must say. I didn't think it was in
you."

When the other vouchsafed no answer, he took his pipe from a pocket of his
steaming mackinaw, and filled it from a tobacco-box on the window-sill;
then, leaning back in his chair, he propped his feet up on the table and
sighed luxuriously, as he murmured:

"These scenes of violence just upset me something dreadful!"





CHAPTER II

IN WHICH THEY BREAK BREAD WITH A LONELY WOMAN




It was perhaps two hours later that Fraser went to the window for the
twentieth time, and, breathing against the pane, cleared a peep-hole,
announcing:

"He's gone!"

Emerson, absorbed in a book, made no answer. After his encounter with the
householder he had said little, and upon finding this coverless, brown-
stained volume--a tattered copy of Don Quixote--he had relapsed into utter
silence.

"I say, he's gone!" reiterated the man at the window.

Still no reply was forthcoming, and, seating himself near the stove,
Fraser spread his hands before him in the shape of a book, and began
whimsically, in a dry monotone, as if reading to himself:

"At which startling news, Mr. Emerson, with his customary vivacity, smiled
engagingly, and answered back:

"'Why do you reckon he has departed, Mr. Fraser?"

"'Because he's lost his voice cussing us,' I replied, graciously.

"'Oh no!' exclaimed the genial Mr. Emerson, more for the sake of
conversation than argument; 'he has got cold feet!' Evidently unwilling to
let the conversation lag, the garrulous Mr. Emerson continued, 'It's a
dark night without, and I fear some mischief is afoot.'

"'Yes; but what of yonder beautchous gel?' said I, at which he burst into
wild laughter."

Emerson laid down his book.

"What are you muttering about?" he asked.

"I merely remarked that our scandalized Scandalusian has got tired of
singin' Won't You Open that Door and Let Me In? and has ducked."

"Where has he gone?"

"I ain't no mind-reader; maybe he's loped off to Seattle after a policeman
and a writ of _ne plus ultra._ Maybe he has gone after a clump of his
countrymen--this is herding-season for Swedes."

Without answering, Emerson rose, and, going to the inner door, called
through to the squaw:

"Get us a cup of coffee."

"Coffee!" interjected Fraser; "why not have a real feed? I'm hungry enough
to eat anything except salt-risin' bread and Roquefort cheese."

"No," said the other; "I don't want to cause any more trouble than
necessary."

"Well, there's a lot of grub in the cache. Let's load up the sled."

"I'm hardly a thief."

"Oh, but--"

"No!"

"Fingerless" Fraser fell back into sour silence.

When the slatternly woman had slunk forth and was busied at the stove,
Emerson observed, musingly:

"I wonder what possessed that fellow to act as he did."

"He said he had orders," Fraser offered. "If I had a warm cabin, a lot of
grub--and a squaw--I'd like to see somebody give _me_ orders."

Their clothing was dry now, and they proceeded to dress leisurely. As
Emerson roped up the sleeping-bags, Fraser suddenly suspended operations
on his attire, and asked, querulously:

"What's the matter? We ain't goin' to move, are we?"

"Yes. We'll make for one of the other canneries," answered Emerson,
without looking up.

"But I've got sore feet," complained the adventurer.

"What! again?" Emerson laughed skeptically. "Better walk on your hands for
a while."

"And it's getting dark, too."

"Never mind. It can't be far. Come now."

He urged the fellow as he had repeatedly urged him before, for Fraser
seemed to have the blood of a tramp in his veins; then he tried to
question the woman, but she maintained a frightened silence. When they had
finished their coffee, Emerson laid two silver dollars on the table, and
they left the house to search out the river-trail again.

The early darkness, hastened by the storm, was upon them when they crept
up the opposite bank an hour later, and through the gloom beheld a group
of great shadowy buildings. Approaching the solitary gleam of light
shining from the window of the watchman's house, they applied to him for
shelter.

"We are just off a long trip, and our dogs are played out," Emerson
explained. "We'll pay well for a place to rest."

"You can't stop here," said the fellow, gruffly.

"Why not?"

"I've got no room."

"Is there a road-house near by?"

"I don't know."

"You'd better find out mighty quick," retorted the young man, with rising
temper at the other's discourtesy.

"Try the next place below," said the watchman, hurriedly, slamming the
door in their faces and bolting it. Once secure behind his barricade, he
added: "If he won't let you in, maybe the priest can take care of you at
the Mission."

"This here town of Kalvik is certainly overjoyed at our arrival," said
Fraser, "ain't it?"

But his irate companion made no comment, whereat, sensing the anger behind
his silence, the speaker, for once, failed to extemporize an answer to his
own remark.

At the next stop they encountered the same gruff show of inhospitality,
and all they could elicit from the shock-headed proprietor was another
direction, in broken English, to try the Russian priest.

"I'll make one more try," said Emerson, between his teeth, gratingly, as
they swung out into the darkness a second time. "If that doesn't succeed,
then I'll take possession again. I won't be passed on all night this way."

"The 'buck' will certainly show us to the straw," said "Fingerless"
Fraser.

"The what?"

"The 'buck'--the sky-dog--oh, the priest!"

But when, a mile farther on, they drew up before a white pile surmounted
by a dimly discerned Greek cross, no sign of life was to be seen, and
their signals awakened no response.

"Gone!--and they knew it."

The vicious manner in which Emerson handled his whip as he said the words
betrayed his state of mind. Three weeks of unvarying hardship and toilsome
travel had worn out both men, and rendered them well-nigh desperate. Hence
they wasted no words when, for the fourth time, their eyes caught the
welcome sight of a shining radiance in the gloom of the gathering night.
The trail-weary team stopped of its own accord.

"Unhitch!" ordered Emerson, doggedly, as he began to untie the ropes of
the sled. He shouldered the sleeping-bags, and made toward the light that
filtered through the crusted windows, followed by Fraser similarly
burdened. But as they approached they saw at once that this was no
cannery; it looked more like a road-house or trading-post, for the
structure was low and it was built of logs. Behind and connected with it
by a covered hall or passageway crouched another squat building of the
same character, its roof piled thick with a mass of snow, its windows
glowing. Those warm squares of light, set into the black walls and
overhung by white-burdened eaves, gave the place the appearance of a
Christmas-card, it was so snug and cozy. Even the glitter was there,
caused by the rays refracted from the facets of the myriad frost-crystals.

They mounted the steps of the nigh building, and, without knocking, flung
the door open, entered, then tossed their bundles to the floor. With a
sharp exclamation at this unceremonious intrusion, an Indian woman, whom
they had surprised, dropped her task and regarded them, round-eyed.

"We're all right this time," observed Emerson, as he swept the place with
his eyes. "It's a store." Then to the woman he said, briefly: "We want a
bed and something to eat."

On every side the walls were shelved with merchandise, while the counter
carried a supply of clothing, skins, and what not; a cylindrical stove in
the centre of the room emanated a hot, red glow.

"This looks like the Waldorf to me," said "Fingerless" Fraser, starting to
remove his parka, the fox fringe on the hood of which was white from his
breath.

"What you want?" demanded the squaw, coming forward.

Boyd, likewise divesting himself of his furs, noticed that she was little
more than a girl--a native, undoubtedly; but she was neatly dressed, her
skin was light, and her hair twisted into a smooth black knot at the back
of her head.

"Food! Sleep!" he replied to her question.

"You can't stop here," the girl asserted, firmly.

"Oh yes, we can," said Emerson. "You have plenty of room, and there's lots
of food"--he indicated the shelves of canned goods.

The squaw, without moving, raised her voice and called: "Constantine!
Constantine!"

A door in the farther shadows opened, and the tall figure of a man
emerged, advancing swiftly, his soft soles noiseless beneath him.

"Well, well! It's old Squirrel-Tail," cried Fraser. "Good-evening,
Constantine."

It was the copper-hued native who had rescued them from the river earlier
in the day; but although he must have recognized them, his demeanor had no
welcome in it. The Indian girl broke into a torrent of excited volubility,
unintelligible to the white men.

"You no stop here," said Constantine, finally; and, making toward the
outer door, he flung it open, pointing out into the night.

"We've come a long way, and we're tired," Emerson argued, pacifically.
"We'll pay you well."

Constantine only replied with added firmness, "No," to which the other
retorted with a flash of rising anger, "_Yes!_"

He faced the Indian with his back to the stove, his voice taking on a
determined note. "We won't leave here until we are ready. We're tired, and
we're going to stay here--do you understand? Now tell your 'klootch' to
get us some supper. Quick!"

The breed's face blazed. Without closing the door, he moved directly upon
the interloper, his design recognizable in his threatening attitude; but
before he could put his plan into execution, a soft voice from the rear of
the room halted him.

"Constantine," it said.

The travellers whirled to see, standing out in relief against the darkness
of the passage whence the Indian had just come a few seconds before, the
golden-haired girl of the storm, to whom they had been indebted for their
rescue. She advanced, smiling pleasantly, enjoying their surprise.

"What is the trouble?"

"These men no stop here!" cried Constantine violently. "You speak! I make
them go."

"I--I--beg pardon," began Emerson. "We didn't intend to take forcible
possession, but we're played out--we've been denied shelter everywhere--we
felt desperate--"

"You tried the canneries above?" interrupted the girl.

"Yes."

"And they referred you to the priest? Quite so." She laughed softly, her
voice a mellow contralto. "The Father has been gone for a month; he
wouldn't have let you in if he'd been there."

She addressed the Indian girl in Aleut and signalled to Constantine, at
which the two natives retired--Constantine reluctantly, like a watch-dog
whose suspicions are not fully allayed.

"We're glad of an opportunity to thank you for your timely service this
afternoon," said Emerson. "Had we known you lived here, we certainly
should not have intruded in this manner." He found himself growing hotly
uncomfortable as he began to realize the nature of his position, but the
young woman spared him further apologies by answering, carelessly:

"Oh, that was nothing. I've been expecting you hourly. You see,
Constantine's little brother has the measles, and I had to get to him
before the natives could give the poor little fellow a Russian bath and
then stand him out in the snow. They have only one treatment for all
diseases. That's why I didn't stop and give you more explicit directions
this morning."

"If your--er--father--" The girl shook her head.

"Then your husband--I should like to arrange with him to hire lodgings for
a few days. The matter of money--"

Again she came to his rescue.

"I am the man of the house. I'm boss here. This splendor is all mine." She
waved a slender white hand majestically at the rough surroundings,
laughing in a way that put Boyd Emerson more at his ease. "You are quite
welcome to stay as long as you wish. Constantine objects to my
hospitality, and treats all strangers alike, fearing they may be Company
men. When you didn't arrive at dark, I thought perhaps he was right this
time, and that you had been taken in by one of the watchmen."

"We throwed a Swede out on his neck," declared Fraser, swelling with
conscious importance, "and I guess he's 'crabbed' us with the other
squareheads."

"Oh, no! They have instructions not to harbor any travellers. It's as much
as his job is worth for any of them to entertain you. Now, won't you make
yourselves at home while Constantine attends to your dogs? Dinner will
soon be ready, and I hope you will do me the honor of dining with me," she
finished, with a graciousness that threw Emerson into fresh confusion.

He murmured "Gladly," and then lost himself in wonder at this well-gowned
girl living amid such surroundings. Undeniably pretty, graceful in her
movements, bearing herself with certainty and poise--who was she? Where
did she come from? And what in the world was she doing here?

He became aware that "Fingerless" Fraser was making the introductions.
"This is Mr. Emerson; my name is French. I'm one of the Virginia Frenches,
you know; perhaps you have heard of them. No? Well, they're the real
thing."

The girl bowed, but Emerson forestalled her acknowledgment by breaking in
roughly, with a threatening scowl at the adventurer:

"His name isn't French at all, Madam; it's Fraser--'Fingerless' Fraser.
He's an utterly worthless rogue, and absolutely unreliable so far as I can
learn. I picked him up on the ice in Norton Sound, with a marshal at his
heels."

"That marshal wasn't after me," stoutly denied Fraser, quite unabashed.
"Why, he's a friend of mine--we're regular chums--everybody knows that. He
wanted to give me some papers to take outside, that's all."

Boyd shrugged his shoulders indifferently:

"Warrants!"

"Not at all! Not at all!" airily.

Their hostess, greatly amused at this remarkable turn of the ceremony,
prevented any further argument by saying:

"Well, French or Fraser, whichever it is, you are both welcome. However, I
should prefer to think of you as a runaway rather than as an intimate
friend of the marshal at Nome; I happen to know him."

"Well, we ain't what you'd exactly call pals," Fraser hastily disclaimed.
"I just sort of bow to him"--he gave an imitation of a slight, indifferent
headshake--"that way!"

"I see," commented their hostess, quizzically; then recalling herself, she
continued: "I should have made myself known before; I am Miss Malotte."

"Ch--" began the crook, then shut his lips abruptly, darting a shrewd
glance at the girl. Emerson saw their eyes meet, and fancied that the
woman's smile sat a trifle unnaturally on her lips, while the delicate
coloring of her face changed imperceptibly. As the fellow mumbled some
acknowledgment, she turned to the younger man, inquiring impersonally:

"I suppose you are bound for the States?"

"Yes; we intend to catch the mail-boat at Katmai. I am taking Fraser along
for company; it's hard travelling alone in a strange country. He's a
nuisance, but he's rather amusing at times."

"I certainly am," agreed that cheerful person, now fully at his ease.
"I've a bad memory for names!"--he looked queerly at his hostess--"but I'm
very amusing, very!"

"Not 'very,'" corrected Emerson.

Then they talked of the trail, the possibilities of securing supplies, and
of hiring a guide. By-and-by the girl rose, and after showing them to a
room, she excused herself on the score of having to see to the dinner.
When she had withdrawn, "Fingerless" Fraser pursed his thin lips into a
noiseless whistle, then observed:

"Well, I'll--be--cussed!"

"Who is she?" asked Emerson, in a low, eager tone. "Do you know?"

"You heard, didn't you? She's Miss Malotte, and she's certainly some
considerable lady."

The same look that Emerson had noted when their hostess introduced herself
to them flitted again into the crook's unsteady eyes.

"Yes, but _who_ is she? What does this mean?" Emerson pointed to the
provisions and fittings about them. "What is she doing here alone?"

"Maybe you'd better ask her yourself," said Fraser.

For the first time in their brief acquaintance, Emerson detected a strange
note in the rogue's voice, but it was too slight to provoke reply, so he
brushed it aside and prepared himself for dinner.

The Indian girl summoned them, and they followed her through the long
passageway into the other house, where, to their utter astonishment, they
seemed to step out of the frontier and into the heart of civilization.
They found a tiny dining-room, perfectly appointed, in the centre of
which, wonder of wonders, was a round table gleaming like a deep mahogany
pool, upon the surface of which floated gauzy hand-worked napery, glinting
silver, and sparkling crystal, the dark polish of the wood reflecting the
light from shaded candles. It held a delicately figured service of blue
and gold, while the selection of thin-stemmed glasses all in rows
indicated the character of the entertainment that awaited them. The men's
eyes were too busy with the unaccustomed sight to note details carefully,
but they felt soft carpet beneath their feet and observed that the walls
were smooth and harmoniously papered.

When one has lived long in the rough where things come with the husk on,
he fancies himself weaned away from the dainty, the beautiful, and the
artistic; after years of a skillet-and-sheath-knife existence he grows to
feel a scorn for the finer, softer, inconsequent trifles of the past, only
to find, of a sudden, that, unknown to him perhaps, his soul has been
hungering for them all the while. The feel of cool linen comes like the
caress of a forgotten sweetheart, the tinkle of glass and silver are so
many chiming fairy bells inviting him back into the foretime days. And so
these two unkempt men, toughened and browned to the texture of leather by
wind and snow, brought by trail and campfire to disregard ceremony and
look upon mealtime as an unsatisfying, irksome period, stood speechless,
affording the girl the feminine pleasure of enjoying their discomfiture.

"This is m--marvelous," murmured Emerson, suddenly conscious of his rough
clothing, his fur boots, and his hands cracked by frost. "I'm afraid we're
not in keeping."

"Indeed you are," said the girl, "and I am delighted to have somebody to
talk to. It's very lonesome here, month after month."

"This is certainly a swell tepee," Fraser remarked, staring about in open
admiration. "How did you do it?"

"I brought my things with me from Nome."

"Nome!" ejaculated Emerson, quickly.

"Yes."

"Why, I've been in Nome ever since the camp was discovered. It's strange
we never met."

"I didn't stay there very long. I went back to Dawson."

Again he fancied the girl's eyes held a vague challenge, but he could not
be sure; for she seated him, and then gave some instructions to the Aleut
girl, who had entered noiselessly. It was the strangest meal Boyd Emerson
had ever eaten, for here, in a forgotten corner of an unknown land, hidden
behind high-banked log walls, he partook of a perfect dinner, well served,
and presided over by a gracious, richly gowned young woman who talked
interestingly on many subjects, For a second time he lost himself in a
maze of conjecture. Who was she? What was her mission here? Why was she
alone? But not for long; he was too heavily burdened by the responsibility
and care of his own affairs to waste much time by the way on those of
other people; and becoming absorbed in his own thoughts, he grew more
silent as the signs of refinement and civilization about him revived
memories long stifled. Fraser, on the contrary, warmed by the wine,
blossomed like the rose, and talked garrulously, recounting marvellous
stories, as improbable as they were egotistical. He monopolized his
hostess' attention, the while his companion became more preoccupied, more
self-contained, almost sullen.

This was not the effect for which the girl had striven; her younger
guest's taciturnity, which grew as the dinner progressed, piqued her, so
at the first opportunity she bent her efforts toward rallying him. He
answered politely, but she was powerless to shake off his mood. It was not
abashment, as she realized when, from the corner of her eye, she observed
him covertly stroke the linen and finger the silver as if to renew a sense
of touch long unused. Being unaccustomed to any sort of indifference in
men, his spiritless demeanor put her on her mettle, yet all to no avail;
she could not find a seam in that mask of listless abstraction. At last he
spoke of his own accord:

"You said those watchmen have instructions not to harbor travellers. Why
is that?"

"It is the policy of the Companies. They are afraid somebody will discover
gold around here."

"Yes?"

"You see, this is the greatest salmon river in the world; the 'run' is
tremendous, and seems to be unfailing; hence the cannery people wish to
keep it all to themselves."

"I don't quite understand--"

"It is simple enough. Kalvik is so isolated and the fishing season is so
short that the Companies have to send their crews in from the States and
take them out again every summer. Now, if gold were discovered hereabouts,
the fishermen would all quit and follow the 'strike,' which would mean the
ruin of the year's catch and the loss of many hundreds of thousands of
dollars, for there is no way of importing new help during the short summer
months. Why, this village would become a city in no time if such a thing
were to happen; the whole region would fill up with miners, and not only
would labor conditions be entirely upset for years, but the eyes of the
world, being turned this way, other people might go into the fishing
business and create a competition which would both influence prices, and
deplete the supply of fish in the Kalvik River. So you see there are many
reasons why this region is forbidden to miners."

"I see."

"You couldn't buy a pound of food nor get a night's lodging here for a
king's ransom. The watchmen's jobs depend upon their unbroken bond of
inhospitality, and the Indians dare not sell you anything, not even a
dogfish, under penalty of starvation, for they are dependent upon the
Companies' stores."

"So that is why you have established a trading-post of your own?"

"Oh dear, no. This isn't a store. This food is for my men."

"Your men?"

"Yes, I have a crew out in the hills on a grub-stake. This is our cache.
While they prospect for gold, I stand guard over the provisions."

Fraser chuckled softly. "Then you are bucking the Salmon Trust?"

"After a fashion, yes. I knew this country had never been gone over, so I
staked six men, chartered a schooner, and came down here from Nome in the
early spring. We stood off the watchmen, and when the supply-ships
arrived, we had these houses completed, and my men were out in the hills
where it was hard to follow them. I stayed behind, and stood the brunt of
things."

"But surely they didn't undertake to injure you?" said Emerson, now
thoroughly interested in this extraordinary young woman.

"Oh, didn't they!" she answered, with a peculiar laugh. "You don't
appreciate the character of these people. When a man fights for money,
just plain, sordid money, he loses all sense of honor, chivalry, and
decency, he employs any means that come handy. There is no real code of
financial morality, and the battle for dollars is the bitterest of all
contests. Of course, being a woman, they couldn't very well attack me
personally, but they tried everything except physical violence, and I
don't know how long they will refrain from that. These plants are owned
separately, but they operate under an agreement, with one man at the head.
His name is Marsh--Willis Marsh, and, of course, he's not my friend."

"Sort of 'United we stand, divided we fall.'"

"Exactly. That spreads the responsibility, and seems to leave nobody
guilty for their evil deeds. The first thing they did was to sink my
schooner--in the morning you will see her spars sticking up through the
ice out in front there. One of their tugs 'accidentally' ran her down,
although she was at anchor fully three hundred feet inside the channel
line. Then Marsh actually had the effrontery to come here personally and
demand damages for the injury to his towboat, claiming there were no
lights on the schooner."

Cherry Malotte's eyes grew dark with indignation as she continued: "Nobody
thinks of hanging lanterns to little crafts like her at anchor under such
conditions. Having allowed me to taste his power, that man first
threatened me covertly, and then proceeded to persecute me in a more open
manner. When I still remained obdurate, he--he"--she paused. "You may have
heard of it. He killed one of my men."

"Impossible!" ejaculated Boyd.

"Oh, but it isn't impossible. Anything is possible with unscrupulous men
where there is no law; they halt at nothing when in chase of money. They
are different from women in that. I never heard of a woman doing murder
for money."

"Was it really murder?"

"Judge for yourself. My man came down for supplies, and they got him
drunk--he was a drinking man--then they stabbed him. They said a Chinaman
did it in a brawl, but Willis Marsh was to blame. They brought the poor
fellow here, and laid him on my steps, as if I had been the cause of it.
Oh, it was horrible, horrible!" Her eyes suddenly dimmed over and her
white hands clenched.

"And you still stuck to your post?" said Emerson, curiously.

"Certainly! This adventure means a great deal to me, and, besides, _I
will not be beaten_"--the stem of the glass with which she had been
toying snapped suddenly--"at anything."

She appeared, all in a breath, to have become prematurely hard and
worldly, after the fashion of those who have subsisted by their wits. To
Emerson she seemed to have grown at least ten years older. Yet it was
unbelievable that this slip of a woman should be possessed of the
determination, the courage, and the administrative ability to conduct so
desperate an enterprise. He could understand the feminine rashness that
might have led her to embark upon it in the first place, but to continue
in the face of such opposition--why, that was a man's work and required a
man's powers, and yet she was utterly unmasculine. Indeed, it seemed to
him that he had never met a more womanly woman. Everything about her was
distinctly feminine.

"Fortunately, the fishing season is short," she added, while a pucker of
perplexity came between her dainty brows; "but I don't know what will
happen next summer."

"I'd like to meet this Marsh-hen party," observed Fraser, his usually
colorless eyes a bright sea-green.

"Do you fear further--er--violence?" asked Emerson.

Cherry shrugged her rounded shoulders. "I anticipate it, but I don't fear
it. I have Constantine to protect me, and you will admit he is a capable
bodyguard." She smiled slightly, recalling the scene she had interrupted
before dinner. "Then, too, Chakawana, his sister, is just as devoted.
Rather a musical name, don't you think so, Chakawana? It means 'The
Snowbird' in Aleut, but when she's aroused she's more like a hawk. It's
the Russian in her, I dare say."

The girl became conscious that her guests were studying her with
undisguised amazement now, and therefore arose, saying, "You may smoke in
the other room if you wish."

Lost in wonder at this unconventional creature, and dazed by the
strangeness of the whole affair, Emerson gained his feet and followed her,
with "Fingerless" Fraser at his heels.





CHAPTER III

IN WHICH CHERRY MALOTTE DISPLAYS A TEMPER




The unsuspected luxury of the dining-room, and the excellence of the
dinner itself had in a measure prepared Emerson for what he found in the
living-room. One thing only staggered him--a piano. The bear-skins on the
floor, the big, sleepy chairs, the reading-table littered with magazines,
the shelves of books, even the basket of fancy-work--all these he could
accept without further parleying; but a piano! in Kalvik! Observing his
look, the girl said:

"I am dreadfully extravagant, am I not? But I love it, and I have so
little to do. I read and play and drive my dog-team--that's about all."

"And rescue drowning men in time for dinner," added Boyd Emerson, not
knowing whether he liked this young woman or not. He knew this north
country from bitter experience, knew that none but the strong can survive,
and recognizing himself as a failure, her calm assurance and self-
certainty offended him vaguely. It seemed as if she were succeeding where
he had failed, which rather jarred his sense of the fitness of things.
Then, too, conventionality is a very agreeable social bond, the true value
of which is not often recognized until it is found missing, and this girl
was anything but conventional.

Again he withdrew into that silent mood from which no effort on the part
of his hostess could arouse him, and it soon became apparent from the
listless hang of his hands and the distant light in his eyes that he had
even become unconscious of her presence in the room. Observing the cause
of her impatience, Fraser interrupted his interminable monologue to say,
without change of intonation:

"Don't get sore on him; he's that way half the time. I rode herd one night
on a feller that was going to hang for murder at dawn, and he set just
like that for hours." She raised her brows inquiringly, at which he
continued: "But you can't always tell; when my brother got married he
acted the same way."

After an hour, during which Emerson barely spoke, she tired of the other
man's anecdotes, which had long ceased to be amusing, and, going to the
piano, shuffled the sheet music idly, inquiring:

"Do you care for music?" Her remark was aimed at Emerson, but the other
answered:

"I'm a nut on it."

She ignored the speaker, and cast another question over her shoulder:

"What kind do you prefer?" Again the adventurer outran his companion to
the reply:

"My favorite hymn is the _Maple Leaf Rag_. Let her go, professor."

Cherry settled herself obligingly and played ragtime, although she fancied
that Emerson stirred uneasily as if the musical interruption disturbed
him; but when she swung about on her seat at the conclusion, he was still
lax and indifferent.

"That certainly has some class to it," "Fingerless" Fraser said,
admiringly. "Just go through the reperchure from soda to hock, will you?
I'm certainly fond of that coon clatter." And realizing that his pleasure
was genuine, she played on and on for him, to the muffled thump of his
feet, now and then feeding her curiosity with a stolen glance at the
other. She was in the midst of some syncopated measure when Boyd spoke
abruptly: "Please play something."

She understood what he meant and began really to play, realizing very soon
that at least one of her guests knew and loved music. Under her deft
fingers the instrument became a medium for musical speech. Gay roundelays,
swift, passionate Hungarian dances, bold Wagnerian strains followed in
quick succession, and the more utter her abandon the more certainly she
felt the younger man respond.

Strange to say, the warped soul of "Fingerless" Fraser likewise felt the
spell of real music, and he stilled his loose-hinged tongue. By-and-by she
began to sing, more for her own amusement than for theirs, and after
awhile her fingers strayed upon the sweet chords of Bartlett's _A
Dream_, a half-forgotten thing, the tenderness of which had lived with
her from girlhood. She heard Emerson rise, then knew he was standing at
her shoulder. Could he sing, she wondered, as he began to take up the
words of the song? Then her dream-filled eyes widened as she listened to
his voice breathing life into the beautiful words. He sang with the ease
and flexibility of an artist, his powerful baritone blending perfectly
with her contralto.

For the first time she felt the man's personality, his magnetism, as if he
had dropped his cloak and stood at her side in his true semblance. As they
finished the song she wheeled abruptly, her face flushed, her ripe lips
smiling, her eyes moist, and looked up to find him marvelously
transformed. His even teeth gleamed forth from a brown face that had
become the mirror of a soul as spirited as her own, for the blending of
their voices had brought them into a similar harmony of understanding.

"Oh, _thank_ you," she breathed.

"Thank _you_," he said. "I--I--that's the first time in ages that
I've had the heart to sing. I was hungry for music, I was starving for it.
I've sat in my cabin at night longing for it until my soul fairly ached
with the silence. I've frozen beneath the Northern Lights straining my
ears for the melody that ought to go with them--they must have an
accompaniment somewhere, don't you think so?"

"Yes, yes," she breathed.

"They _must_ have; they are too gloriously, terribly beautiful to be
silent. I've stood in the whispering spruce groves and tried to sing
contentment back into my heart, but I couldn't do it. This is the first
real taste I've had in three years. Three years!"

He was talking rapidly, his blue eyes dancing. Cherry remembered thinking
at dinner that those eyes were of too light and hard a blue for
tenderness. She now observed that they were singularly deep and
passionate.

"Why, I've gone about with a comb and a piece of tissue-paper at my lips
like any kid. I once made a banjo out of a cigar-box and bale wire, and
while I was in the Kougarok I walked ten miles to hear a nigger play a
harmonica. I did all sorts of things to coax music into this country, but
it is silent and unresponsive, absolutely dead and discordant." He made a
gesture which in a woman would have ended in a shudder.

He took a seat near the girl, and continued to talk feverishly, unable to
give voice to his thoughts rapidly enough. His reserve vanished, his
silence gave way to a confidential warmth which suffused his listener and
drew her to him. The overpowering force of his strong nature swept her out
of herself, while her ready sympathy took fire and caught at his half-
expressed ideas and stumbling words, stimulating him with her warm
understanding. Her quick wit rallied him and awoke echoes of his past
youth, until they began to laugh and jest with the _camaraderie_ of
boy and girl. With their better acquaintance her assumption of masculinity
fell from her, and she became the "womanly woman"--dainty, vivacious,
captivating.

Fraser, whom both had forgotten, looked on at first in gaping, silent awe,
staring and blinking at his travelling companion, who had undergone such a
metamorphosis. But restraint and silence were impossible to him for long,
and in time he ambled clumsily into the conversation. It jarred, of
course, but he could not be ignored, and gradually he claimed more and
more of the talk until the young couple yielded to the monologue, smiling
at each other in mutual understanding.

Emerson listened tolerantly, idly running through the magazines at his
hand, his hostess watching him covertly, albeit her ears were drummed by
the other's monotone. How much better this mood became the young man!
Suddenly the smile of amusement that lurked about his lip corners and gave
him a pleasing look hardened in a queer fashion--he started, then stared
at one of the pages while the color died out of his brown cheeks. Cherry
saw the hand that held the magazine tremble. He looked up at her, and,
disregarding Fraser, broke in, harshly:

"Have you read this magazine?"

"Not entirely. It came in the last mail."

"I'd like to take one page out of it," he said. "May I?"

"Why, certainly," she replied. "You may have the whole thing if you like."
He produced a knife, and with one quick stroke cut a single leaf out of
the magazine, which he folded and thrust into the breast of his coat.

"Thank you," he muttered; then fell to staring ahead of him, again
heedless of his surroundings. This abrupt relapse into his former state of
sullen and defiant silence tantalized the girl to the verge of anger,
especially now that she had seen something of his true self. She was
painfully conscious of a sense of betrayal at having yielded so easily to
his pleasant mood, only to be shut out on an instant's whim, while a
girlish curiosity to know the cause of the change overpowered her. He
offered no explanation, however, and took no further part in the
conversation until, noting the lateness of the hour, he rose and thanked
her for her hospitality in the same deadly indifferent manner.

"The music was a great treat," he said, looking beyond her and holding
aloof--"a very great treat. I enjoyed it immensely. Good-night."

Cherry Malotte had experienced a new sensation, and she didn't like it.
She vowed angrily that she disliked men who looked past her; indeed, she
could not recall any other who had ever done so. Her chief concern had
always been to check their ardor. She resolved viciously that before she
was through with this young man he would make her a less listless adieu.
She assured herself that he was a selfish, sullen boor, who needed to be
taught a lesson in manners for his own good if for nothing else; that a
woman's curiosity had aught to do with her exasperation she would have
denied. She abhorred curiosity. As a matter of fact, she told herself that
he did not interest her in the least, except as a discourteous fellow who
ought to be shocked into a consciousness of his bad manners, and therefore
the moment the two men were well out of the room she darted to the table,
snatched up the magazine, and skimmed through it feverishly. Ah! here was
the place!

A woman's face with some meaningless name beneath filled each page. Along
the top ran the heading, "Famous American Beauties." So it was a woman!
She skipped backward and forward among the pages for further possible
enlightenment, but there was no article accompanying the pictures. It was
merely an illustrated section devoted to the photographs of prominent
actresses and society women, most of whom she had never heard of, though
here and there she saw a name that was familiar. In the centre was that
tantalizingly clean-cut edge which had subtracted a face from the gallery
--a face which she wanted very much to see. She paused and racked her
brain, her brows furrowed with the effort at recollection, but she had
only glanced at the pages when the magazine came, and had paid no
attention to this part of it. Her anger at her failure to recall this
particular face aroused her to the fact that she was acting very
foolishly, at which she laughed aloud.

"Well, what of it?" she demanded of the empty room. "He's in love with
some society ninny, and I don't care what she looks like." She shrugged
her shoulders carelessly; then, in a sudden access of fury, she flung the
mutilated magazine viciously into a far corner of the room.

The travellers slept late on the following morning, for the weariness of
weeks was upon them, and the little bunk-room they occupied adjoined the
main building and was dark. When they came forth they found Chakawana in
the store, and a few moments later were called to breakfast.

"Where is your mistress?" inquired Boyd.

"She go see my sick broder," said the Indian girl, recalling Cherry's
mention of the child ill with measles. "She all the time give medicine to
Aleut babies," Chakawana continued. "All the time give, give, give
something. Indian people love her."

"She's sort of a Lady Bountiful to these bums," remarked Fraser.

"Does she let them trade in yonder?" Boyd asked, indicating the store.

"Oh yes! Everything cheap to Indian people. Indian got no money, all the
same." Then, as if realizing that her hasty tongue had betrayed some
secret of moment, the Aleut girl paused, and, eying them sharply,
demanded, "What for you ask?"

"No reason in particular."

"What for you ask?" she insisted. "Maybe you b'long Company, eh?" Emerson
laughed, but she was not to be put off easily, and, with characteristic
guile, announced boldly: "I lie to you. She no trade with Aleut people.
No; Chakawana lie!"

"She's afraid we'll tell this fellow Marsh," Fraser remarked to Emerson;
then, as if that name had some powerful effect upon their informant,
Chakawana advanced to the table, and, leaning over it, said:

"You know Willis Marsh?" Her pretty wooden face held a mingled expression
of fear, malice, and curiosity.

"Ouch!" said Fraser, shoving back from his plate. "Don't look at me like
that before I've had my coffee."

"Maybe you know him in San Flancisco, eh?"

"No, no! We never heard of him until last night."

"I guess you lie!" She smiled at them wheedlingly, but Boyd reassured her.

"No! We don't know him at all."

"Then what for you speak his name?"

"Miss Malotte told us about him at dinner."

"Oh!"

"By-the-way, what kind of a looking feller is he?" asked Fraser.

"He's fine, han'some man," said Chakawana. "Nice fat man. Him got hair
like--like fire."

"He's fat and red-headed, eh? He must be a picture."

"Yes," agreed the girl, rather vaguely.

"Is he married?"

"I don't know. Maybe he lie. Maybe he got woman."

"The masculine sex seems to stand like a band of horse-thieves with this
dame," Fraser remarked to his companion. "She thinks we're all liars."

After a moment, Chakawana continued, "Where you go now?"

"To the States; to the 'outside,'" Boyd answered.

"Then you see Willis Marsh, sure thing. He lives there. Maybe you speak,
eh?"

"Well, Mr. Marsh may be a big fellow around Kalvik, but I don't think he
occupies so much space in the United States that we will meet him,"
laughed Emerson; but even yet the girl seemed unconvinced, and went on
rather fearfully: "Maybe you see him all the same."

"Perhaps. What then?"

"You speak my name?"

"Why, no, certainly not."

"If I see him, I'll give him your love," offered "Fingerless" Fraser,
banteringly; but Chakawana's light-hued cheeks blanched perceptibly, and
she cried, quickly:

"No! No! Willis Marsh bad, bad man. You no speak, please! Chakawana poor
Aleut girl. Please?"

Her alarm was so genuine that they reassured her; and having completed
their meal, they rose and left the room. Outside, Fraser said: "This
cannery guy has certainly buffaloed these savages. He must be a slave-
driver." Then as they filled their pipes, he added: "She was plumb scared
to death of him, wasn't she?"

"Think so?" listlessly.

"Sure. Didn't she show it?"

"Um-m, I suppose so."

They were still talking when they heard the jingle of many bells, then a
sharp command from Constantine, and the next instant the door burst open
to admit Cherry, who came with a rush of youth and health as fresh as the
bracing air that followed her. The cold had reddened her cheeks and
quickened her eyes; she was the very embodiment of the day itself,
radiantly bright and tinglingly alive.

"Good-morning, gentlemen!" she cried, removing the white fur hood which
gave a setting to her sparkling eyes and teeth. "Oh, but it's a glorious
morning! If you want to feel your blood leap and your lungs tingle, just
let Constantine take you for a spin behind that team. We did the five
miles from the village in seventeen minutes."

"And how is your measley patient?" asked Fraser.

"He's doing well, thank you." She stepped to the door to admit Chakawana,
who had evidently hurried around from the other house, and now came in,
bareheaded and heedless of the cold, bearing a bundle clasped to her
breast. "I brought the little fellow home with me. See!"

The Indian girl bore her burden to the stove, where she knelt to lift the
covering from the child's face.

"Hey there! Look out!" ejaculated Fraser, retreating in alarm. "I never
had no measles." But Chakawana went on cuddling the infant in a motherly
fashion while Cherry reassured her guests.

"Is that an Indian child?" asked Emerson, curiously, noting the little
fellow's flushed fair skin. The kneeling girl turned upward a pair of
tearful, defiant eyes, answering quickly:

"Yes, him Aleut baby."

"Him our little broder," came the deep voice of Constantine, who had
entered unnoticed; and a moment later, in obedience to an order from
Cherry, they bore their charge to their own quarters at the rear.





CHAPTER IV

IN WHICH SHE GIVES HEART TO A HOPELESS MAN




"I dare say Kalvik is rather lively during the summer season," Emerson
remarked to Cherry, later in the day.

"Yes; the ships arrive in May, and the fish begin to run in July. After
that nobody sleeps."

She had come upon him staring dispiritedly at the fire, and his dejection
softened her and drew out her womanly sympathy. She had renewed her
efforts to cheer him up, seeking to stir him out of the gloom that
imprisoned him. With the healthy optimism and exuberance of her normal
youth she could not but deplore the mischance that had changed him into
the sullen, silent brute he seemed.

"It must be rather interesting," he observed, indifferently.

"It is more than that; it is inspiring. Why, the story of the salmon is an
epic in itself. You know they live a cycle of four years, no more, always
returning to the waters of their nativity to die; and I have heard it said
that during one of those four years they disappear, no one knows where,
reappearing out of the mysterious depths of the sea as if at a signal.
They come by the legion, in countless scores of thousands; and when once
they have tasted the waters of their birth they never touch food again,
never cease their onward rush until they become bruised and battered
wrecks, drifting down from the spawning-beds. When the call of nature is
answered and the spawn is laid they die. They never seek the salt sea
again, but carpet the rivers with their bones. When they feel the homing
impulse they come from the remotest depths, heading unerringly for the
particular parent stream whence they originated. If sand-bars should block
their course in dry seasons or obstacles intercept them, they will hurl
themselves out of the water in an endeavor to get across. They may
disregard a thousand rivers, one by one; but when they finally taste the
sweet currents which flow from their birthplaces their whole nature
changes, and even their physical features alter: they grow thin, and the
head takes on the sinister curve of the preying bird."

"I had no idea they acted that way," said Boyd. "You paint a vivid
picture."

"That's because they interest me. As a matter of fact, these fisheries are
more fascinating than any place I've ever seen. Why, you just ought to
witness the 'run.' These empty waters become suddenly crowded, and the
fish come in a great silver horde, which races up, up, up toward death and
obliteration. They come with the violence of a summer storm; like a
prodigious gleaming army they swarm and bend forward, eager, undeviating,
one-purposed. It's quite impossible to describe it--this great silver
horde. They are entirely defenceless, of course, and almost every living
thing preys upon them. The birds congregate in millions, the four-footed
beasts come down from the hills, the Apaches of the sea harry them in
dense droves, and even man appears from distant coasts to take his toll;
but still they press bravely on. The clank of machinery makes the hills
rumble, the hiss of steam and the sighs of the soldering-furnaces are like
the complaint of some giant overgorging himself. The river swarms with the
fleets of fish-boats, which skim outward with the dawn to flit homeward
again at twilight and settle like a vast brood of white-winged gulls. Men
let the hours go by unheeded, and forget to sleep."

"What sort of men do they hire?"

"Chinese, Japs, and Italians, mainly. It's like a foreign country here,
only there are no women. The bunk-rooms are filled with opium fumes and
noisy with clacking tongues. On one side of the village streets the
Orientals burn incense to their Joss, across the way the Latins worship
the Virgin. They work side by side all day until they are ready to drop,
then mass in the street and knife each other over their rival gods."

"How long does it all last?"

"Only about six weeks; then the furnace fires die out, the ships are
loaded, the men go to sleep, and the breezes waft them out into the August
haze, after which Kalvik sags back into its ten months' coma, becoming, as
you see it now, a dead, deserted village, shunned by man."

"Jove! you have a graphic tongue," said Boyd, appreciatively. "But I don't
see how those huge plants can pay for their upkeep with such a short run."

"Well, they do; and, what's more, they pay tremendously; sometimes a
hundred per cent. a year or more."

"Impossible!" Emerson was now thoroughly aroused, and Cherry continued:

"Two years ago a ship sailed into port in early May loaded with an army of
men, with machinery, lumber, coal, and so forth. They landed, built the
plant, and had it ready to operate by the time the run started. They made
their catch, and sailed away again in August with enough salmon in the
hold to pay twice over for the whole thing. Willis Marsh did even better
than that the year before, but of course the price of fish was high then.
Next season will be another big year."

"How is that?"

"Every fourth season the run is large; nobody knows why. Every time there
is a Presidential election the fish are shy and very scarce; that lifts
prices. Every year in which a President of the United States is
inaugurated they are plentiful."

Boyd laughed. "The Alaska salmon takes more interest in politics than I
do. I wonder if he is a Republican or a Democrat?"

"Inasmuch as he is a red salmon, I dare say you'd call him a Socialist,"
laughed Cherry.

Emerson rose, and began to pace back and forth. "And you mean to say the
history of the other canneries is the same?"

"Certainly."

"I had no idea there were such profits in the fisheries up here."

"Nobody knows it outside of those interested. The Kalvik River is the most
wonderful salmon river in the world, for it has never failed once; that's
why the Companies guard it so jealously; that's why they denied you
shelter. You see, it is set away off here in one corner of Behring Sea
without means of communication or access, and they intend to keep it so."

It was evident that the young man was vitally interested now. Was it the
prospective vision of almighty dollars that was needed to release the
hidden spring that had baffled the girl? With this clue in mind, she
watched him closely and fed his eagerness.

"These figures you mention are on record?" he inquired.

"I believe they are available."

"What does it cost to install and operate a cannery for the first season?"

"About two hundred thousand dollars, I am told. But I believe one can
mortgage his catch or borrow money on it from the banks, and so not have
to carry the full burden."

The man stared at his companion with unseeing eyes for a moment, then
asked: "What's to prevent me from going into the business?"

"Several things. Have you the money?"

"Possibly. What else?"

"A site."

"That ought to be easy."

Cherry laughed. "On the contrary, a suitable cannery site is very hard to
get, because there are natural conditions necessary, fresh flowing water
for one; and, furthermore, because the companies have taken them all up."

"Ah! I see." The light died out of Emerson's eyes, the eagerness left his
voice. He flung himself dejectedly into a chair by the fire, moodily
watching the flames licking the burning logs. All at once he gripped the
arms of his chair, and muttered through set jaws: "God, I'd like to take
one more chance!" The girl darted a swift look at him, but he fell to
brooding again, evidently insensible to her presence. At length he stirred
himself to ask: "Can I hire a guide hereabout? We'll have to be going on
in a day or so."

"Constantine will get you one. I suppose, of course, you will avoid the
Katmai Pass?"

"Avoid it? Why?"

"It's dangerous, and nobody travels it except in the direst emergency.
It's much the shortest route to the coast, but it has a record of some
thirty deaths. I should advise you to cross the range farther east, where
the divide is lower. The mail-boat touches at both places."

He nodded agreement. "There's no use taking chances. I'm in no hurry. I
wish there was some way of repaying you for your kindness. We were pretty
nearly played out when we got here."

"Oh, I'm quite selfish," she disclaimed. "If you endured a few months of
this monotony, you'd understand."

During the rest of that day Boyd was conscious several times of being
regarded with scrutinizing eyes by Cherry. At dinner, and afterward in the
living-room while Fraser talked, he surprised the same questioning look on
her face. Again she played for him, but he refused to sing, maintaining an
unbroken taciturnity. After they retired she sat long alone, her brows
furrowed as if wrestling with some knotty problem. "I wonder if he would
do it!" she said, at last. "I wonder if he _could_ do it!" She rose,
and began to pace the floor; then added, as if in desperation: "Well, I
must do _something_, for this can't last. Who knows--perhaps this is
my chance; perhaps he has been sent."

There are times when momentous decisions are influenced by the most
trivial circumstances; times when affairs of the greatest importance are
made or marred by the lift of an eyebrow or the tone of a voice; times
when life-long associations are severed and new ties contracted purely
upon intuition, and this woman felt instinctively that such an hour had
now struck for her. It was late before she finally came to peace with the
conflict in her mind and lay herself down to rest.

On the following morning she told Constantine to hitch up her team and
have it waiting when breakfast was finished. Then she turned to Emerson,
who came into the room, and said, quietly:

"I have something to show you if you will take a short ride with me."

The young man, impressed by the gravity of her manner, readily consented.
Half an hour later he wrapped her up in the sledge-robe and took station
at the rear, whip in hand. Constantine freed the leader, and they went off
at a mad run, whisking out from the buildings and swooping down the steep
bank to the main-travelled trail. When they had gained the level and the
dogs were straightened into their gait, they skimmed over the snow with
the flight of a bird.

"That's a wonderful team you have," Boyd observed, as he glanced over the
double row of undulating gray backs and waving plume-like tails.

"The best in the country," she smiled back at him. "They are good for a
hundred miles a day."

The young man gave himself up to the unique and rather delightful
experience of being transported through an unknown country to an unknown
destination by a charming girl of whom he also knew nothing. He watched
her in silence; but when he forebore to question her, she turned, exposing
a rounded, ravishing cheek, glowing against the white fur of her hood.

"Have you no curiosity, sir?"

"None! Nothing but satisfaction," he observed.

It was his first attempt at gallantry, and she flashed him a bright,
approving glance. Then, as if suddenly checked by second thought, she
frowned slightly and turned away. She had mapped out a course of action
during the night in which it was her purpose to use this man if he proved
amenable, but the success of her plan would depend largely on a
continuance of their present friendly relations. In order, therefore, to
forestall any possible change of base, she began to unfold her scheme in a
business-like tone:

"Yesterday you seemed to be taken by the fishing business."

"I certainly was until you told me there were no cannery sites left."

"There is one. When I came here a year ago the whole river was open, so on
an outside chance I located a site, the best one available. When Willis
Marsh learned of it, he took up all of the remaining places, and, although
at the time I had no idea what I was going to do with my property, I have
hung on to it."

"Is that where we are going?"

"Yes. You seemed eager yesterday to get in on a new chance, so I am taking
you out to look over the ground."

"What's the use? I can't buy your site."

"Nobody asked you to," she smiled. "I wouldn't sell it to you if you had
the money; but if you will build a cannery on it, I'll turn in the ground
for an interest."

Emerson meditated a moment, then replied: "I can't say yes or no. It's a
pretty big proposition--two hundred thousand dollars, you said?"

"Yes. It's a big opportunity. You can clean up a hundred per cent. in a
year. Do you think you could raise the money to build a plant?"

"I might. I have some wealthy friends," he said, cautiously. "But I am not
sure."

"At least you can try? That's all anybody can do."

"But I don't know anything about the business. I couldn't make it
succeed."

"I've thought of all that, and there's a way to make success certain. I
believe you have executive ability and can handle men."

"Oh yes; I've done that sort of thing." His broad shoulders went up as he
drew a long breath. "What's your plan?"

"There's a man down the coast, George Balt, who knows more about the
business than any four people in Kalvik. He's been a fisherman all his
life. He discovered the Kalvik River, built the first cannery here, and
was its foreman until he quarrelled with Marsh, who proceeded to
discipline him. Balt isn't the kind of man to be disciplined; so, not
having enough money to build a cannery, he took his scanty capital and
started a saltery on his own account. That suited Marsh exactly; he broke
George in a year, absolutely ruined him, utterly wiped him out, just as he
intends to wipe out insignificant me! Thinking to bide his time and recoup
his fallen fortunes George came back into camp; but he owns a valuable
trap site which Marsh and his colleagues want; and before they would give
him work, they tried to make him assign it to them, and contract never to
go in business on his own account. Naturally George refused, so they
disciplined him some more. He's been starving now for two years. Marsh and
his companions rule this region just as the Hudson's Bay Company used to
govern its concessions: by controlling the natives and preventing
independent white men from gaining a foothold.

"No man dares to furnish food to George Balt; no man dares to give him a
bed, no cannery will let him work. He has to take a dory to Dutch Harbor
to get food. He doesn't dare leave the country and abandon the meagre
thousands he has invested in buildings, so he has stayed on living off the
country like a Siwash. He's a simple, big-hearted sort of fellow, but his
life is centred in this business; it's all he knows. He considers himself
the father of this section; and when he sees others rounding up the task
that he began, it breaks his poor heart. Why, every summer when the run
starts he comes across the marshes and slinks about the Kalvik thickets
like a wraith, watching from afar just in order to be near it all. He
stands alone and forsaken, harking to the clank of the machinery, every
bolt of which he placed; watching his enemies enrich themselves from that
gleaming silver army, which he considers his very own. He is shunned like
a leper. No man is allowed to speak to him or render him any sort of
fellowship, and it has made the man half mad, it has turned him into a
vengeful, hate-filled fanatic, living only for retaliation. Some time I
believe he will kill Marsh."

"Hm-m! One seems to be forever crossing the trail of this Marsh," said
Boyd, who had listened intently.

"Yes. His aim is to gain control of this whole region, and if you decide
to go into the enterprise you must expect to find him the most
unscrupulous and vindictive enemy ever man had; make no mistake about
that. It's only fair to warn you that this will be no child's play; but,
on the other hand, the man who beats Marsh will have done something." She
paused as if weighing her next words, then said, deliberately: "And I
believe you are the one to do it."

But Emerson was not concerned about his destiny just then, nor for the
dangerous enmity of Marsh. He was following another train of thought.

"And so Balt knows this business from the inside out?" he said.

"Thoroughly; every dip, angle, and spur of it, so to speak. He's practical
and he's honest, in addition to which his trap-site is the key to the
whole situation. You see, the salmon run in regular definite courses, year
after year, just as if they were following a beaten track. At certain
places these courses come close to the shore where conditions make it
possible to drive piling and build traps which intercept them by the
million. One trap will do the work of an army of fishermen with nets in
deep water. It is to get this property for himself that Marsh has
persecuted George so unflaggingly."

"Would he join us in such an enterprise, with five chances to one against
success?"

"Would he!" Cherry laughed. "Wait and see."

They had reached their destination--the mouth of a deep creek, up which
Cherry turned her dogs. Emerson leaped from the sled, and, running
forward, seized the leader, guiding it into a clump of spruce, among the
boles of which he tangled the harness, for this team was like a pack of
wolves, ravenous for travel and intolerant of the leash.

Together they ascended the bank and surveyed the surroundings, Cherry
expatiating upon every feature with the fervor of a land agent bent on
weaving his spell about a prospective buyer. And in truth she had chosen
well, for the conditions seemed ideal.

"It all sounds wonderfully attractive and feasible," said Boyd, at last;
"but we must weigh the overwhelming odds against success. First, of
course, is the question of capital. I have a little property of my own
which I can convert. But two hundred thousand dollars! That's a tremendous
sum to raise, even for a fellow with a circle of wealthy friends. Second,
there's the question of time. It's now early December, and I'd have to be
back here by the first of May. Third, could I run the plant and make it
succeed? It must be a wonderfully technical business, and I am utterly
ignorant of every phase of it. Then, too, there are a thousand other
difficulties, such as getting machinery out here in time, hiring Chinese
labor, chartering a ship, placing the output--"

"George Balt has done all that many times, and knows everything about it,"
Cherry interrupted, with decision. "Every difficulty can be met when the
time comes. What other people have done, you ought to be able to do."

But he was not to be won by flattery. Youth that he was, he already knew
the vanity of human hopes, and it was his nature to look at all sides of a
question before answering it finally.

"The slightest error of judgment would mean failure and ruin," he
reflected, "for this country isn't like any other. It is cut off from the
rest of the world, and there's no time to go back and pick up."

"The odds are great, of course," she acquiesced, "but the winnings are in
proportion. It isn't casino, by any means. This is worth while. Every man
who has done anything in this world believes in a goddess of luck, and
it's the element of chance that makes life worth living."

"That's all right in theory," he answered her, somewhat cynically, "but in
practice you'll find that luck is largely the result of previous judgment.
For every obstacle I have mentioned, a thousand unsuspected difficulties
will arise, any one of which--" The girl interrupted him sharply for a
second time, looking him squarely in the eyes, her own flushed face alight
with determination.

"There's only one person in the whole world who can defeat you, and that
person is yourself; and no man can finish a task before he begins it.
We'll grant there's a chance for failure--a million chances; but don't try
to count them. Count the chances for success. Don't be faint-hearted, for
there's no such thing as fear. It doesn't exist. It's merely an absence of
courage, just as indecision is merely a lack of decision. I never saw
anything yet of which I was afraid--and you're a _man_. The deity of
success is a woman, and she insists on being won, not courted. You've got
to seize her and bear her off, instead of standing under her window with a
mandolin. You need to be rough and masterful with her. Nobody ever
reasoned himself out of a street fight. He had to act. If a man thinks
over a proposition long enough it will whip him, no matter how simple it
is. It's the lightning flash that guides a man. You must lay your course
in the blue dazzle, then follow it in the dark; and when you come to the
end, it always lightens again. Don't stand still, staring through the
gloom, and then try to walk while the lightning lasts, because you won't
get anywhere."

Her words were charged with an electric force that communicated itself to
the young man and galvanized him into action. He would have spoken, but
she stayed him, and went on:

"Wait; I'm not through yet. I've watched you, and I know you are down on
your luck for some reason. You've been miscast somehow and you've had the
heart taken out of you; but I'm sure it's in you to succeed, for you're
young and intelligent, cool and determined. I am giving you this chance to
play the biggest game of your life, and erase in eight short months every
trace of failure. I'm not doing it altogether unselfishly, for I believe
you've been sent to Kalvik to work out your own salvation and mine, and
that of poor George Balt, whom you've never seen. You're going to do this
thing, and you're going to make it win."

Emerson reached out impulsively and caught her tiny, mittened hand. His
eyes were shining, his face had lost the settled look of dejection, and
was all aglow with a new dawn of hope. Even his shoulders were lifted and
thrown back as if from some sudden access of vigor that lightened his
burden.

"You're right!" he said, firmly. "We'll send for Balt to-night."





CHAPTER V

IN WHICH A COMPACT IS FORMED




Now that he had committed himself to action, Boyd Emerson became a
different being. He was no longer the dispirited cynic of yesterday, but
an eager, voluble optimist athirst for knowledge and afire with
impatience. On the homeward drive he had bombarded Cherry with a running
fusillade of questions, so that by the time they had arrived at her house
she was mentally and physically fatigued. He seemed insatiable, drawing
from her every atom of information she possessed, and although he was
still hard, incisive, and aloof, it was in quite a different way. The
intensity of his concentration had gathered all feeling into one definite
passion, and had sucked him dry of ordinary emotions.

In the days that followed she was at his elbow constantly, aiding him at
every turn in his zeal to acquire a knowledge of the cannery system. The
odd conviction grew upon her that he was working against time, that there
was a limit to his period of action, for he seemed obsessed by an ever-
growing passion to accomplish some end within a given time, and had no
thought for anything beyond the engrossing issue into which he had
plunged. She was dumfounded by his sudden transformation, and delighted at
first, but later, when she saw that he regarded her only as a means to an
end, his cool assumption of leadership piqued her and she felt hurt.

Constantine had been sent for Balt, with instructions to keep on until he
found the fisherman, even if the quest carried him over the range. During
the days of impatient waiting they occupied their time largely in
reconnoitring the nearest cannery, permission to go over which Cherry had
secured from the watchman, who was indebted to her. The man was timid at
first, but Emerson won him over, then proceeded to pump him dry of
information, as he had done with his hostess. He covered the plant like a
ferret; he showed such powers of adaptability and assimilation as to
excite the girl's wonder; his grasp of detail was instant; his retentive
faculty tenacious; he never seemed to rest.

"Why, you already know more about a cannery than a superintendent does,"
she remarked, after nearly a week of this. "I believe you could build one
yourself."

He smiled. "I'm an engineer by education, and this is really in my line.
It's the other part that has me guessing."

"Balt can handle that."

"But why doesn't he come?" he questioned, crossly. A score of times he had
voiced his impatience, and Cherry was hard pushed to soothe him.

Nor was she the only one to note the change in him; Fraser followed him
about and looked on in bewilderment.

"What have you done to 'Frozen Annie'?" he asked Cherry on one occasion.
"You must have fed him a speed-ball, for I never saw a guy gear up so
fast. Why, he was the darndest crape-hanger I ever met till you got him
gingered up; he didn't have no more spirit than a sick kitten. Of course,
he ain't what you'd call genial and expansive yet, but he's developed a
remarkable burst of speed, and seems downright hopeful at times."

"Hopeful of what?"

"Ah! that's where I wander; he's a puzzle to me. Hopeful of making money,
I suppose."

"That isn't it. I can see he doesn't care for the money itself," the girl
declared, emphatically. She would have liked to ask Fraser if he knew
anything about the mysterious beauty of the magazine, but refrained.

"I don't think so, either," said the man. "He acts more like somebody was
going to ring the gong on him if this fish thing don't let him out. It
seems to be a case bet with him."

"It's a case bet with me, too," said the girl. "My men are ready to quit,
and--well, Willis Marsh will see that I am financially ruined!"

"Oho! So this is your only 'out,'" grinned "Fingerless" Fraser. "Now, I
had a different idea as to why you got Emerson started." He was observing
her shrewdly.

"What idea, pray?"

"Well, talking straight and side-stepping subterfuge, this is a lonely
place for a woman like you, and our mutual friend ain't altogether
unattractive."

Cherry's cheeks flamed, but her tone was icy. "This is entirely a business
matter."

"Hm--m--! I ain't never heard you touted none as a business woman," said
the adventurer.

"Have you ever heard me"--the color faded from the girl's face, and it was
a trifle drawn--"discussed in _any_ way?"

"You know, Emerson makes me uncomfortable sometimes, he is so damn moral,"
Fraser replied, indirectly. "He won't stand for anything off color. He's a
real square guy, he is, the kind you read about."

"You didn't answer my question," insisted Cherry.

Again Fraser evaded the issue. "Now, if this Marsh is going after you in
earnest this summer, why don't you let me stick around here till spring
and look-out your game? I'll drop a monkey-wrench in his gear-case or put
a spider in his dumpling; and it's more than an even shot that if him and
I got to know each other right well, I'd own his cannery before fall."

"Thank you, I can take care of myself!" said the girl, in a tone that
closed the conversation.

Late one stormy night--Constantine had been gone a week--the two men whom
they were expecting blew in through the blinding smother, half frozen and
well-nigh exhausted, with the marks of hard travel showing in their sunken
cheeks and in the bleeding pads of their dog-team. But although a hundred
miles of impassable trails lay behind them, Balt refused rest or
nourishment until he had learned why Cherry had sent for him.

"What's wrong?" he demanded of her, staring with suspicious eyes at the
strangers.

As briefly as possible she outlined the situation the while Boyd Emerson
took his measure, for no person quite like this fisherman had ever crossed
the miner's path. He saw a huge, barrel-chested creature whose tremendous
muscles bulged beneath his nondescript garments, whose red, upstanding
bristle of hair topped a leather countenance from which gleamed a pair of
the most violent eyes Emerson had ever beheld, the dominant expression of
which was rage. His jaw was long, and the seams from nostril and lip, half
hidden behind a stiff stubble, gave it the set of granite. His hands were
gnarled and cracked from an age-long immersion in brine, his voice was
hoarse with the echo of drumming ratlines. He might have lived forty,
sixty years, but every year had been given to the sea, for its breath was
in his lungs, its foaming violence was in his blood.

As the significance of Cherry's words sank into his mind, the signs of an
unholy joy overspread the fisherman's visage; his thick lips writhed into
an evil grin, and his hairy paws continued to open and close hungrily.

"Do you mean business?" he bellowed at Emerson.

"I do."

"Can you fight?"

"Yes."

"Will you do what I tell you, or have you got a lot of sick notions?"

"No," the young man declared, stoutly, "I have no scruples; but I won't do
what you or anybody else tells me. I'll do what I please. I intend to run
this enterprise absolutely, and run it my way."

"This gang won't stop at anything," warned Balt.

"Neither will I," affirmed the other, with a scowl and a dangerous down-
drawing of his lip corners. "I've _got_ to win, so don't waste time
wondering how far I'll go. What I want to know is if you will join my
enterprise."

The giant uttered a mirthless chuckle. "I'll give my life to it."

"I knew you would," flashed Cherry, her eyes beaming.

"And if we don't beat Willis Marsh, by God, I'll kill him!" Balt shouted,
fully capable of carrying out his threat, for his bloodshot eyes were lit
with bitter hatred and the memory of his wrongs was like gall in his
mouth. Turning to the girl, he said:

"Now give me something to eat. I've been living on dog fish till my belly
is full of bones."

He ripped the ragged parka from his back and flung it in a sodden heap
beside the stove; then strode after her, with the others following.

She seated him at her table and spread food before him--great quantities
of food, which he devoured ravenously, humped over in his seat like a
bear, his jaw hanging close to his plate. His appetite was as ungoverned
as his temper; he did not taste his meal nor note its character, but
demolished whatever fell first to his hand, staring curiously up from
under his thatched brows at Emerson, now and then grunting some
interruption to the other's rapid talk. Of Cherry and of "Fingerless"
Fraser, who regarded him with awe, he took not the slightest heed. He
gorged himself with sufficient provender for four people; then observing
that the board was empty, swept the crumbs and remnants from his lips, and
rose, saying:

"Now, let's go out by the stove. I've been cold for three days."

Cherry left the two of them there, and long after she had gone to bed she
heard the murmur of their voices.

"It's all arranged," they advised her at the breakfast-table. "We leave
to-morrow."

"To-morrow?" she echoed, blankly.

"To-morrow?" likewise questioned Fraser, in alarm. "Oh, say! You can't do
that. My feet are too sore to travel. I've certainly got a bad pair of
'dogs.'"

"We start in the morning. We have no time to waste."

Cherry turned to the fisherman. "You can't get ready so soon, George."

"I'm ready now," answered the big fellow.

She felt a sudden dread at her heart. What if they failed and did not
return? What if some untoward peril should overtake them on the outward
trip? It was a hazardous journey, and George Balt was the most reckless
man on the Behring coast. She cast a frightened glance at Emerson, but
none of the men noticed it. Even if they had observed the light that had
come into those clear eyes, they would not have known it for the dawn of a
new love any more than she herself realized what her reasonless fears
betokened. She had little time to ponder, however, for Emerson's next
words added to her alarm:

"We'll catch the mail-boat at Katmai."

"Katmai!" she broke in, sharply. "You said you were going by the Iliamna
route."

"The other is shorter."

She turned on Balt, angrily. "You know better than to suggest such a
thing."

"I didn't suggest it," said Balt. "It's Mr. Emerson's own idea; he
insists."

"I'm for the long, safe proposition every time," Fraser announced, as if
settling the matter definitely, languidly filling his pipe.

Boyd's voice broke in curtly upon his revery. "You're not going with us."

"The hell I ain't!" exploded the other. "Why not?"

"There won't be room. You understand--it's hard travelling with three."

"Oh, see here, now, pal! You promised to take me to the States," the
adventurer demurred. "You wouldn't slough me at this gravel-pit, after you
_promised?"_ He was visibly alarmed.

"Very well," said Emerson, resignedly, "If you feel that way about it,
come along; but I won't take you east of Seattle."

"Seattle ain't so bad," Fraser replied. "I guess I can pick up a pinch of
change there, all right. But Kalvik--Wow!"

"Why do you have to go so soon?" Cherry asked Emerson, when the two others
had left them.

"Because every day counts."

"But why the Katmai route? It's the stormy season, and you may have to
wait two weeks for the mail-boat after you reach the coast."

"Yes; but, on the other hand, if we should miss it by one day, it would
mean a month's delay. She ought to be due in about ten days, so we can't
take any chances."

"I shall be dreadfully worried until I know you are safely over," said the
girl, a new note of wistful tenderness in her voice.

"Nonsense! We've all taken bigger risks before."

"Do you know," she began, hesitatingly, "I've been thinking that perhaps
you'd better not take up this enterprise, after all."

"Why not?" he asked, with an incredulous stare. "I thought you were
enthusiastic on the subject."

"I am--I--believe in the proposition thoroughly," Cherry limped on, "but--
well, I was entirely selfish in getting you started, for it possibly means
my own salvation, but--"

"It's my last chance also," Boyd broke in. "That's only another reason for
you to continue, however. Why have you suddenly weakened?"

"Because I see you don't realize what you are going into," she said,
desperately. "Because you don't appreciate the character of the men you
will clash with. There is actual physical peril attached to this
undertaking, and Marsh won't hesitate to--to do anything under the sun to
balk you. It isn't worth while risking your life for a few dollars."

"Oh, isn't it!" Emerson laughed a trifle harshly. "My dear girl, you don't
know what I am willing to risk for those 'few dollars'; you don't know
what success means to me. Why, if I don't make this thing win, I'll be
perfectly willing to let Marsh wreak his vengeance upon me--I might even
help him."

"Oh no!"

"You may rest assured of one thing: if he is unscrupulous, so shall I be.
If he undertakes to check me, I'll--well, I'll fight fire with fire."

His face was not pleasant to look at now, and the girl felt an access of
that vague alarm which had been troubling her of late. She saw again that
old light of sullen desperation in the man's eye, and marked with it a
new, dogged, dangerous gleam as of one possessed, which proclaimed his
extreme necessity.

"But what has occurred to make you change your mind?" he asked, causing
the faintest flush to rise in her cheeks.

"A few days ago you were a stranger, now you are a friend," she replied,
steadily. "One's likes and dislikes grow rapidly when they are not choked
by convention. I like you too well to see you do this. You are too good a
man to become the prey of those people. Remember George Balt."

"Balt hasn't started yet. For the first time he is a real menace to Willis
Marsh."

"Won't you take my advice and reconsider?" urged the girl.

"Listen!" said the young man. "I came to this country with a definite
purpose in mind, and I had three years in which to work it out. I needed
money--God, how I needed money! They may talk about the emptiness of
riches, and tell you that men labor not for the 'kill' but for the
pursuit, not for the score but for the contest. Maybe some of them do; but
with me it was gold I needed, gold I had to have, and I didn't care much
how I got it, so long as I got it honestly. I didn't crave the pleasure of
earning it nor the thrill of finding it; I just wanted the thing itself,
and came up here because I thought the opportunities were greater here
than elsewhere. I'd have gone to the Sahara or into Thibet just as
willingly. I left behind a good many things to which I had been raised,
and forsook opportunities which to most fellows of my age would seem
golden; but I did it eagerly, because I had only three years of grace and
knew I must win in that time. Well, I went at it. No chance was too
desperate, no peril was too great, no hardship too intense for me. I bent
every effort to my task, until mind and body became sleepless, unresting
implements for the working out of my purpose. I lost all sensibility to
effort, to fatigue, to physical suffering; I forgot all things in the
world except my one idea. I focussed every power upon my desire, but a
curse was on me. A curse! Nothing less.

"At first I took misfortune philosophically; but when it came and slept
with me, I began to rage at it. Month after month, year by year, it rose
with me at dawn and lay down by me at night. Misfortune beleaguered me and
dogged my heels, until it became a thing of amusement to every one except
myself. To me it was terrifying, because my time was shortening, and the
last day of grace was rushing toward me.

"Just to show you what luck I played in:--at Dawson I found a prospect
that would have made most men rich, and although such a thing had never
happened in that particular locality before, it pinched out. I tried again
and again and again, and finally found another mine, only to be robbed of
it by the Canadian laws in such a manner that there wasn't the faintest
hope of my recovering the property. Men told me about opportunities they
couldn't avail themselves of, and, although I did what they themselves
would have done, these chances proved to be ghastly jokes. I finally
shifted from mining to other ventures, and the town burned. I awoke in a
midnight blizzard to see my chance for a fortune licked up by flames,
while the hiss of the water from the firemen's hose seemed directed at me
and the voice of the crowd sounded like jeers.

"I was among the first at Nome and staked alongside the discoverers, who
undertook to put me in right for once; but although the fellows around me
made fortunes in a day, my ground was barren and my bed-rock swept clean
by that unseen hand which I always felt but could never avoid. I leased
proven properties, only to find that the pay ceased without reason. I did
this so frequently that owners began to refuse me and came to consider me
a thing of evil omen. Once a broken snow-shoe in a race to the recorder's
office lost me a fortune; at another time a corrupt judge plunged me from
certainty to despair, and all the while my time was growing shorter and I
was growing poorer.

"Two hours after the Topkuk strike was made I drove past the shaft, but
the one partner known to me had gone to the cabin to build a fire, and the
other one lied to me, thinking I was a stranger. I heard afterward that
just as I drove away my friend came to the door and called after me, but
the day was bitter, and my ears were muffled with fur, while the dry snow
beneath the runners shrieked so that it drowned his cries. Me chased me
for half a mile to make me rich, but the hand of fate lashed my dogs
faster and faster, while that hellish screeching outdinned his voice. Six
hours later Topkuk was history. You've seen stampedes--you understand.

"My name became a by-word and caused people to laugh, though they shrank
from me, for miners and sailors are equally superstitious. No man ever had
more opportunities than I, and no man was ever so miserably unfortunate in
missing them. In time I became whipped, utterly without hope. Yet almost
from habit I fought on and on, with my ears deaf to the voices that mocked
me.

"Three years isn't very long as you measure time, but the death-watch
drags, and the priest's prayers are an eternity when the hangman waits
outside. But the time came and passed at length, and I saw my beautiful
breathing dream become a rotting corpse. Still, I struggled along, until
one day something snapped and I gave up--for all time. I realized, as you
said, that I was 'miscast,' that I had never been of this land, so I was
headed for home. Home!" Emerson smiled bitterly. "The word doesn't mean
anything to me now, but anyhow I was headed for God's country, an utter
failure, in a worse plight than when I came here, when you put this last
chance in front of me. It may be another _ignis fatuus_, such as the
others I have pursued, for I have been chasing rainbows now for three
years, and I suppose I shall go on chasing them; but as long as there is a
chance left, I can't quit--I _can't_. And something tells me that I
have left that ill-omened thing behind at last, and I am going to win!"

Cherry had listened eagerly to this bitter tirade, and was deeply touched
by the pathos of the youth's sense of failure. His poignant pessimism,
however, only seemed to throw into relief the stubborn fixedness of his
dominant purpose. The moving cause of it all, whatever it was--and it
could only be a woman--aroused a burning curiosity in her, and she said:

"But you're too late. You say your time was up some time ago."

"Perhaps," he returned, staring into the distances. "That's what I was
going out to ascertain. I thought I might have a few days of grace allowed
me." He turned his eyes directly upon her, and concluded, in a matter-of-
fact tone: "That's why I can't quit, now that you've set me in motion
again, now that you've given me another chance. That's why we leave to-
morrow and go by way of the Katmai Pass."





CHAPTER VI

WHEREIN BOREAS TAKES A HAND




All that day the men busied themselves in preparation for the start. Balt
was ferociously exultant, Emerson was boiling with impatience, while
Fraser, whose calm nothing disturbed, slept most of the time, observing
that this was his last good bed for a while, and therefore he wished to
make it work.

Beneath her quiet cheerfulness, Cherry nursed a forlorn heart; for when
these men were gone she would be left alone and friendless again, buried
in the heart of an inaccessible wilderness, given over to her fears and
the intrigues of her enemies. She had eyes mainly for Emerson, and
although in her glance there was good-fellowship, in her heart was hot
resentment--first at him because he had awakened in her the warm interest
she felt for him, and, second, at herself for harboring any such interest.
Why should this self-centred youth, wrapped up in his own affairs to her
own utter exclusion, give her cause to worry? Why should she allow him to
step into her quiet life and upset her well-ordered existence?

"How do you like him?" she asked Balt, once.

"He's my style, all right," said the big man. "He's desp'rate, and he'll
fight; that's what I want--somebody that won't blench at anything when the
time comes." He ground his teeth, and his red eyes flamed, reflecting the
sense of injury that seared his brain. "What he don't know about the
business, I do, and we'll make it win. But, say, ain't he awful at asking
questions? My head aches and my back is lame from answering him. Seems
like he remembers it all, too."

Goaded by the wrong he had suffered, and almost maniacal in his eagerness
for the coming struggle, the giant's frenzy told Cherry that the fight
would be an unrelenting one, and again a vague tremor of regret at having
drawn this youth into the affair crept over her and sharpened the growing
pain at her heart.

During the evening Emerson left the two other men in the store, and,
seeking her out in the little parlor, asked her to play for him. She
consented gladly, and, as on their first evening together, he sang with
her. Again the blending of their voices brought them closer, his aloofness
wore off, and he became an agreeable, accomplished companion whose merry
wit and boyish sympathy stirred emotions in the girl that threatened her
peace of mind. This had been the only companionship with her own kind she
had enjoyed for months, and with his melting mood came a softening of her
own nature, in which she appeared before him gracious and irresistible.
Banteringly, and rising out of his elation, he tried to please her, and,
in the same spirit that calls the bird to its mate, she responded. It was
their last hour together before embarking on his perilous journey in
search of the Golden Fleece, and his starved affections clamored for
sympathy, while the iron in his blood felt the magnetic propinquity of
sex. When he said good-night it was with a wholly new conception of his
hostess, and of her power to charm as well as manage men and affairs; but
he could well have dispensed with an uncomfortable feeling that came over
him as he reviewed the events of the evening over a last pipe, that he had
been playing with fire. For her part, she lay awake far into the morning
hours, now blissfully floating on the current of half-formed desires, now
vaguely fearing some dread that clutched her.

The good-byes were brief and commonplace; there was time for nothing more,
for the dogs were straining to be off and the December air bit fiercely.
But Cherry called Emerson aside, and in a rather tremulous voice begged
him again to consider well this enterprise before finally committing
himself to it. "If this were any other country, if there were any law up
here or any certainty of getting a square deal, I'd never say a word, I'd
urge you to go the limit. But--"

He was about to laugh off her fears as he had done before, when the
plaintive wrinkle between her brows and the forlorn droop of her lips
stayed him. Without thought of consequences, and prompted largely by his
leaping spirits, he stooped and, before she could divine his purpose,
kissed her.

"Good-bye!" he laughed, with dancing eyes. "That's my answer!" and the
next second was at the sled. The dogs leaped at his shout, and the
cavalcade was in motion.

The others had not observed his leave-taking, and now cried a final
farewell; but the girl stood without sound or gesture, bareheaded under
the wintry sky, a startled, wondering light in her eyes which did not fade
until the men were lost to view far up the river trail. Then she breathed
deeply and turned into the house, oblivious to Constantine and the young
squaw, who held the sick baby up for her inspection.

The hazards of winter travel in the North are manifold at best, but the
country which Emerson and his companions had to traverse was particularly
perilous, owing to the fact that their course led them over the backbone
of the great Alaskan Range, that desolate, skyscraping rampart which
interposes itself between the hate of the Arctic seas and the tossing
wilderness of the North Pacific. This range forms a giant, ice-armored
tusk thrust out to the westward and curved like the horn of an African
rhino, its tip pointed eight hundred miles toward the Asiatic coast, its
soaring peaks veiled in perpetual mist and volcanic fumes, its slopes
agleam with lonely ice-fields. It is a saw-toothed ridge, for the most
part narrow, unbroken, and cruel, and the rival winter gales roar over it
in a never-ceasing war. On the north lies the Forgotten Land, to the south
are the tempered reaches of the Pacific. In summer the stern sweep of rock
and tundra is soaked with weeping rains, and given over to the herding
caribou or the great grass-eating bear; but when from the polar regions
the white hand of winter stretches forth, the grieving seas lift
themselves, the rain turns to bitter, hail-burdened hurricanes that charge
and retreat in a death-dealing conflict, sheathing the barrier anew, and
confounding the hearts of men on land and sea. The coast is unlighted and
badly mapped, hence the shore is a graveyard for ships, while through the
guts, which at intervals penetrate the range, the blizzards screech until
travellers burrow into drifts to avoid their fury or lie out in stiff
sleeping-bags exposed to their anger. It is a region of sudden storms, a
battle-ground of the elements, which have swept it naked of cover in ages
past, and it is peopled scantily by handfuls of coughing natives, whose
igloos are hidden in hollows or chained to the ground with cables and
ship's gear.

It was thither the travellers were bound, headed toward Katmai Pass, which
is no more than a gap between peaks, through which the hibernal gales suck
and swirl. This pass is even balder than the surrounding barrens, for it
forms a funnel at each end, confining the winds and affording them freer
course. Notwithstanding the fact that it had an appalling death-list and
was religiously shunned, Emerson would hearken to no argument for a safer
route, insisting that they could spare no time for detours. Nothing
dampened his spirits, no hardship daunted him; he was tireless, ferocious
in his haste.

A week of hard travel found them camped in the last fringe of cottonwood
that fronted the glacial slopes, their number augmented now by a native
from a Russian village with an unpronounceable name, who, at the price of
an extortionate bribe, had agreed to pilot them through. For three days
they lay idle, the taut walls of their tent thrumming to an incessant
fusillade of ice particles that whirled down ahead of the blast, while
Emerson fumed to be gone.

The fourth morning broke still and quiet; but, after a careful scrutiny of
the peaks, the Indian shook his head and spoke to Balt, who nodded in
agreement.

"What's the matter?" growled Emerson. "Why don't we get under way?" But
the other replied:

"Not to-day. Them tips are smoking, see!" He indicated certain gauzy
streamers that floated like vapor from the highest pinnacles. "That's
snow, dry snow, and it shows that the wind is blowing up there. We dassent
tackle it."

"Do you mean we must lie here waiting for an absolutely calm day?"

"Exactly."

"Why, it may be a week!"

"It may be two of them; then, again, it may be all right to-morrow."

"Nonsense! That breeze won't hurt anybody."

"Breeze!" Balt laughed. "It's more like a tornado up yonder. No, we've
just got to take it easy till the right moment comes, and then make a
dash. It's thirty miles to the nearest stick of timber; and once you get
into the Pass, you can't stop till you're through."

Still unconvinced, and surly at the delay, Emerson resigned himself, while
Bait saw to their sled, tended the dogs, and made final preparations.
"Fingerless" Fraser lay flat on his back and nursed a pair of swollen
tendons that had been galled by his snowshoe thongs, reviling at the
fortune that had cast him into such inhospitable surroundings, heaping
anathemas upon the head of him who had invented snowshoes, complaining of
everything in general, from the indigestible quality of baking-powder
bread to the odor of the guide who crouched stolidly beside the stove,
feeding it with green willows and twisted withes.

The next dawn showed the mountain peaks limned like clean-cut ivory
against the steel-blue sky, and as they crept up through the defiles the
air was so motionless that the smoke of their pipes hung about their
heads, while the creak of their soles upon the dry surface of the snow
roused echoes from the walls on either side. At first their progress was
rapid, but in time the drifts grew deeper, and they came to bluffs where
they were forced to notch footholds, unpack their load and relay it to the
top, then free the dogs, and haul the sled up with a rope, hand over hand.
These labors, besides being intensely fatiguing, delayed them
considerably, added to which the higher altitudes were covered with a soft
eider-down that reached nearly to their knees and shoved ahead of the sled
in great masses. Thus they dragged their burden through instead of over
it.

By mid-day they had gained the summit, and found themselves in the heart
of a huge desolation, hedged in by a chaos of peaks and pinnacles, the
snows unbroken by twig or bush, untracked by living sign. Here and there
the dark face of some white-cowled rock or cliff scowled at them, and
although they were drenched with sweat and parched from thirst, nowhere
was there the faintest tinkle of running water, while the dry powder under
foot scratched their throats like iron filings when they turned to it for
relief. All were jaded and silent, save Emerson, who urged them on
incessantly.

It was early in the afternoon when the Indian stopped and began testing
the air; Balt also seemed suddenly to scent a change in the atmospheric
conditions.

"What's wrong now?" Emerson asked, gruffly.

"Feels like wind," answered the big man, with a shake of his head. The
native began to chatter excitedly, and as they stood there a chill draught
fanned their cheeks. Glancing upward at the hillsides, they saw that the
air was now thickened as if by smoke, and, dropping their eyes, they saw
the fluff beneath their feet stir lazily. Little wisps of snow-vapor began
to dance upon the ridges, whisking out of sight as suddenly as they
appeared. They became conscious of a sudden fall in the temperature, and
they knew that the cold of interstellar space dwelt in that ghostly breath
which smote them. Before they were well aware of the ominous significance
of these signs the storm was upon them, sweeping through the chute wherein
they stood with rapidly increasing violence. The terrible, unseen hand of
the Frozen North had unleashed its brood of furies, and the air rang with
their hideous cries. It was Dante's third circle of hell let loose--
Cerberus baying through his wide, threefold throat, and the voices of
tormented souls shrilling through the infernal shades. It came from behind
them, lifting the fur on the backs of the wolf-dogs and filling it with
powder, pelting their hides with sharp particles until they refused to
stand before it, and turned and crouched with flattened ears in the
shelter of the sled. In an instant the wet faces of the men were dried and
their steaming garments hardened to shells, while their blood began to
move more sluggishly.

Fraser shouted something, but Emerson's whipping garments drowned the
words, and without waiting to ascertain what the adventurer had said the
young man ran forward and cut the dogs loose, while Balt and the guide
fell to unlashing the sled, the tails of their parkas meanwhile snapping
like boat sails, their cap strings streaming. As they freed the last knot
the hurricane ripped the edge of the tarpaulin from their clumsy fingers,
and, seizing a loosely folded blanket belonging to the native, snatched it
away. The fellow clutched wildly at it, but the cloth sailed ahead of the
blast as if on wings, then, dropping to the surface of the snow, opened
out, whereupon some twisting current bore it aloft again, and it swooped
down the hill like a great bat, followed by a wail of despair from the
owner. Other loose articles on the top of the load were picked up like
chaff--coffee pot, frying pan, and dishes--then hurtled away like charges
of canister, rolling, leaping, skipping down into the swale ahead, then up
over the next ridge and out of sight. But the men were too fiercely beset
by the confusion to notice their loss. There was no question of facing the
wind, for it was more cruel than the fierce breath of an open furnace,
searing the naked flesh like a flame.

All the morning the air had hung in perfect poise, but some change of
temperature away out over one of the rival oceans had upset the aerostatic
balance, and the wind tore through this gap like the torrent below a
broken reservoir.

The contour of the surrounding hills altered, the whole country took on a
different aspect, due to the rapid charging of the atmosphere, the limits
of vision grew shorter and strangely distorted. Although as yet the snows
were barely beginning to move, the men knew they would shortly be forced
to grope their way through dense clouds that would blot out every
landmark, and the touch of which would be like the stroke of a red-hot
rasp.

Balt came close to Emerson, and bellowed into his ear:

"What shall we do? Roll up in the bedding or run for it?"

"How far is it to timber?"

"Twelve or fifteen miles."

"Let's run for it! We're out of grub, anyhow, and this may last for days."

There was no use of trying to secure additional clothing from the supply
in the sled, so they abandoned their outfit and allowed themselves to be
driven ahead of the storm, trusting to the native's sense of direction and
keeping close together. The dogs were already well drifted over, and
refused to stir.

Once they were gone a stone's throw from the sled there was no turning
back, and although the wind was behind them progress was difficult, for
they came upon chasms which they had to avoid; they crossed slippery
slopes, where the storm had bared the hard crust and which their feet
refused to grip. In such places they had to creep on hands and knees,
calling to one another for guidance. They were numbed, blinded, choked by
the rage of the blizzard; their faces grew stiff, and their lungs froze.
At times they fell, and were skidded along ahead of the blasts. This
forced them to crawl back again, for they dared not lose their course. At
one place they followed a hog-back, where the rocks came to a sharp ridge
like the summit of a roof, this they bestrode, inching along a foot at a
time, wearing through the palms of their mittens and chafing their
garments. No cloth could withstand the roughened surfaces, and in time the
bare flesh of their hands became exposed, but there was little sensation,
and no time for rest or means of relief. Soon they began to leave blood
stains behind them.

All four men were old in the ways of the North, and, knowing their present
extremity, they steeled themselves to suffering, but their tortures were
intense, not the least of which was thirst. Exhaustion comes quickly under
such conditions.

Much has been written concerning the red man's physical powers of
endurance, but as a rule no Indian is the equal of his white brother, due
as much perhaps to lack of mental force as to generations of insufficient
clothing and inanition, so it was not surprising that as the long
afternoon dragged to a close the Aleut guide began to weaken. He paused
with more frequency, and it required more effort to start him; he fell
oftener and rose with more difficulty, but the others were dependent upon
his knowledge of the trail, and could not take the lead.

Darkness found them staggering on, supporting him wherever possible. At
length he became unable to guide them farther, and Balt, who had once made
the trip, took his place, while the others dragged the poor creature along
at the cost of their precious strength.

At one time he begged them to leave him, and both Balt and "Fingerless"
Fraser agreed, but Emerson would have none of it.

"He'll die, anyhow," argued the fisherman.

"He's as good as dead now," supplemented Fraser, "and we may be ten miles
from timber."

"I made him come, and I'll take him through," said Emerson, stubbornly;
and so they crawled their weary way, sore beset with their dragging
burden. Slow at best, their advance now became snail-like, for darkness
had fallen, and threatened to blot them out. It betrayed them down
declivities, up and out of which they had to dig their way. In such
descents they were forced to let go the helpless man, whose body rolled
ahead of them like a boneless sack; but these very mishaps helped to keep
the spark of life in him, for at every disheartening pause the others
rubbed and pounded him, though they knew that their efforts were hopeless,
and would have been better spent upon themselves.

Fraser, never a strong man, gave out in time, and it looked as if he might
overtax the powers of the other two, but Balt's strength was that of a
bull, while Emerson subsisted on his nerve, fairly consuming his soul.

They grew faint and sick, and knew themselves to be badly frozen; but
their leader spurred them on, draining himself in the effort. For the
first time Emerson realized that the adventurer had been a drag on him
ever since their meeting.

They had long since lost all track of time and place, trusting blindly to
a downward course. The hurricane still harried them with unabated fury,
when all at once they came to another bluff where the ground fell away
abruptly. Without waiting to investigate whether the slope terminated in a
drift or a precipice, they flung themselves over. Down they floundered,
the two half-insensible men tangled together as if in a race for total
oblivion, only to plunge through a thicket of willow tops that whipped and
stung them. On they went, now vastly heartened, over another ridge, down
another declivity, and then into a grove of spruce timber, where the air
suddenly stilled, and only the tree-tops told of the rushing wind above.

It was well-nigh an hour before Balt and Emerson succeeded in starting a
fire, for it was desperate work groping for dry branches, and they
themselves were on the verge of collapse before the timid blaze finally
showed the two more unfortunate ones huddled together.

Cherry had given Emerson a flask of liquor before starting, and this he
now divided between Fraser and the guide, having wisely refused it to them
until shelter was secured. Then he melted snow in Balt's tin cup and
poured pints of hot water into the pair until the adventurer began to
rally; but the Aleut was too far gone, and an hour before the laggard dawn
came he died.

They walked Fraser around the fire all night, threshing his tortured body
and fighting off their own deadly weariness, meanwhile absorbing the
i