REAPPEARANCE OF THE FUR-SEAL’S TOOTH
“What do you know about this thing?” asked the judge of Jalap Coombs,
taking the fur-seal’s tooth from him and examining it curiously.
“I know that there were an old Eskimo at St. Michaels what were shipped
by Goldollar to go with us to Nulato as dog-driver. He wore this bit
of ivory hung about his neck, and seemed to set a heap by it. One
time when he were looking at it I heerd Goldollar say that by rights
it belonged to him, seeing as he got it from some natyve, and it were
afterwards stole from him. He didn’t say nothing to the Husky about
it, but when we got to Nulato he give him so much liquor that in the
morning the old chap couldn’t be woke up. Goldollar fooled round him a
while, and then saying he’d have to give up the job of waking him, left
him, and ordered the teams to pull out. I afterwards seen Goldollar
take that very identical tooth outen his pocket several times and look
at it like it were a diamond or some sich, and heerd him tell Strengel
that any man as owned it would surely have luck. It didn’t seem to
bring him none, though. Leastways no good luck, for he hain’t had
nothing but bad luck sence.”
“Was it your impression that you could win good luck by stealing this
tooth?” inquired the judge of Strengel.
“I didn’t steal it,” answered the prisoner, sullenly.
“How did you get it, then?”
“Goldollar give it to me.”
“Where did you leave Goldollar?”
“At Fort Yukon.”
“Was he in good health when you last saw him?”
“I refuse to answer any more questions,” replied the prisoner, suddenly
realizing how deeply he was committing himself.
“Very well,” said the judge. “I think you have already told enough to
give us a pretty fair idea of the particular kind of a scoundrel you
are. So, if you have nothing more to say, I declare this case closed
and in the hands of the jury. Gentlemen, the court awaits your verdict.”
As there was no room to which the jury could retire, they put their
heads together and consulted in whispers, during which time Phil told
the judge what he knew about the fur-seal’s tooth, together with the
legend of good and bad luck supposed to accompany its possession. The
spectators of the trial buzzed like a swarm of angry hornets, and cast
wrathful glances at the prisoner who had just been proved so worthy of
their contempt.
In a few minutes the jury ended their conference and resumed their
places. Then, as order was restored, the foreman, standing up,
announced that they were unanimous in finding the prisoner guilty on
all three of the charges preferred against him, and recommended that he
be so punished as to afford a warning to others of his kind who might
be contemplating a visit to the Yukon diggings.
“Hang him!” cried some one in the crowd.
“Shoot him!” shouted another.
“Drive him out of camp, and set him adrift like he done to Jalap
Coombs,” suggested a third.
“Silence!” roared Judge Platt Riley, standing in his place and gazing
sternly about him. “You forget, gentlemen, that this is a court of
law, and though maybe it isn’t run with all the frills of some, it’s
bound to be respected. Likewise, it proposes to pronounce its own
decisions. In regard to the prisoner now awaiting sentence, he has
been proved by the testimony of reputable witnesses, and by his own
admissions, to be a liar, a traitor, a dog-stealer, which in this
country is the same as a hoss-thief in the States, and a robber of his
travelling companion under circumstances that make him at the same time
come pretty near to being a murderer. For such as he hanging would be
none too severe. But we have never yet hanged a man in Forty Mile, and
we don’t want to begin if we can help it. The prisoner has expressed a
desire to learn something of our methods of working these diggings, and
we promised to teach him. He has also remarked that moss-stripping was
a job well suited to convicts. So be it. Prisoner at the bar, stand up
and receive your sentence.”
When the wretched man, who had fancied himself in a country where he
could commit any crime without fear of punishment, had been assisted to
his feet by Marshal Bettens and a volunteer deputy, the judge said:
“By a fair trial, according to Yukon law, you are convicted of crimes
such as this community does not allow to go unpunished. On account of
them you are hereby sentenced to strip moss from the several claims of
this camp during every working-hour of every working-day from now until
such time as the first steamer reaches here from the lower river and is
ready to return. Then you will be allowed to work your way on her to
St. Michaels, where may the agent have mercy upon you.
“In the meantime, when not at work, you will be closely confined in the
camp lock-up, under guard of the marshal, who shall be entitled to your
services for two days in every week for his trouble. On other days he
will hire you out to any miner who has moss to be stripped, and who
will pay for your keep during such time as you may work for him.”
This unique but just sentence was greeted with a murmur of approval
from the spectators; but this was quickly silenced by a frown from the
judge, who continued:
“All the property that you brought into this camp, including money and
outfit, excepting your personal clothing, is hereby confiscated, to be
disposed of as follows: One team of dogs, one sledge, and half the cash
found in your possession shall be restored to Mr. Jalap Coombs, from
whom you helped to steal them. The remainder of the money, after the
Indian drivers who came with you have been paid, and one dog team shall
be devoted to the relief of Simon Goldollar, who, though he seems to
be a pretty bad lot, is still a white man, and so must not be allowed
to perish if it can be helped. The third dog team shall become the
property of Marshal Bettens in place of a fee for his services. The
remainder of the property, provisions, and so forth, shall be devoted
to the support of the prisoner during such times as he is working for
the marshal. Mr. Bettens will now remove his prisoner, and I hereby
declare this court adjourned.”
This triumph of the law and Judge Riley’s decision gave such universal
satisfaction to the spectators of that trial that they yelled with
delight as they poured from the court-room door. They congratulated one
another on the perfection of their home-made code, and the promptness
with which its provisions were dealt out to evil-doers.
From that day on every man in camp exhibited such a lively interest in
the moss-stripping operations of Mr. Bradwick-Strengel that many times
when, thinking himself unobserved, he attempted to shirk his work he
was roused to renewed industry by the playful pop of a gun, and the
warning note of a bullet in close proximity to his place of business.
Thus was he given such ample experience of gold-mining on the Yukon
that when, some months later, a boat arrived from the lower river, he
thankfully departed from Camp Forty Mile, mentally vowing never to
return.
After consulting with Phil, Serge, and Jalap Coombs, Mr. Platt Riley,
who objected to being called “judge” outside of court, decided to
intrust Simon Goldollar’s rescue from the Indian village in which he
had been left to Kurilla and Chitsah, who were persuaded by a liberal
payment to return home that way. Another Indian was hired to accompany
them as far as Fort Yukon, and bring back word to Forty Mile of their
success. If they found him alive and able to travel, they were to carry
him with them to Anvik.
Phil wrote and sent him a letter, in which he apologized for having
accused him of stealing his money or the fur-seal’s tooth, Jalap Coombs
having told him the facts concerning these things, and hoped he would
return to St. Michaels in safety. Long afterwards he learned that
Simon Goldollar did make his way down the river, aided by Kurilla and
Chitsah, and was sent on by Gerald Hamer from Anvik to St. Michaels.
There he was discharged from the company’s employ on account of the
failure of his expedition, and finally left Alaska in the same ship
that bore ex-convict Strengel from its shores. An amusing feature of
it all was that both these rascals attributed the ill success of their
undertakings to the unlucky influence of the fur-seal’s tooth.
This industrious bit of ivory, which exhibited such a fondness for
interfering with the affairs of men and boys, as well as such activity
in rapid travel and change of ownership, reposed for several days in
Mr. Platt Riley’s vest-pocket, where it had been unconsciously thrust
and forgotten. Finally, tired of being thus neglected, it worked a hole
through the pocket and fell to the floor. From there it was snapped
up by Mr. Riley’s favorite dog, who lay at his feet, and doubtless
imagined it to be a choice morsel provided for him by his indulgent
master. A moment later the judge was aroused from a reverie by the
frantic struggles of his dog, who seemed on the point of strangulation.
When he succeeded, by prompt effort, in removing the obstruction from
the animal’s throat, and, with a feeling of superstitious amazement,
discovered its nature, he started at once for the store of the Yukon
Trading Company, determined to be rid of the uncanny object as quickly
as possible.
It so happened that none of the three occupants of the premises
was at home, nor were they to be seen in any direction. They had
been preparing for departure, and many articles ready for packing
on the sledges lay scattered about the room. Among these was a fur
sleeping-bag, on which Mr. Riley’s eye no sooner rested than he thrust
the magic tooth into it and shook it to the very bottom.
“There!” he exclaimed, “they are sure to take it with them; one of them
will find it sooner or later, and maybe it will bring him good luck. At
any rate, I hope it will.”
It was now the month of February, and high time for our travellers to
be on their way if they wished to have snow to the end of their sledge
journey. Phil had made most satisfactory business arrangements for
Gerald Hamer, had sent that gentleman a long report of their progress
to date by Kurilla, who also bore letters from himself and Serge to
their kind friends at Anvik, and was now impatient to push forward.
So on the morning of the 5th of February, although the thermometer
registered forty-eight degrees below zero, the little party set forth
from Forty Mile with three sledges and seventeen dogs. Above the first
sledge fluttered a small flag, on which appeared the magic letters “U.
S. M.,” signifying that Phil had undertaken to deliver on the coast a
large packet of letters, the first mail ever sent out from Forty Mile
in winter.
The entire population of the camp was assembled to see them off; and
amid sincere expressions of good-will, a round of hearty cheers, and a
ringing volley the sledges dashed away up the Yukon, with seven hundred
miles of their journey still to be accomplished.