"So I think, captain, you will agree that we must exaggerate the
seriousness of the situation." Jacob Welse helped his visitor into his
fur great-coat and went on. "Not that it is not serious, but that it
may not become more serious. Both you and I have handled famines
before. We must frighten them, and frighten them now, before it is too
late. Take five thousand men out of Dawson and there will be grub to
last. Let those five thousand carry their tale of famine to Dyea and
Skaguay, and they will prevent five thousand more coming in over the
ice."
"Quite right! And you may count on the hearty co-operation of the
police, Mr. Welse." The speaker, a strong-faced, grizzled man,
heavy-set and of military bearing, pulled up his collar and rested his
hand on the door-knob. "I see already, thanks to you, the newcomers
are beginning to sell their outfits and buy dogs. Lord! won't there be
a stampede out over the ice as soon as the river closes down! And each
that sells a thousand pounds of grub and goes lessens the proposition
by one empty stomach and fills another that remains. When does the
Laura start?"
"This morning, with three hundred grubless men aboard. Would that they
were three thousand!"
Amen to that! And by the way, when does your daughter arrive?"
"'Most any day, now." Jacob Welse's eyes warmed. "And I want you to
dinner when she does, and bring along a bunch of your young bucks from
the Barracks. I don't know all their names, but just the same extend
the invitation as though from me personally. I haven't cultivated the
social side much,--no time, but see to it that the girl enjoys herself.
Fresh from the States and London, and she's liable to feel lonesome.
You understand."
Jacob Welse closed the door, tilted his chair back, and cocked his feet
on the guard-rail of the stove. For one half-minute a girlish vision
wavered in the shimmering air above the stove, then merged into a woman
of fair Saxon type.
The door opened. "Mr. Welse, Mr. Foster sent me to find out if he is
to go on filling signed warehouse orders?"
"Certainly, Mr. Smith. But tell him to scale them down by half. If a
man holds an order for a thousand pounds, give him five hundred."
He lighted a cigar and tilted back again in his chair.
"Captain McGregor wants to see you, sir."
"Send him in."
Captain McGregor strode in and remained standing before his employer.
The rough hand of the New World had been laid upon the Scotsman from
his boyhood; but sterling honesty was written in every line of his
bitter-seamed face, while a prognathous jaw proclaimed to the onlooker
that honesty was the best policy,--for the onlooker at any rate, should
he wish to do business with the owner of the jaw. This warning was
backed up by the nose, side-twisted and broken, and by a long scar
which ran up the forehead and disappeared in the gray-grizzled hair.
"We throw off the lines in an hour, sir; so I've come for the last
word."
"Good." Jacob Welse whirled his chair about. "Captain McGregor."
"Ay."
"I had other work cut out for you this winter; but I have changed my
mind and chosen you to go down with the Laura. Can you guess why?"
Captain McGregor swayed his weight from one leg to the other, and a
shrewd chuckle of a smile wrinkled the corners of his eyes. "Going to
be trouble," he grunted.
"And I couldn't have picked a better man. Mr. Bally will give you
detailed instructions as you go aboard. But let me say this: If we
can't scare enough men out of the country, there'll be need for every
pound of grub at Fort Yukon. Understand?"
"Ay."
"So no extravagance. You are taking three hundred men down with you.
The chances are that twice as many more will go down as soon as the
river freezes. You'll have a thousand to feed through the winter. Put
them on rations,--working rations,--and see that they work. Cordwood,
six dollars per cord, and piled on the bank where steamers can make a
landing. No work, no rations. Understand?"
"Ay."
"A thousand men can get ugly, if they are idle. They can get ugly
anyway. Watch out they don't rush the caches. If they do,--do your
duty."
The other nodded grimly. His hands gripped unconsciously, while the
scar on his forehead took on a livid hue.
"There are five steamers in the ice. Make them safe against the spring
break-up. But first transfer all their cargoes to one big cache. You
can defend it better, and make the cache impregnable. Send a messenger
down to Fort Burr, asking Mr. Carter for three of his men. He doesn't
need them. Nothing much is doing at Circle City. Stop in on the way
down and take half of Mr. Burdwell's men. You'll need them. There'll
be gun-fighters in plenty to deal with. Be stiff. Keep things in
check from the start. Remember, the man who shoots first comes off
with the whole hide. And keep a constant eye on the grub."
"And on the forty-five-nineties," Captain McGregor rumbled back as he
passed out the door.
"John Melton--Mr. Melton, sir. Can he see you?"
"See here, Welse, what's this mean?" John Melton followed wrathfully
on the heels of the clerk, and he almost walked over him as he
flourished a paper before the head of the company. "Read that! What's
it stand for?"
Jacob Welse glanced over it and looked up coolly. "One thousand pounds
of grub."
"That's what I say, but that fellow you've got in the warehouse says
no,--five hundred's all it's good for."
"He spoke the truth."
"But--"
"It stands for one thousand pounds, but in the warehouse it is only
good for five hundred."
"That your signature?" thrusting the receipt again into the other's
line of vision.
"Yes."
"Then what are you going to do about it?"
"Give you five hundred. What are you going to do about it?"
"Refuse to take it."
"Very good. There is no further discussion."
"Yes there is. I propose to have no further dealings with you. I'm
rich enough to freight my own stuff in over the Passes, and I will next
year. Our business stops right now and for all time."
"I cannot object to that. You have three hundred thousand dollars in
dust deposited with me. Go to Mr. Atsheler and draw it at once."
The man fumed impotently up and down. "Can't I get that other five
hundred? Great God, man! I've paid for it! You don't intend me to
starve?"
"Look here, Melton." Jacob Welse paused to knock the ash from his
cigar. "At this very moment what are you working for? What are you
trying to get?"
"A thousand pounds of grub."
"For your own stomach?"
The Bonanzo king nodded his head.
"Just so." The lines showed more sharply on Jacob Welse's forehead.
"You are working for your own stomach. I am working for the stomachs
of twenty thousand."
"But you filled Tim McReady's thousand pounds yesterday all right."
"The scale-down did not go into effect until to-day."
"But why am I the one to get it in the neck hard?"
"Why didn't you come yesterday, and Tim McReady to-day?"
Melton's face went blank, and Jacob Welse answered his own question
with shrugging shoulders.
"That's the way it stands, Melton. No favoritism. If you hold me
responsible for Tim McReady, I shall hold you responsible for not
coming yesterday. Better we both throw it upon Providence. You went
through the Forty Mile Famine. You are a white man. A Bonanzo
property, or a block of Bonanzo properties, does not entitle you to a
pound more than the oldest penniless 'sour-dough' or the newest baby
born. Trust me. As long as I have a pound of grub you shall not
starve. Stiffen up. Shake hands. Get a smile on your face and make
the best of it."
Still savage of spirit, though rapidly toning down, the king shook
hands and flung out of the room. Before the door could close on his
heels, a loose-jointed Yankee shambled in, thrust a moccasined foot to
the side and hooked a chair under him, and sat down.
"Say," he opened up, confidentially, "people's gittin' scairt over the
grub proposition, I guess some."
"Hello, Dave. That you?"
"S'pose so. But ez I was saying there'll be a lively stampede fer the
Outside soon as the river freezes."
"Think so?"
"Unh huh."
"Then I'm glad to hear it. It's what the country needs. Going to join
them?"
"Not in a thousand years." Dave Harney threw his head back with smug
complacency. "Freighted my truck up to the mine yesterday. Wa'n't a
bit too soon about it, either. But say . . . Suthin' happened to the
sugar. Had it all on the last sled, an' jest where the trail turns off
the Klondike into Bonanzo, what does that sled do but break through the
ice! I never seen the beat of it--the last sled of all, an' all the
sugar! So I jest thought I'd drop in to-day an' git a hundred pounds
or so. White or brown, I ain't pertickler."
Jacob Welse shook his head and smiled, but Harney hitched his chair
closer.
"The clerk of yourn said he didn't know, an' ez there wa'n't no call to
pester him, I said I'd jest drop round an' see you. I don't care what
it's wuth. Make it a hundred even; that'll do me handy.
"Say," he went on easily, noting the decidedly negative poise of the
other's head. "I've got a tolerable sweet tooth, I have. Recollect
the taffy I made over on Preacher Creek that time? I declare! how time
does fly! That was all of six years ago if it's a day. More'n that,
surely. Seven, by the Jimcracky! But ez I was sayin', I'd ruther do
without my plug of 'Star' than sugar. An' about that sugar? Got my
dogs outside. Better go round to the warehouse an' git it, eh? Pretty
good idea."
But he saw the "No" shaping on Jacob Welse's lips, and hurried on
before it could be uttered.
"Now, I don't want to hog it. Wouldn't do that fer the world. So if
yer short, I can put up with seventy-five--" (he studied the other's
face), "an' I might do with fifty. I 'preciate your position, an' I
ain't low-down critter enough to pester--"
"What's the good of spilling words, Dave? We haven't a pound of sugar
to spare--"
"Ez I was sayin', I ain't no hog; an' seein' 's it's you, Welse, I'll
make to scrimp along on twenty-five--"
"Not an ounce!"
"Not the least leetle mite? Well, well, don't git het up. We'll jest
fergit I ast you fer any, an' I'll drop round some likelier time. So
long. Say!" He threw his jaw to one side and seemed to stiffen the
muscles of his ear as he listened intently. "That's the Laura's
whistle. She's startin' soon. Goin' to see her off? Come along."
Jacob Welse pulled on his bearskin coat and mittens, and they passed
through the outer offices into the main store. So large was it, that
the tenscore purchasers before the counters made no apparent crowd.
Many were serious-faced, and more than one looked darkly at the head of
the company as he passed. The clerks were selling everything except
grub, and it was grub that was in demand. "Holding it for a rise.
Famine prices," a red-whiskered miner sneered. Jacob Welse heard it,
but took no notice. He expected to hear it many times and more
unpleasantly ere the scare was over.
On the sidewalk he stopped to glance over the public bulletins posted
against the side of the building. Dogs lost, found, and for sale
occupied some space, but the rest was devoted to notices of sales of
outfits. The timid were already growing frightened. Outfits of five
hundred pounds were offering at a dollar a pound, without flour;
others, with flour, at a dollar and a half. Jacob Welse saw Melton
talking with an anxious-faced newcomer, and the satisfaction displayed
by the Bonanzo king told that he had succeeded in filling his winter's
cache.
"Why don't you smell out the sugar, Dave?" Jacob Welse asked, pointing
to the bulletins.
Dave Harney looked his reproach. "Mebbe you think I ain't ben
smellin'. I've clean wore my dogs out chasin' round from Klondike City
to the Hospital. Can't git yer fingers on it fer love or money."
They walked down the block-long sidewalk, past the warehouse doors and
the long teams of waiting huskies curled up in wolfish comfort in the
snow. It was for this snow, the first permanent one of the fall, that
the miners up-creek had waited to begin their freighting.
"Curious, ain't it?" Dave hazarded suggestively, as they crossed the
main street to the river bank. "Mighty curious--me ownin' two
five-hundred-foot Eldorado claims an' a fraction, wuth five millions if
I'm wuth a cent, an' no sweetenin' fer my coffee or mush! Why,
gosh-dang-it! this country kin go to blazes! I'll sell out! I'll quit
it cold! I'll--I'll--go back to the States!"
"Oh, no, you won't," Jacob Welse answered. "I've heard you talk
before. You put in a year up Stuart River on straight meat, if I
haven't forgotten. And you ate salmon-belly and dogs up the Tanana, to
say nothing of going through two famines; and you haven't turned your
back on the country yet. And you never will. And you'll die here as
sure as that's the Laura's spring being hauled aboard. And I look
forward confidently to the day when I shall ship you out in a
lead-lined box and burden the San Francisco end with the trouble of
winding up your estate. You are a fixture, and you know it."
As he talked he constantly acknowledged greetings from the passers-by.
Those who knew him were mainly old-timers and he knew them all by name,
though there was scarcely a newcomer to whom his face was not familiar.
"I'll jest bet I'll be in Paris in 1900," the Eldorado king protested
feebly.
But Jacob Welse did not hear. There was a jangling of gongs as
McGregor saluted him from the pilot-house and the Laura slipped out
from the bank. The men on the shore filled the air with good-luck
farewells and last advice, but the three hundred grubless ones, turning
their backs on the golden dream, were moody and dispirited, and made
small response. The Laura backed out through a channel cut in the
shore-ice, swung about in the current, and with a final blast put on
full steam ahead.
The crowd thinned away and went about its business, leaving Jacob Welse
the centre of a group of a dozen or so. The talk was of the famine,
but it was the talk of men. Even Dave Harney forgot to curse the
country for its sugar shortage, and waxed facetious over the
newcomers,--_chechaquos_, he called them, having recourse to the Siwash
tongue. In the midst of his remarks his quick eye lighted on a black
speck floating down with the mush-ice of the river. "Jest look at
that!" he cried. "A Peterborough canoe runnin' the ice!"
Twisting and turning, now paddling, now shoving clear of the floating
cakes, the two men in the canoe worked in to the rim-ice, along the
edge of which they drifted, waiting for an opening. Opposite the
channel cut out by the steamer, they drove their paddles deep and
darted into the calm dead water. The waiting group received them with
open arms, helping them up the bank and carrying their shell after them.
In its bottom were two leather mail-pouches, a couple of blankets,
coffee-pot and frying-pan, and a scant grub-sack. As for the men, so
frosted were they, and so numb with the cold, that they could hardly
stand. Dave Harney proposed whiskey, and was for haling them away at
once; but one delayed long enough to shake stiff hands with Jacob Welse.
"She's coming," he announced. "Passed her boat an hour back. It ought
to be round the bend any minute. I've got despatches for you, but I'll
see you later. Got to get something into me first." Turning to go
with Harney, he stopped suddenly and pointed up stream. "There she is
now. Just coming out past the bluff."
"Run along, boys, an' git yer whiskey," Harney admonished him and his
mate. "Tell 'm it's on me, double dose, an' jest excuse me not
drinkin' with you, fer I'm goin' to stay."
The Klondike was throwing a thick flow of ice, partly mush and partly
solid, and swept the boat out towards the middle of the Yukon. They
could see the struggle plainly from the bank,--four men standing up and
poling a way through the jarring cakes. A Yukon stove aboard was
sending up a trailing pillar of blue smoke, and, as the boat drew
closer, they could see a woman in the stern working the long
steering-sweep. At sight of this there was a snap and sparkle in Jacob
Welse's eyes. It was the first omen, and it was good, he thought. She
was still a Welse; a struggler and a fighter. The years of her culture
had not weakened her. Though tasting of the fruits of the first remove
from the soil, she was not afraid of the soil; she could return to it
gleefully and naturally.
So he mused till the boat drove in, ice-rimed and battered, against the
edge of the rim-ice. The one white man aboard sprang: out, painter in
hand, to slow it down and work into the channel. But the rim-ice was
formed of the night, and the front of it shelved off with him into the
current. The nose of the boat sheered out under the pressure of a
heavy cake, so that he came up at the stern. The woman's arm flashed
over the side to his collar, and at the same instant, sharp and
authoritative, her voice rang out to the Indian oarsmen to back water.
Still holding the man's head above water, she threw her body against
the sweep and guided the boat stern-foremost into the opening. A few
more strokes and it grounded at the foot of the bank. She passed the
collar of the chattering man to Dave Harney, who dragged him out and
started him off on the trail of the mail-carriers.
Frona stood up, her cheeks glowing from the quick work. Jacob Welse
hesitated. Though he stood within reach of the gunwale, a gulf of
three years was between. The womanhood of twenty, added unto the girl
of seventeen, made a sum more prodigious than he had imagined. He did
not know whether to bear-hug the radiant young creature or to take her
hand and help her ashore. But there was no apparent hitch, for she
leaped beside him and was into his arms. Those above looked away to a
man till the two came up the bank hand in hand.
"Gentlemen, my daughter." There was a great pride in his face.
Frona embraced them all with a comrade smile, and each man felt that
for an instant her eyes had looked straight into his.