Half the time the wind blew a gale, and Smoke Bellew staggered against
it along the beach. In the gray of dawn a dozen boats were being
loaded with the precious outfits packed across Chilcoot. They were
clumsy, home-made boats, put together by men who were not
boat-builders, out of planks they had sawed by hand from green spruce
trees. One boat, already loaded, was just starting, and Kit paused to
watch.
The wind, which was fair down the lake, here blew in squarely on the
beach, kicking up a nasty sea in the shallows. The men of the
departing boat waded in high rubber boots as they shoved it out toward
deeper water. Twice they did this. Clambering aboard and failing to
row clear, the boat was swept back and grounded. Kit noticed that the
spray on the sides of the boat quickly turned to ice. The third
attempt was a partial success. The last two men to climb in were wet
to their waists, but the boat was afloat. They struggled awkwardly at
the heavy oars, and slowly worked off shore. Then they hoisted a sail
made of blankets, had it carried away in a gust, and were swept a third
time back on the freezing beach.
Kit grinned to himself and went on. This was what he must expect to
encounter, for he, too, in his new role of gentleman's man, was to
start from the beach in a similar boat that very day.
Everywhere men were at work, and at work desperately, for the closing
down of winter was so imminent that it was a gamble whether or not they
would get across the great chain of lakes before the freeze-up. Yet,
when Kit arrived at the tent of Messrs Sprague and Stine, he did not
find them stirring.
By a fire, under the shelter of a tarpaulin, squatted a short, thick
man smoking a brown-paper cigarette.
"Hello," he said. "Are you Mister Sprague's new man?"
As Kit nodded, he thought he had noted a shade of emphasis on the
mister and the man, and he was sure of a hint of a twinkle in the
corner of the eye.
"Well, I'm Doc Stine's man," the other went on. "I'm five feet two
inches long, and my name's Shorty, Jack Short for short, and sometimes
known as Johnny-on-the-Spot."
Kit put out his hand and shook.
"Were you raised on bear-meat?" he queried.
"Sure," was the answer; "though my first feedin' was buffalo-milk as
near as I can remember. Sit down an' have some grub. The bosses ain't
turned out yet."
And despite the one breakfast, Kit sat down under the tarpaulin and ate
a second breakfast thrice as hearty. The heavy, purging toil of weeks
had given him the stomach and appetite of a wolf. He could eat
anything, in any quantity, and be unaware that he possessed a
digestion. Shorty he found voluble and pessimistic, and from him he
received surprising tips concerning their bosses, and ominous forecasts
of the expedition. Thomas Stanley Sprague was a budding mining
engineer and the son of a millionaire. Doctor Adolph Stine was also
the son of a wealthy father. And, through their fathers, both had been
backed by an investing syndicate in the Klondike adventure.
"Oh, they're sure made of money," Shorty expounded. "When they hit the
beach at Dyea, freight was seventy cents, but no Indians. There was a
party from Eastern Oregon, real miners, that'd managed to get a team of
Indians together at seventy cents. Indians had the straps on the
outfit, three thousand pounds of it, when along comes Sprague and
Stine. They offered eighty cents and ninety, and at a dollar a pound
the Indians jumped the contract and took off their straps. Sprague and
Stine came through, though it cost them three thousand, and the Oregon
bunch is still on the beach. They won't get through till next year.
"Oh, they are real hummers, your boss and mine, when it comes to
sheddin' the mazuma an' never mindin' other folks' feelin's. What did
they do when they hit Linderman? The carpenters was just putting in
the last licks on a boat they'd contracted to a 'Frisco bunch for six
hundred. Sprague and Stine slipped 'em an even thousand, and they
jumped their contract. It's a good-lookin' boat, but it's jiggered the
other bunch. They've got their outfit right here, but no boat. And
they're stuck for next year.
"Have another cup of coffee, and take it from me that I wouldn't travel
with no such outfit if I didn't want to get to Klondike so blamed bad.
They ain't hearted right. They'd take the crape off the door of a
house in mourning if they needed it in their business. Did you sign a
contract?"
Kit shook his head.
"Then I'm sorry for you, pardner. They ain't no grub in the country,
and they'll drop you cold as soon as they hit Dawson. Men are going to
starve there this winter."
"They agreed--" Kit began.
"Verbal," Shorty snapped him short. "It's your say so against theirs,
that's all. Well, anyway--what's your name, pardner?"
"Call me Smoke," said Kit.
"Well, Smoke, you'll have a run for your verbal contract just the same.
This is a plain sample of what to expect. They can sure shed mazuma,
but they can't work, or turn out of bed in the morning. We should have
been loaded and started an hour ago. It's you an' me for the big work.
Pretty soon you'll hear 'em shoutin' for their coffee--in bed, mind
you, and they grown men. What d'ye know about boatin' on the water?
I'm a cowman and a prospector, but I'm sure tender-footed on water, an'
they don't know punkins. What d'ye know?"
"Search me," Kit answered, snuggling in closer under the tarpaulin as
the snow whirled before a fiercer gust. "I haven't been on a small
boat since a boy. But I guess we can learn."
A corner of the tarpaulin tore loose, and Shorty received a jet of
driven snow down the back of his neck.
"Oh, we can learn all right," he muttered wrathfully. "Sure we can. A
child can learn. But it's dollars to doughnuts we don't even get
started to-day."
It was eight o'clock when the call for coffee came from the tent, and
nearly nine before the two employers emerged.
"Hello," said Sprague, a rosy-cheeked, well-fed young man of
twenty-five. "Time we made a start, Shorty. You and--" Here he
glanced interrogatively at Kit. "I didn't quite catch your name last
evening."
"Smoke."
"Well, Shorty, you and Mr Smoke had better begin loading the boat."
"Plain Smoke--cut out the Mister," Kit suggested.
Sprague nodded curtly and strolled away among the tents, to be followed
by Doctor Stine, a slender, pallid young man.
Shorty looked significantly at his companion.
"Over a ton and a half of outfit, and they won't lend a hand. You'll
see."
"I guess it's because we're paid to do the work," Kit answered
cheerfully, "and we might as well buck in."
To move three thousand pounds on the shoulders a hundred yards was no
slight task, and to do it in half a gale, slushing through the snow in
heavy rubber boots, was exhausting. In addition, there was the taking
down of the tent and the packing of small camp equipage. Then came the
loading. As the boat settled, it had to be shoved farther and farther
out, increasing the distance they had to wade. By two o'clock it had
all been accomplished, and Kit, despite his two breakfasts, was weak
with the faintness of hunger. His knees were shaking under him.
Shorty, in similar predicament, foraged through the pots and pans, and
drew forth a big pot of cold boiled beans in which were imbedded large
chunks of bacon. There was only one spoon, a long-handled one, and
they dipped, turn and turn about, into the pot. Kit was filled with an
immense certitude that in all his life he had never tasted anything so
good.
"Lord, man," he mumbled between chews, "I never knew what appetite was
till I hit the trail."
Sprague and Stine arrived in the midst of this pleasant occupation.
"What's the delay?" Sprague complained. "Aren't we ever going to get
started?"
Shorty dipped in turn, and passed the spoon to Kit. Nor did either
speak till the pot was empty and the bottom scraped.
"Of course we ain't ben doin' nothing," Shorty said, wiping his mouth
with the back of his hand. "We ain't ben doin' nothing at all. And of
course you ain't had nothing to eat. It was sure careless of me."
"Yes, yes," Stine said quickly. "We ate at one of the tents--friends
of ours."
"Thought so," Shorty grunted.
"But now that you're finished, let us get started," Sprague urged.
"There's the boat," said Shorty. "She's sure loaded. Now, just how
might you be goin' about to get started?"
"By climbing aboard and shoving off. Come on."
They waded out, and the employers got on board, while Kit and Shorty
shoved clear. When the waves lapped the tops of their boots they
clambered in. The other two men were not prepared with the oars, and
the boat swept back and grounded. Half a dozen times, with a great
expenditure of energy, this was repeated.
Shorty sat down disconsolately on the gunwale, took a chew of tobacco,
and questioned the universe, while Kit baled the boat and the other two
exchanged unkind remarks.
"If you'll take my orders, I'll get her off," Sprague finally said.
The attempt was well intended, but before he could clamber on board he
was wet to the waist.
"We've got to camp and build a fire," he said, as the boat grounded
again. "I'm freezing."
"Don't be afraid of a wetting," Stine sneered. "Other men have gone
off to-day wetter than you. Now I'm going to take her out."
This time it was he who got the wetting, and who announced with
chattering teeth the need of a fire.
"A little splash like that," Sprague chattered spitefully. "We'll go
on."
"Shorty, dig out my clothes-bag and make a fire," the other commanded.
"You'll do nothing of the sort," Sprague cried.
Shorty looked from one to the other, expectorated, but did not move.
"He's working for me, and I guess he obeys my orders," Stine retorted.
"Shorty, take that bag ashore."
Shorty obeyed, and Sprague shivered in the boat. Kit, having received
no orders, remained inactive, glad of the rest.
"A boat divided against itself won't float," he soliloquized.
"What's that?" Sprague snarled at him.
"Talking to myself--habit of mine," he answered.
His employer favoured him with a hard look, and sulked several minutes
longer. Then he surrendered.
"Get out my bag, Smoke," he ordered, "and lend a hand with that fire.
We won't get off till the morning now."