The sleds were singing their eternal lament to the creaking of the
harness and the tinkling bells of the leaders; but the men and dogs
were tired and made no sound. The trail was heavy with new-fallen snow,
and they had come far, and the runners, burdened with flint-like
quarters of frozen moose, clung tenaciously to the unpacked surface and
held back with a stubbornness almost human.
Darkness was coming on, but there was no camp to pitch that night. The
snow fell gently through the pulseless air, not in flakes, but in tiny
frost crystals of delicate design. It was very warm--barely ten below
zero--and the men did not mind. Meyers and Bettles had raised their ear
flaps, while Malemute Kid had even taken off his mittens.
The dogs had been fagged out early in the after noon, but they now
began to show new vigor. Among the more astute there was a certain
restlessness--an impatience at the restraint of the traces, an
indecisive quickness of movement, a sniffing of snouts and pricking of
ears. These became incensed at their more phlegmatic brothers, urging
them on with numerous sly nips on their hinder quarters. Those, thus
chidden, also contracted and helped spread the contagion. At last the
leader of the foremost sled uttered a sharp whine of satisfaction,
crouching lower in the snow and throwing himself against the collar.
The rest followed suit.
There was an ingathering of back hands, a tightening of traces; the
sleds leaped forward, and the men clung to the gee poles, violently
accelerating the uplift of their feet that they might escape going
under the runners. The weariness of the day fell from them, and they
whooped encouragement to the dogs. The animals responded with joyous
yelps. They were swinging through the gathering darkness at a rattling
gallop.
'Gee! Gee!' the men cried, each in turn, as their sleds abruptly left
the main trail, heeling over on single runners like luggers on the wind.
Then came a hundred yards' dash to the lighted parchment window, which
told its own story of the home cabin, the roaring Yukon stove, and the
steaming pots of tea. But the home cabin had been invaded. Threescore
huskies chorused defiance, and as many furry forms precipitated
themselves upon the dogs which drew the first sled. The door was flung
open, and a man, clad in the scarlet tunic of the Northwest Police,
waded knee-deep among the furious brutes, calmly and impartially
dispensing soothing justice with the butt end of a dog whip. After that
the men shook hands; and in this wise was Malemute Kid welcomed to his
own cabin by a stranger.
Stanley Prince, who should have welcomed him, and who was responsible
for the Yukon stove and hot tea aforementioned, was busy with his
guests. There were a dozen or so of them, as nondescript a crowd as
ever served the Queen in the enforcement of her laws or the delivery of
her mails. They were of many breeds, but their common life had formed
of them a certain type--a lean and wiry type, with trail-hardened
muscles, and sun-browned faces, and untroubled souls which gazed
frankly forth, clear-eyed and steady.
They drove the dogs of the Queen, wrought fear in the hearts of her
enemies, ate of her meager fare, and were happy. They had seen life,
and done deeds, and lived romances; but they did not know it.
And they were very much at home. Two of them were sprawled upon
Malemute Kid's bunk, singing chansons which their French forebears sang
in the days when first they entered the Northwest land and mated with
its Indian women. Bettles' bunk had suffered a similar invasion, and
three or four lusty voyageurs worked their toes among its blankets as
they listened to the tale of one who had served on the boat brigade
with Wolseley when he fought his way to Khartoum.
And when he tired, a cowboy told of courts and kings and lords and
ladies he had seen when Buffalo Bill toured the capitals of Europe. In
a corner two half-breeds, ancient comrades in a lost campaign, mended
harnesses and talked of the days when the Northwest flamed with
insurrection and Louis Riel was king.
Rough jests and rougher jokes went up and down, and great hazards by
trail and river were spoken of in the light of commonplaces, only to be
recalled by virtue of some grain of humor or ludicrous happening.
Prince was led away by these uncrowned heroes who had seen history
made, who regarded the great and the romantic as but the ordinary and
the incidental in the routine of life. He passed his precious tobacco
among them with lavish disregard, and rusty chains of reminiscence were
loosened, and forgotten odysseys resurrected for his especial benefit.
When conversation dropped and the travelers filled the last pipes and
lashed their tight-rolled sleeping furs. Prince fell back upon his
comrade for further information.
'Well, you know what the cowboy is,' Malemute Kid answered, beginning
to unlace his moccasins; 'and it's not hard to guess the British blood
in his bed partner. As for the rest, they're all children of the
coureurs du bois, mingled with God knows how many other bloods. The two
turning in by the door are the regulation 'breeds' or Boisbrules. That
lad with the worsted breech scarf--notice his eyebrows and the turn of
his jaw--shows a Scotchman wept in his mother's smoky tepee. And that
handsome looking fellow putting the capote under his head is a French
half-breed--you heard him talking; he doesn't like the two Indians
turning in next to him. You see, when the 'breeds' rose under the Riel
the full-bloods kept the peace, and they've not lost much love for one
another since.' 'But I say, what's that glum-looking fellow by the
stove? I'll swear he can't talk English. He hasn't opened his mouth all
night.' 'You're wrong. He knows English well enough. Did you follow his
eyes when he listened? I did. But he's neither kith nor kin to the
others. When they talked their own patois you could see he didn't
understand. I've been wondering myself what he is. Let's find out.'
'Fire a couple of sticks into the stove!'
Malemute Kid commanded, raising his voice and looking squarely at the
man in question.
He obeyed at once.
'Had discipline knocked into him somewhere.' Prince commented in a low
tone.
Malemute Kid nodded, took off his socks, and picked his way among
recumbent men to the stove. There he hung his damp footgear among a
score or so of mates.
'When do you expect to get to Dawson?' he asked tentatively.
The man studied him a moment before replying. 'They say seventy-five
mile. So? Maybe two days.' The very slightest accent was perceptible,
while there was no awkward hesitancy or groping for words.
'Been in the country before?' 'No.' 'Northwest Territory?' 'Yes.' 'Born
there?' 'No.'
'Well, where the devil were you born? You're none of these.' Malemute
Kid swept his hand over the dog drivers, even including the two
policemen who had turned into Prince's bunk. 'Where did you come from?
I've seen faces like yours before, though I can't remember just where.'
'I know you,' he irrelevantly replied, at once turning the drift of
Malemute Kid's questions.
'Where? Ever see me?' 'No; your partner, him priest, Pastilik, long
time ago. Him ask me if I see you, Malemute Kid. Him give me grub. I no
stop long. You hear him speak 'bout me?' 'Oh! you're the fellow that
traded the otter skins for the dogs?' The man nodded, knocked out his
pipe, and signified his disinclination for conversation by rolling up
in his furs. Malemute Kid blew out the slush lamp and crawled under the
blankets with Prince.
'Well, what is he?' 'Don't know--turned me off, somehow, and then shut
up like a clam.
'But he's a fellow to whet your curiosity. I've heard of him. All the
coast wondered about him eight years ago. Sort of mysterious, you know.
He came down out of the North in the dead of winter, many a thousand
miles from here, skirting Bering Sea and traveling as though the devil
were after him. No one ever learned where he came from, but he must
have come far. He was badly travel-worn when he got food from the
Swedish missionary on Golovin Bay and asked the way south. We heard of
all this afterward. Then he abandoned the shore line, heading right
across Norton Sound. Terrible weather, snowstorms and high winds, but
he pulled through where a thousand other men would have died, missing
St. Michaels and making the land at Pastilik. He'd lost all but two
dogs, and was nearly gone with starvation.
'He was so anxious to go on that Father Roubeau fitted him out with
grub; but he couldn't let him have any dogs, for he was only waiting my
arrival, to go on a trip himself. Mr. Ulysses knew too much to start on
without animals, and fretted around for several days. He had on his
sled a bunch of beautifully cured otter skins, sea otters, you know,
worth their weight in gold. There was also at Pastilik an old Shylock
of a Russian trader, who had dogs to kill. Well, they didn't dicker
very long, but when the Strange One headed south again, it was in the
rear of a spanking dog team. Mr. Shylock, by the way, had the otter
skins. I saw them, and they were magnificent. We figured it up and
found the dogs brought him at least five hundred apiece. And it wasn't
as if the Strange One didn't know the value of sea otter; he was an
Indian of some sort, and what little he talked showed he'd been among
white men.
'After the ice passed out of the sea, word came up from Nunivak Island
that he'd gone in there for grub. Then he dropped from sight, and this
is the first heard of him in eight years. Now where did he come from?
and what was he doing there? and why did he come from there? He's
Indian, he's been nobody knows where, and he's had discipline, which is
unusual for an Indian. Another mystery of the North for you to solve,
Prince.' 'Thanks awfully, but I've got too many on hand as it is,' he
replied.
Malemute Kid was already breathing heavily; but the young mining
engineer gazed straight up through the thick darkness, waiting for the
strange orgasm which stirred his blood to die away. And when he did
sleep, his brain worked on, and for the nonce he, too, wandered through
the white unknown, struggled with the dogs on endless trails, and saw
men live, and toil, and die like men. The next morning, hours before
daylight, the dog drivers and policemen pulled out for Dawson. But the
powers that saw to Her Majesty's interests and ruled the destinies of
her lesser creatures gave the mailmen little rest, for a week later
they appeared at Stuart River, heavily burdened with letters for Salt
Water.
However, their dogs had been replaced by fresh ones; but, then, they
were dogs.
The men had expected some sort of a layover in which to rest up;
besides, this Klondike was a new section of the Northland, and they had
wished to see a little something of the Golden City where dust flowed
like water and dance halls rang with never-ending revelry. But they
dried their socks and smoked their evening pipes with much the same
gusto as on their former visit, though one or two bold spirits
speculated on desertion and the possibility of crossing the unexplored
Rockies to the east, and thence, by the Mackenzie Valley, of gaining
their old stamping grounds in the Chippewyan country.
Two or three even decided to return to their homes by that route when
their terms of service had expired, and they began to lay plans
forthwith, looking forward to the hazardous undertaking in much the
same way a city-bred man would to a day's holiday in the woods.
He of the Otter Skins seemed very restless, though he took little
interest in the discussion, and at last he drew Malemute Kid to one
side and talked for some time in low tones.
Prince cast curious eyes in their direction, and the mystery deepened
when they put on caps and mittens and went outside. When they returned,
Malemute Kid placed his gold scales on the table, weighed out the
matter of sixty ounces, and transferred them to the Strange One's sack.
Then the chief of the dog drivers joined the conclave, and certain
business was transacted with him.
The next day the gang went on upriver, but He of the Otter Skins took
several pounds of grub and turned his steps back toward Dawson.
'Didn't know what to make of it,' said Malemute Kid in response to
Prince's queries; 'but the poor beggar wanted to be quit of the service
for some reason or other--at least it seemed a most important one to
him, though he wouldn't let on what. You see, it's just like the army:
he signed for two years, and the only way to get free was to buy
himself out. He couldn't desert and then stay here, and he was just
wild to remain in the country.
'Made up his mind when he got to Dawson, he said; but no one knew him,
hadn't a cent, and I was the only one he'd spoken two words with. So he
talked it over with the lieutenant-governor, and made arrangements in
case he could get the money from me--loan, you know. Said he'd pay back
in the year, and, if I wanted, would put me onto something rich.
Never'd seen it, but he knew it was rich.
'And talk! why, when he got me outside he was ready to weep. Begged and
pleaded; got down in the snow to me till I hauled him out of it.
Palavered around like a crazy man.
'Swore he's worked to this very end for years and years, and couldn't
bear to be disappointed now. Asked him what end, but he wouldn't say.
'Said they might keep him on the other half of the trail and he
wouldn't get to Dawson in two years, and then it would be too late.
Never saw a man take on so in my life. And when I said I'd let him have
it, had to yank him out of the snow again. Told him to consider it in
the light of a grubstake. Think he'd have it? No sir! Swore he'd give
me all he found, make me rich beyond the dreams of avarice, and all
such stuff. Now a man who puts his life and time against a grubstake
ordinarily finds it hard enough to turn over half of what he finds.
Something behind all this, Prince; just you make a note of it. We'll
hear of him if he stays in the country--' 'And if he doesn't?' 'Then my
good nature gets a shock, and I'm sixty some odd ounces out.' The cold
weather had come on with the long nights, and the sun had begun to play
his ancient game of peekaboo along the southern snow line ere aught was
heard of Malemute Kid's grubstake. And then, one bleak morning in early
January, a heavily laden dog train pulled into his cabin below Stuart
River. He of the Otter Skins was there, and with him walked a man such
as the gods have almost forgotten how to fashion. Men never talked of
luck and pluck and five-hundred-dollar dirt without bringing in the
name of Axel Gunderson; nor could tales of nerve or strength or daring
pass up and down the campfire without the summoning of his presence.
And when the conversation flagged, it blazed anew at mention of the
woman who shared his fortunes.
As has been noted, in the making of Axel Gunderson the gods had
remembered their old-time cunning and cast him after the manner of men
who were born when the world was young. Full seven feet he towered in
his picturesque costume which marked a king of Eldorado. His chest,
neck, and limbs were those of a giant. To bear his three hundred pounds
of bone and muscle, his snowshoes were greater by a generous yard than
those of other men. Rough-hewn, with rugged brow and massive jaw and
unflinching eyes of palest blue, his face told the tale of one who knew
but the law of might. Of the yellow of ripe corn silk, his
frost-incrusted hair swept like day across the night and fell far down
his coat of bearskin.
A vague tradition of the sea seemed to cling about him as he swung down
the narrow trail in advance of the dogs; and he brought the butt of his
dog whip against Malemute Kid's door as a Norse sea rover, on southern
foray, might thunder for admittance at the castle gate.
Prince bared his womanly arms and kneaded sour-dough bread, casting, as
he did so, many a glance at the three guests--three guests the like of
which might never come under a man's roof in a lifetime. The Strange
One, whom Malemute Kid had surnamed Ulysses, still fascinated him; but
his interest chiefly gravitated between Axel Gunderson and Axel
Gunderson's wife. She felt the day's journey, for she had softened in
comfortable cabins during the many days since her husband mastered the
wealth of frozen pay streaks, and she was tired. She rested against his
great breast like a slender flower against a wall, replying lazily to
Malemute Kid's good-natured banter, and stirring Prince's blood
strangely with an occasional sweep of her deep, dark eyes. For Prince
was a man, and healthy, and had seen few women in many months. And she
was older than he, and an Indian besides. But she was different from
all native wives he had met: she had traveled--had been in his country
among others, he gathered from the conversation; and she knew most of
the things the women of his own race knew, and much more that it was
not in the nature of things for them to know. She could make a meal of
sun-dried fish or a bed in the snow; yet she teased them with
tantalizing details of many-course dinners, and caused strange internal
dissensions to arise at the mention of various quondam dishes which
they had well-nigh forgotten. She knew the ways of the moose, the bear,
and the little blue fox, and of the wild amphibians of the Northern
seas; she was skilled in the lore of the woods, and the streams, and
the tale writ by man and bird and beast upon the delicate snow crust
was to her an open book; yet Prince caught the appreciative twinkle in
her eye as she read the Rules of the Camp. These rules had been
fathered by the Unquenchable Bettles at a time when his blood ran high,
and were remarkable for the terse simplicity of their humor.
Prince always turned them to the wall before the arrival of ladies; but
who could suspect that this native wife--Well, it was too late now.
This, then, was the wife of Axel Gunderson, a woman whose name and fame
had traveled with her husband's, hand in hand, through all the
Northland. At table, Malemute Kid baited her with the assurance of an
old friend, and Prince shook off the shyness of first acquaintance and
joined in. But she held her own in the unequal contest, while her
husband, slower in wit, ventured naught but applause. And he was very
proud of her; his every look and action revealed the magnitude of the
place she occupied in his life. He of the Otter Skins ate in silence,
forgotten in the merry battle; and long ere the others were done he
pushed back from the table and went out among the dogs. Yet all too
soon his fellow travelers drew on their mittens and parkas and followed
him.
There had been no snow for many days, and the sleds slipped along the
hardpacked Yukon trail as easily as if it had been glare ice. Ulysses
led the first sled; with the second came Prince and Axel Gunderson's
wife; while Malemute Kid and the yellow-haired giant brought up the
third.
'It's only a hunch, Kid,' he said, 'but I think it's straight. He's
never been there, but he tells a good story, and shows a map I heard of
when I was in the Kootenay country years ago. I'd like to have you go
along; but he's a strange one, and swore point-blank to throw it up if
anyone was brought in. But when I come back you'll get first tip, and
I'll stake you next to me, and give you a half share in the town site
besides.' 'No! no!' he cried, as the other strove to interrupt. 'I'm
running this, and before I'm done it'll need two heads.
'If it's all right, why, it'll be a second Cripple Creek, man; do you
hear?--a second Cripple Creek! It's quartz, you know, not placer; and
if we work it right we'll corral the whole thing--millions upon
millions. I've heard of the place before, and so have you. We'll build
a town--thousands of workmen--good waterways--steamship lines--big
carrying trade--light-draught steamers for head reaches--survey a
railroad, perhaps--sawmills--electric-light plant--do our own
banking--commercial company--syndicate--Say! Just you hold your hush
till I get back!' The sleds came to a halt where the trail crossed the
mouth of Stuart River. An unbroken sea of frost, its wide expanse
stretched away into the unknown east.
The snowshoes were withdrawn from the lashings of the sleds. Axel
Gunderson shook hands and stepped to the fore, his great webbed shoes
sinking a fair half yard into the feathery surface and packing the snow
so the dogs should not wallow. His wife fell in behind the last sled,
betraying long practice in the art of handling the awkward footgear.
The stillness was broken with cheery farewells; the dogs whined; and He
of the Otter Skins talked with his whip to a recalcitrant wheeler.
An hour later the train had taken on the likeness of a black pencil
crawling in a long, straight line across a mighty sheet of foolscap.