.. -*- encoding: utf-8 -*-

.. meta::
   :PG.Id: 50831
   :PG.Title: The River Motor Boat Boys on the Yukon
   :PG.Released: 2016-01-02
   :PG.Rights: Public Domain
   :PG.Producer: Roger Frank
   :PG.Producer: the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.bookcove.net
   :DC.Creator: Harry Gordon
   :DC.Title: The River Motor Boat Boys on the Yukon
              The Lost Mine of Rainbow Bend
   :DC.Language: en
   :DC.Created: 1914
   :coverpage: images/cover.jpg

======================================
THE RIVER MOTOR BOAT BOYS ON THE YUKON
======================================

.. clearpage::

.. pgheader::

.. clearpage::

.. figure:: images/illus-fpc.jpg
   :align: center

   The bear struck the man a powerful blow knocking him into the turbulent waters.

.. container:: titlepage center white-space-pre-line

   .. vspace:: 4

   .. class:: x-large

      The River Motor Boat Boys on the Yukon

   .. vspace:: 2

   .. class:: large

      The Lost Mine of Rainbow Bend

   .. vspace:: 2

   Harry Gordon

   .. vspace:: 2

   .. class:: small

      AUTHOR OF
      “The River Motor Boat Boys on the St. Lawrence,”
      “The River Motor Boat Boys on the Colorado,”
      “The River Motor Boat Boys on the Mississippi,”
      “The River Motor Boat Boys on the Amazon,”
      “The River Motor Boat Boys on the Columbia,”
      “The River Motor Boat Boys on the Ohio”

   .. vspace:: 4

   .. class:: medium

      A. L. Burt Company
      New York

.. clearpage::

.. container:: verso center white-space-pre-line

   Copyright, 1915, by
   A. L. Burt Company

   PRINTED IN THE U. S. A.

.. clearpage::

.. class:: center large

   CONTENTS

.. class:: noindent white-space-pre-line

    \I. `INTRODUCING OLD FRIENDS`_
    \II. `A MYSTERY`_
    \III. `THE MYSTERY DEEPENS`_
    \IV. `JUST ODDS AND ENDS`_
    \V. `STARTING`_
    \VI. `A MURDEROUS ASSAULT`_
    \VII. `THE GOLD FEVER`_
    \VIII. `AN EXCITING TIME`_
    \IX. `THE VISITORS`_
    \X. `THE YUKON`_
    \XI. `TRAPPED`_
    \XII. `A CLOSE CALL`_
    \XIII. `ON THE YUKON`_
    \XV. `ANOTHER MISHAP`_
    \XVI. `ESQUIMAUX`_
    \XVII. `ABE`_
    \XVIII. `THE TRADE`_
    \XIX. `WINTER QUARTERS`_
    \XX. `THE VISION`_
    \XXI. `THE MYSTERY`_
    \XXII. `SOLVING THE MYSTERY`__
    \XXIII. `SOLVING THE MYSTERY`__
    \XXIV. `GOOD-BYE`_

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: noindent

[Transcriber’s Note: As printed, there was no Chapter XIV and the
titles of chapters XXII and XXIII are identical.]

.. clearpage::

.. class:: center x-large

   THE RIVER MOTOR BOAT BOYS ON THE YUKON

.. vspace:: 2

.. _`INTRODUCING OLD FRIENDS`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER I

.. class:: center medium

   INTRODUCING OLD FRIENDS

.. vspace:: 2

The motor boat *Rambler* lay moored securely
fore and aft to a short pier in the South Branch of
Chicago. Great care had been taken in the mooring,
for the holding lines where they ran in over
the side of the boat were thickly wrapped with soft
cloth to prevent chafing and between her side and
the dock’s rough piling, were placed huge, soft, rope
bumpers to prevent the wearing by rubbing between
boat and dock. Even in the dim light of the late
April evening, the reason for this careful mooring
was apparent at a glance. The *Rambler* was
gay with a coat of fresh paint from cabin top to
keelson. This gay, cleanliness did not stop with
the exterior, for down below in the warm cosy
cabin, the lights glistened on sides and ceiling
freshly enameled in purest white. The four
folding bunks along the sides were bordered with gilt
and above their folded tops protruded the edges of
clean sheets and soft warm blankets. Knobs of
mahogany protruding from the lower sides of the
wall showed where the occupants, or crew, kept
their personal belongings, while in the racks on the
ceiling above were suspended three glistening rifles
and a large bore shot gun. Everything in the room
bore testimony to careful, constant, well planned
work. The back end of the room had been partitioned
off into a cozy kitchen with an abundance of
lockers to hold supplies. Back beyond the kitchen,
under the after deck, were the powerful little motors
which, when in action, drove the beautiful boat at
a rapid pace.

But more interesting than the boat were its
occupants gathered around the small table in the cozy
cabin. They were three in number. The one at
the end of the table was a tall lad with an
intelligent, manly face. His name was Clayton Emmet,
but he was commonly called Clay by his acquaintances.
On Clay’s right sat a boy of about his own
build, but of graver face, whose name, Cornelius
Witters, had been shortened to Case. He was
plucky and loyal, but gloomily-inclined and accustomed
to prophesying the worst in any difficulty.
Next to Case sat Alexander Smithwick, or Alex,
smaller in size, but whose freckled face and grinning
mouth told of a humorous, joking disposition.
All three were engaged in a lively debate, Alex
darting out every few minutes to stir up a stew
which was sending out a savory odor from the tiny
kitchen. Hurrying back from one of these trips he
flung himself again into the discussion.

“We have just got to make another trip this
summer. Look at all the work and expense we
have been to repairing the *Rambler* this winter. We
do not want to have all that wasted. Then think of
all the fun we have had on our other trips. On the
Amazon, the Mississippi, the Ohio, the Columbia,
the St. Lawrence, and the Colorado. Why, every
one of them has been chock full of fun, adventure
and excitement.”

“I would like to go,” said Case gloomily, “but
in the first place, we have explored all the best of
the big rivers and, in the second place, we can not
afford the time for any more trips. We have helped
others to make money but I doubt if all our trips
have brought us one thousand dollars. We had
ought to keep steadily at work and lay up money
for our future careers. You want to remember we
are getting old.”

“Oh, yes, we are getting old,” Alex grinned. “I
feel old age creeping upon me day by day, gray
hairs amongst the gold, a touch of rheumatism, a
gathering weakness in flesh and bone, and often a
terrible aching pain in the stomach.”

“Those stomach pains are from over-eating,”
retorted Case.

Alex turned to Clay. “What do you think about
it? You are always the clearest headed one of the
bunch.”

“I agree with what Case has said,” Clay declared,
gravely. “We are all over seventeen years
old and had ought to be beginning to try to get a
start in life instead of wasting time and money in
these summer trips, however pleasant they may be.”

Alex’s freckled face took on a look of gloom,
while even Case did not look pleased at having his
theory indorsed.

Clay smiled at their serious faces. “I have been
thinking about this matter seriously all winter,” he
said, quietly, “and have decided that we will have
to give up mere pleasure trips for the future, but
I see no reason why we should not go this summer
if there is a way to make the trip profitable. How
much money have we got altogether?”

“Why we have got that $1,000.00 in the bank,”
said Case.

“I’ve saved $100.00 this summer,” declared Alex,
eagerly.

“Oh, for that matter, I’ve hoarded up $125.00,
if it’s needed,” Case confessed.

“I’ve had a pretty good position all winter,” Clay
said. “I’ve managed to lay by $175.00. Let’s see
what that brings the total up to. Why, $1,400.00,
but I am afraid it will take all of that.”

“What is your plan?” demanded Alex, his eyes
shining.

Clay hesitated. “It seems a bold one to propose,
but I really believe our best chance lies in a trip
up the Yukon.”

“Whew!” whistled Alex and Case together.
“You mean for us to go up there and hunt for
gold? We know nothing about mining,” said Case.

“It would be lots of fun,” Alex insisted, “but
it’s some trip up there to the Yukon.”

“I did not mean for us to go merely for gold,
although I think we could soon learn enough about
it to try it out if we so desired,” Case explained.
“My idea was to stock up with beads, trinkets and
tobacco—especially tobacco—to trade with the Indians
for skins, furs, and specimens of the far
North. Even at the worst we could go to work and
make big wages, for labor is scarce up there.”

“But will not the expense of such a trip be something
fierce?” inquired the gloomy Case.

“It will. We would have to ship the *Rambler*
by rail to Seattle and the cost of transportation for
her and ourselves would be high. You see it is not
so very long since gold was discovered in Alaska
and the rush of people to get there enables the
steamers to charge almost any price.”

“Keep still a second,” exclaimed Alex. “Isn’t
that some one moving about up on deck?”

He darted for the cabin door, followed by his
two companions. Coming from the brightly lighted
cabin out into the night, they could not see ten
feet in the inky darkness, but they could hear the
retreat of hurried foot-steps going up the dock.

“No use trying to catch him in this darkness,”
Clay remarked. “Probably it’s only a river thief.
Let’s go down into the cabin.”

“Call him a river thief if you want to,” Case said,
darkly, “but I doubt it. All our trips seem to start
with a mystery.”

“All the more fun,” grinned Alex. “They help
to make excitement, Gloomy Gus.”

“There will be no mystery this time. No one
would want to join a trip like the one we are going
to take,” Clay said.

“You’ll see,” Case said darkly.

“Let’s get back to our trip,” said the cheerful
Alex. “What will we want to take with us?”

“First we will want to stock up with all the food
we can carry, for food prices will be high in Alaska.
Our guns are all right, but we had ought to have
some warmer clothing and heavier blankets. Our
heaviest expense, however, will be a new motor for
the *Rambler*.”

“A new motor for the *Rambler*?” cried Case, in
dismay. “Why, what’s wrong with our dear little
motors? They have carried us thousands of miles
without a hitch.”

“That’s just the trouble. They have about worn
out their lives in faithful service for us. I have gone
over them carefully this winter and I find that the
cylinders have worn thin while the working parts
are almost gone. Aside from that we could not
carry enough gasoline for the trip and I do not
expect we will find much, if any, gasoline on the
Yukon.”

“Then what are we going to do?” demanded
Alex, anxiously.

“I wish we could put in a wood engine and save
the expense for fuel, but a steam engine which
would do our work would be too heavy for the
*Rambler*. The next best thing is a kerosene engine.
They are not much heavier than a gas, and I feel
sure we can get kerosene on the Yukon. It always
follows closely the movements of civilized man.
Well, what do you say? Shall we have a new
motor or not?”

His companions recognized the wisdom of his
arguments and gave ready assent, although they
hated the idea of parting with their loyal little
friends.

“If you have finished and all is settled, I would
like to offer a few remarks,” said Alex, grinning as
he rose from his chair with a twinkle in his eye. He
paused for a moment while the other two looked up
at him expectantly. “Gentlemen,” he began, “it
gives me great pleasure to look over this vast sea of
upturned faces. In them I see resolve, a resolution
to do or die, a determination to conquer a frozen
wilderness and wrench from it its golden treasures.
Gentlemen, I propose a toast. Here’s to——”

“Whew! Don’t you smell something?” interrupted Case.

“Smell! Why I can almost hear it,” grinned
Clay. “It seems to come from the kitchen.”

Alex, his speech forgotten, flew for the kitchen.
In a moment he was back with a sheepish grin on
his face. “Most of the coffee has boiled over, but
there are two inches of stew which hasn’t stuck
onto the pot,” he announced.

“You seem to forget everything else when you
get to talking,” commented Case, gloomily.

“Oh! Alex means all right,” Clay said cheerfully.
“The only trouble with Alex is that he is
like the steamboat Abe Lincoln used to tell about.
She had a four-foot engine and a five-foot whistle,
so every time she blew the whistle the engine would
stop.”

“I suppose your crude sarcasm is meant to imply
that when I talk I have to stop everything else. Why,
my dear companion, that’s a virtue. A man should
not try to do more than one thing at a time,” Alex
retorted impudently. “Why, if you two could
whistle as well as I, you wouldn’t do anything else.
Case does blow his own whistle a good deal, but
it generally sounds like a fog horn with a frog in
its throat—dismal—dismal—dismal.”

“Away with you and get us something to eat, you
little imp,” laughed Case.

“Why, don’t you want to try some of this stew?”
asked Alex hopefully. “It’s rich and there’s fully
two inches of it that isn’t fast to the pan.”

“No, I don’t want to taste it, the smell is enough.
Open up a can of beans and a can of salmon for
Clay and I. You can keep all the stew for yourself.
I don’t think there is enough of it for more
than one anyway.”

“I never care for stews,” declared Alex promptly.
“I’ll give it to Captain Joe. I forgot to cook up
anything for him anyway.”

He advanced to where a big white bull dog lay
asleep in the corner and placed the stew-pan close
to his nose. The dog awoke instantly and began
sniffing eagerly.

“Look at him. Watch him go to it. Captain Joe
knows what’s good,” Alex exulted.

Captain Joe shoved his nose into the pan and
took one good whiff, then gave the pan a shove with
his paw and with a sniff of disgust, retired to the
opposite corner and lay down again.

“Captain Joe is an intelligent animal,” Clay
agreed with a grin. But hurry up Alex. Throw
that stuff out and bring on the salmon and beans.
I am hungry as a wolf.”

Alex meekly obeyed and soon all three were
seated around the table eating their cold meal and
eagerly discussing their proposed trip.

“How soon do you think we can start?” asked
Alex eagerly.

“The sooner the better,” Clay replied. “It will
take a long time to make the trip and the season
is short up there. If we divide the labor equally we
can soon be ready. Tomorrow, Alex can order the
provisions. He’s authority on eatables. You, Case,
can buy the heavier blankets and warmer clothing
we will need, while I will try to find a good
kerosene engine and buy the tobacco and trading
trinkets. The buying had ought to take us all of
tomorrow, for we want to be careful in our purchases. By
working hard the next day we had ought to get
the old motors out and the new installed. If so,
there is no reason why we can not be off in three
days from now.”

“Hurrah,” shouted the excited Alex. “That’s
going some.”

“Keep still,” whispered Clay, “I can hear those
footsteps right on deck again.

His two companions listened.

“We want to catch that fellow this time,” Clay
said softly. “You fellows just keep right on talking
and I’ll slip back to the back door. The steps
are moving slowly back to the after deck. As soon
as they come close to the door, I’ll throw it open
and grab him, then you all come at once and the
job is done.”

His two companions nodded assent to the plan
and began talking loudly to each other, while Clay
crept back to the door at the stern.

The soft muffled foot-steps came slowly nearer
until they reached the narrow deck aft.

Clay flung the door open and with a shout sprung
upon the dim figure outside. Alex and Case, with
Captain Joe, came dashing out to his assistance.
But there was no need of help. The stranger
offered no resistance, instead he chuckled.

“Is this the way you always greet visitors?”
he asked. “Gee, but you are a hospitable lot.”

“Come on down into the cabin where we can see
who you are,” said Clay sternly, still retaining his
grip on the stranger’s arm.

The stranger followed him willingly down into
the cabin light, where Clay let go his arm as though
the coat sleeves was red hot, while his chums howled
at him with delight.

“Mr. Clay, but you’re a great detective,” Alex
jaunted. “You go out to catch a thief and bring
in a friend.”

But his jeers fell on deaf ears, for Clay was
gazing at a slender, bright-eyed boy with abashment
and recognition. “Why, it’s Ike Levis,” he cried.

“It’s a wonder you recognize him, Clay,” grinned
the impudent Alex. “You’ve only known him for
ten years.”

“I’ve only known him for five, but I can almost
see a likeness,” smiled Case.

The bright-eyed stranger smiled at the joshing,
but seemed to think it had gone far enough.

“I stole time to come down and get a look at
your wonderful little ship, of which I had heard
so much. Won’t you show me around, boys?”

.. vspace:: 4

.. _`A MYSTERY`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER II

.. class:: center medium

   A MYSTERY

.. vspace:: 2

The boys agreed to Ike’s request with delight.
They were proud of the neat little Rambler that had
carried them safely and surely over so many thousands
of miles of water. They led him all around
showing the clever contrivances of lockers, the folding
bunks, the cozy kitchen, and how every inch of
available space had been arranged for the handy
storage of some article.

“You’ve got a daisy little craft, and have got her
fixed up dandy,” Ike enthusiastically declared, as
soon as they were seated. “Where do you expect
to go this summer, and how soon are you going
to start?”

“We are going to Alaska up on the Yukon,”
Alex exclaimed. “We’re not going for fun exactly
this time, although we expect to have a lot of that
too. Our main object is to dig a ton or so of gold,
fill up the balance of our cargo with rare and costly
furs, and make our way back to the States before
the ice sets.”

“There you go, hoodooing the trip before it’s
started,” growled Case gloomily. “I was in hopes
we might sneak back with a few hundred dollars.
But with all the bragging you’ve begun already, I
am doubtful if we get back with the boat.

“Now, Gloomy Gus”—a name he bestowed on
Case during his gloomy spells—grinned Alex.
“Isn’t it better a lot to think you are going to get
rich when you start even if you do come back poor?
It makes fun in the going anyway. Ain’t I right,
Clay?”

“Don’t count your chickens before they are
hatched,” quoted Clay with a smile.

“If we did not, there would be no chicken raisers,”
Alex retorted with spirit. “They always expect
a chicken for every egg until the shells begin
to crack.”

“I hate to interrupt so much philosophy,” said
Ike with a smile, “but I’m just itching to talk a
little myself.”

“Take the floor,” smiled Clay, and his two companions
lapsed into silence.

“What I want to say is just this,” began Ike in
a brisk, business-like way. “I want to go up the
Yukon with you fellows.”

“Hurray,” shouted Alex, “four is lots better than
three.”

“Sure, come along,” said Case, cheerfully.

Only Clay did not join in the hearty replies and
his two companions eyed him in wonder.

“It is going to be a very expensive trip,” Clay
said at last.

“I expect it to be costly,” Ike replied, quietly.
“But, boys, you know that little news stand I have
been running for so many years has paid pretty well
all the time. It paid the expenses of all of us when
mother and father and baby brother were alive.
Since they were all taken by the white sickness,
there has been more money than I could use, you
understand, so I put it in the banks. I can put in
$1,000.00 for this trip and then some more if
needed.”

“But why do you want to sell such a good paying
stand as yours and waste a lot of money on a trip
like this which may not bring in a cent?” Clay
asked.

“I can put in a boy I know well, a good, honest
boy, to run the stand while I am gone. You, Clay,
do not understand. Every year you have vacations
and have lots of fun. You come back well and
happy and eager for work. For ten years I stand
behind that little stand. Out in the snow and cold,
the slush and rain, the dust and hot sun, and never
once a play day. That is not right, that is not well.
It makes a young man soon old, makes him look on
life wrong. Now I can afford it I would like to
have one long play time.”

“But there is but little fun we’ll have on the
Yukon! With a $1,000.00 you could have all kinds
of fun at some hunting or fishing resort closer
home,” Clay still urged.

“I tell you another reason why I want most to
go to the Yukon,” replied Ike, after a second’s hesitation.
“I got uncle up there several years. He
makes no good at the mining. I got no other relatives
now, so I hunt up uncle and if prices are high
we set up fine store. Uncle can sell goods in the
store while I go out and trade for furs with the
Indians. I think we make good money. But it
seems you no want me to go with you, Clay—why?”

“But I do want you to go with us,” Clay declared,
heartily, his face lightening. “We all of us want
you to go. We start in tomorrow to buy our supplies
and when that’s done move your things right
down to the boat and become one of us.”

“Sorry, but I can’t do that,” Ike replied. “I’ll
have to teach the new boy the business and settle
up a few of my affairs. I am afraid I will not be
able to come aboard until just before you start. But
I will do a fair share of the work as soon as we are
off. Call by my stand in the morning and I will hand
you that $1,000.00. Put it into the general fund
and get me an outfit just the same as you do for
yourselves.”

“But a $1,000.00 apiece is more than we are putting
up,” said Clay, honestly. “We have only
$1,400.00 in cash altogether.”

Ike laughed. “You do not figure it right, my
friend. I gets for my money not only a share in
outfit and stores, but I get a trip up and down the
Yukon which is worth much more than $500.00.
And now, boys, it is getting late and I have to be
up early in the morning to attend to my stand.”

Clay turned on the prow light to light up the
prow and dock and the three boys followed their
friend on deck where they parted with many good-nights
and prophecies for the coming trip.

As soon as he had passed out of sight, the three
descended to the cabin again, and Alex folding his
arms, looked at Clay with as much scorn as his
freckled, good-humored face could express. “You’re
a fine one,” he grunted. “Why, you cross-questioned
Ike as though he was a criminal and you
the prosecuting attorney just because he wanted to
go on this trip with us. I was afraid he would get
disgusted with your questions and give up the notion.
There’s no other boy I know who I had rather
have go on this trip with us. Ike used to be mighty
good to me when I was a little newsie. Ike is all
right.”

“Yes,” Case agreed. “I have seen him many a
time stop big boys who were abusing little ones, and
leave his stand to help feeble old men and old ladies
across the street.”

“I know him better than either of you,” Clay said,
quietly, ignoring the storm that had burst upon him.
“I remember the time when his family was dying
of consumption. Why, all the time they were lingering
on between life and death, he was like an
angel to them. They had a doctor, a day nurse and
any delicacy they thought they wanted. At night
he would take the day nurse’s place. When at last
they were dead and buried, there was little left of
Ike but skin and bones, for he had eaten barely
enough to keep him alive, so that the others might
have more comforts. The money he had saved was
all gone and there was little left of the news stand
but a few bundles of the best selling newspapers. A
boy who acts towards his folks like that simply can’t
be a bad boy.”

“Then why didn’t you want him to go with us?”
demanded Alex, still unsatisfied.

“I see I have got to tell it all,” Clay said wearily.
“It isn’t so much, but it has made me a little
curious. I was passing Ike’s stand one evening last
fall and stopped to get a paper. Ike was at the
other end of the stand talking with two strange-looking
men who wore rough clothes and whose
faces were covered with big blotches where they
had been frost bitten. All three were talking friendly
but eagerly, and often I could catch the words,
‘Alaska,’ ‘Yukon,’ ‘and great wealth,’ so I decided
that the two men were miners just in from Alaska.
Well, I could not hear much of what they said, they
talked in such low tones. At last I got tired of
waiting and called Ike and gave him the change for
the paper and left. Now you all think it was my
idea about this Yukon trip; you are wrong. It’s
Ike’s plan. Ever since the day I saw him with those
two men he has been trying to enthuse me about
this Yukon trip.”

“Maybe he had learned something good about
the Yukon country and wants that we should get
the benefit of it,” Alex suggested.

“I thought that myself,” Clay said, sadly, “until
this afternoon, when I passed Ike’s stand on my
way home. There stood the two miners I had seen
before and they and Ike were having a violent quarrel.
In fact, they were coming to the point of
blows. One of the men aimed a blow at Ike and
I started to run to Ike’s assistance, yelling for the
police. The yells for the police seemed to scare the
two men for they took to their heels. I asked Ike
what all the trouble was about and he said they were
a couple of roughs who had bought a paper and
gave him a nickel. When he gave them their
change they had insisted on change for a dollar,
which they claimed was the amount given him.”

“Great mystery all that,” Alex said scornfully.
“Have you any more evidence to pile up, Mr.
Sherlock Holmes?”

“Welt, Ike’s story rang rather flat to me,” Clay
replied. “Neither man carried a paper or anything
else when they took to their heels. I would not
have thought much about these things if Ike had not
come down tonight and wanted to go to Alaska with
us. That seemed to string all those things together.
I felt sure Ike was too much of a business chap to
spend $1,000.00 on a pleasure trip to the Yukon.
But when he said he wanted to go to hunt up his
uncle, why that made things look better, for a Jew
will go a long ways and do a lot for a relative.”

“Well, what are we going to do about it?” Alex
demanded.

“I want him to go with us of course,” answered
Clay. “I know Ike’s all right, but I was in hopes
that my questions—about which you have been
roasting me so—would clear up the things that had
been puzzling me.”

“Ike might as well go as not,” Case agreed
gloomily. “We always have to carry a nice fat
mystery on each of our trips, and I’d rather Ike
brought it along with him than to have some uninvited
stranger smuggle it aboard.”

“You and Clay make me tired,” snapped Alex.
“One of you is just as bad as the other. I guess
I’ll have to call one of you Gloomy Gus 1, the other
Gloomy Gus 2.”

“All right, you wait and see,” said Case darkly.
“It’s only a nice gentle kitten-like mystery we start
with on each trip, but before the trip is ended it
grows to be as big as a grizzly bear.”

“That reminds me that one of us will have to
bring Teddy Bear down to the boat. He’s getting
pretty big but we must have him along with us for
one more trip anyway.”

Teddy Bear was a grizzly cub the boys had captured
on their trip on the Columbia. On their return
from their last trip, they had turned him over
to the zoo man as he had grown so big and had such
a thieving appetite for sugar and other sweet things
that they could not trust him in the *Rambler* while
they were away at their work. Whenever they had
a day of leisure, they would take Captain Joe along
with them and go up to see their pet. They would
put him through his tricks and slip him in a generous
amount of sugar. So they kept themselves
fresh in his memory. Teddy and Captain Joe were
the greatest comrades and both rejoiced at these
meetings. It was comical to see Captain Joe seated
on his haunches, look up with one eye cocked as
though saying, “Well, Old Chap, how are they
treating you down here?” and Teddy Bear would
with one eye wink back as though replying, “Pretty
well, Joe, but it isn’t anything like life on the Rambler.”

Alex declared that he once heard Teddy tell Joe
to sneak him down a pail of sugar the next time he
came and Joe replied with vast scorn that he would
not steal from his masters, but if Teddy had any
good meat to exchange for sugar he’d manage it
somehow. Clay, on hearing this story, had promptly
placed Alex’s head down in an empty flour barrel
until he confessed that he might have been mistaken.

When Clay spoke of bringing Teddy Bear down
next day, Captain Joe arose in dignity from his corner
and wabbled over to his side. Clay patted his
head, “Yes, Joe, we are going to bring Teddy Bear
tomorrow. Teddy Bear is going to stay on the
boat now. You want Teddy Bear, Captain Joe?”

Captain Joe cocked his eyes and wagged his
stump of a tail vigorously. He seemed to be saying,
“I guess you’re talking straight, boss, but I
don’t believe that guy’s going to leave all the good
meat he’s getting if he can help it.” Captain Joe
then rubbed his nose across Clay’s ankle, rose sedately,
and made the rounds of the table rubbing his nose
on each boy’s leg.

“He’s telling us that it is time to go to bed and
stop disturbing his sleep with our chatter,” laughed
Alex.

“He’s right, too,” Case agreed, “but listen, aren’t
those more foot-steps on the dock close to the
boat?”

Clay reached over and snapped on the prow light.
Instantly there was a scamper of foot-steps up the
wharf.

Clay laughed and shut off the light. “We seem
to be having our share of visitors tonight,” he
remarked, “but I am not anxious to make another
capture tonight. I am going to bed and trust to
Captain Joe to wake us up if any one tries to get
in.”

The boys were all ready for bed and they were
soon all asleep, leaving Captain Joe on guard.

.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE MYSTERY DEEPENS`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER III

.. class:: center medium

   THE MYSTERY DEEPENS

.. vspace:: 2

When Alex and Case awoke next morning it
was to the savory odor of browned pancakes, fried
bacon, and steaming coffee. Clay was just lifting
the last pancake from the frying pan to the plate
when the two jumped out of their bunks.

“Gee, that breakfast smells good. I really
believe I can eat a bit this morning,” Alex announced.

“I never saw the time that you couldn’t,” retorted
Clay. “But hurry up you fellows, if you don’t
want to eat a cold breakfast. It won’t keep warm
forever.”

This announcement brought great haste in the
pulling on of clothes and the washing of hands and
faces. Breakfast was dispatched amid a chatter of
conversation concerning the purchases to be made.

“I have been thinking it over,” said Clay, during
one of the lulls in the conversation, “and I do not
believe we had ought to leave the *Rambler* with no
one on board of her. It was all right to do so in
the winter, for then she was frozen up and no one
could make away with her, run her into some slip,
paint her and with a few hours of alteration, make
her into a different looking boat. Those foot-steps
last night prove that the river thieves are beginning
to gather around for their summer trade. I think
one of us had better be on the *Rambler* all the time.”

His companions’ faces became downcast. Each
had made a list of the things he was to buy and were
eager to be off to their purchasing. Neither wanted
to stay idle on board and lose their share of the fun.
But Case spoke up manfully.

“I’ll stay,” he said, “my list is far the smallest and
if neither of you get back in time, I’ll do my buying
tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” said Clay, gratefully, “I would stay
myself, but the new motor will be the first thing
needed and I want to see to that myself for I have
had some experience with them.”

As soon as the two were gone, Case set about the
unpleasant task of washing the dishes and cleanup
the cabin. This done, he strolled out on the
wharf and sitting down on a box in the warm sunshine
chatted with the aged dock tender who had
been a sailor until age had compelled him to quit
the sea. He could tell many strange tales of queer
places and mysterious adventures and he was always
willing to relate them to the boys who often on
cold, stinging days invited him down into the *Rambler*’s
cozy cabin to share their warm dinner or drink a cup of
scalding hot coffee.

“Yep,” he answered, in reply to Case’s questions,
“I’ve been to the Yukon once and once is enough
for me. We were hunting seals and run into the
river to get out of a gale and afore it moderated
enough for us to get out we were froze in solid.
Lord! what a winter we had. We had plenty of
salt stuff but our potatoes soon went and the scurvy
broke out and then came the long winter night, and
all the time there was but white all around us. Nothing
but white and a great everlasting silence—just
like as though the whole world had gone dead never
to come to life again. The silence and the whiteness
got on our nerves and we got to quarreling with
each other. There was a good many killed before
the ice broke up. We had left only about half
enough able men to work the ship. It wasn’t long
though before we sighted a steamer and hoisted
our distress signal and she stopped for us to board
her. She was overloaded with the first bunch of
gold seekers. Her captain let us have considerable
potatoes, and, by slicing them up thin and chewing
them up raw good and fine, what was left of us were
nearly well when we got to San Francisco. My, but
those raw potatoes tasted better than anything I
ever ate,” and the old seaman smacked his lips
over the recollection.

“I guess the winters up there are pretty rough?”
Case assented, but we intend to be on our way home
long before the river freezes over.”

“Sonny,” said the old sailor, earnestly. “You
can’t calculate on the Yukon. Old timers and the
Indians call it ‘The Never Know What’ on ’count
of its contrary ways. Let me give you some good
advice if you are bent on going. Take lots of tallow
candles and potatoes with you. Course you
can take all the fancy stuff you want, but a good
meal of tallow keeps your human furnace running
full blast and the taters keep off the scurvy. Look
there, sonny, you’ve got a visitor.”

Case jumped up from his box just in time to see
a man entering the *Rambler*’s open cabin. He
grinned, “Captain Joe will look out for him all right,
but I guess I had better go aboard and see what he
wants.” He sauntered aboard leisurely and entered
the cabin. The man was standing close to
the opening looking as though he wanted to run
but was afraid to turn around, for Captain Joe, with
bared fangs and growling lowly, was stealthily advancing
from the further end of the cabin.”

“Down, Captain Joe, down,” Case cried, just as
the dog crouched lower for a spring. Captain Joe
relaxed and retired sullenly to his corner.

The man whipped out a huge red handkerchief
and wiped the beads of sweat from his brow. “Nice,
pleasant little pet you’ve got there,” he remarked.
“I reckon a biting dog is the only thing I’m afraid
of.”

“Who are you, and what do you want?” demanded
Case, his clear gray eyes on the other’s face. The
man was dressed roughly and there were rents in
his clothing, but his hands and face were clean and
his face bore a good humored if determined expression.

The man twirled his hat for a moment before replying.
“I had it all fixed in regular order what I
wanted to say, but that dog has pretty near scairt it
all out of my head. Are you the boss of this outfit?”

“We have no bosses, or rather, we are all bosses?”
Clay smiled.

“Well, I guess you will do as well to talk to as
any of the rest. I heard that you were going to
the Yukon and I want to go along with you—me
and my partner.”

“Where did you hear we were going to the Yukon?”
demanded Case, sharply.

The man produced a soiled morning paper and
laid a huge forefinger on an article in one corner.

Clay read it in silence and some bewilderment.

“The *Rambler* boys are soon to start off on
another of their famous cruises. This time they have
chosen the far-away Yukon as their goal. It’s a
bold attempt, but they are all Chicago boys and we
believe they will make it. At any rate, we wish
them the best of good luck.”

Case kept his eyes on the paper for a moment
after he finished reading the notice, pondering how
it had appeared so soon. The paper had been published
long before he and his companions had got
up. Charley thought it had been inserted either by
Ike or one of the mysterious eavesdroppers of the
night before. But for what reason had it been
inserted? He gave up the puzzle and looked up at
the man who was watching him eagerly.

“Take a seat,” he said, pushing forward a stool
and taking one himself. “That notice is right,” he
remarked. I am sorry to say it, but I am sure my
companions will agree with me, we can not take you
and your partner. We will be four in number besides
our pets and we are going to have a very heavy
cargo. We’ll be overloaded as it is.”

“But we can be of lots of help to you,” urged the
man, eagerly. We are both Old Timers—Sour
Dough men. We know the country like a book.
You’ll need a pilot on the ‘You Never Know What.’
There’s too many bars, hidden rocks, and rapids for
a green horn to tackle. Bill can cook for you, an’
Bill’s a powerful good cook,” he said with pride.

Clay shook his head decidedly, although he was
sorry for the man. “Why are you so anxious to
get up there?” he asked.

“I’ll tell you the truth,” the man said desperately.
“My partner and I had a couple of claims way
up the Yukon and last summer we struck it rich.
Not much free gold, you understand, such as you
wash free with pan and water, but quartz rich
enough to make your eyes stand out. But that kind
of gold has to have mills, stamps, and all kind of
machinery to set it free. So Bill and I gathered
all the dust we had and came outside to find capital
to develop our claims. We might as well have
staid at home, for we could not get any one to put
up the money. They just thought we was crazy
when we told how rich our claims were. We have
slept out in the cold many and many a night, and
picked up odd jobs like shoveling snow to keep
from starving. We are used to hardships up north
but a man is treated like a human up there. It
goes against the grain for a truthful, honest man to
be hounded on by a policeman when he is only
trying to warm himself over a grating.”

While the miner had been talking. Case had been
looking him steadily in the eyes. He noted the
subtle change of the iris which always marks the
telling of a lie. He marked the man’s allusion to his
honesty and thoughtfulness. He had often shrewdly
observed in his life in the great city, that it is
not the honest man who brags about his truthfulness
and honesty. Clearly this fellow was lying in some
part of his tale.

“It’s no go,” said Case, decisively. “We just
simply can’t take you. We have barely enough
money to take us there and bring us back.”

The man’s face became clouded with disappointment.
“Tell you what I’ll do,” he offered. “We’ll
give you a sixth interest in our claims. That will
pay a dozen times over for the trip.”

“We have not the money to handle them even if
they are as rich as you claim. I’ll tell you what I’ll
do though,” Case said, pitying the man’s tragic
face. “I’ll talk it over with my chums tonight and
see what they have to say. If you and your partner
want to take the trouble to come down in the morning,
I’ll let you know what they decide. I am positive
though that they will agree with me.”

The man rose and put on his hat. “We’ll come
down in the morning all right. Sonny, you’ve treated
me square and frank and I am much obliged to you.
So long, until tomorrow.”

Case watched him out of sight and then began
the preparations for dinner to which he intended to
invite the aged docktender, for he wanted to learn
all the old seaman knew about the country they
were going to.

The two were just finishing their supper when
a roaring sound steadily growing in volume stole in
through the little cabin windows. “I wonder what
that noise is,” said Case. “Sounds mighty queer.”

“Sounds just like waves dashing up on an iceberg,”
the old seaman agreed. “Let’s go up to the
end of the dock and take a look.”

When they reached the shore the boy and old man
doubled up with laughter. It looked as though half
of Chicago was crowding the little street, but steadily
a wide path opened up and then closed again with
jamming people. Down the wide path walked Teddy
Bear, paws raised in an attitude of defense. Clay
walked behind with a grin on his face.

“Teddy Bear is sure coming down in style,”
chuckled Case. “He’s got a whole procession with
him.”

The crowd followed the bear down to the boat and
when he was led down into the cabin they departed
with cheers and laughter.

.. vspace:: 2

.. _`JUST ODDS AND ENDS`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER IV

.. class:: center medium

   JUST ODDS AND ENDS

.. vspace:: 2

Captain Joe greeted Teddy Bear with delight.
He circled around him snapping playfully at his
legs and uttering short, joyous barks. Teddy
dropped slowly down on all fours and gave Captain
Joe a good-humored cuff that sent him clear to
the other side of the cabin. This rebuke administered,
he made his way over to where the sugar was
kept in one of the kitchen lockers and tried hard
to open it, but the boys had taken the precaution to
add locks to all their lockers and his efforts were
unavailing. At last he gave it up and made his
way back into the main cabin and stood gazing at
the boys reproachfully.

“You’ve got to stop your thieving, Teddy Bear,”
said Case with a grin. “Get over there in your
old place in the corner and I’ll get you a few lumps
of sugar.”

Teddy meekly obeyed and quickly received the
reward for his obedience.

“Well, I finished the best part of my purchases,”
Clay remarked, “and I thought I had better come
down and spell you for a while. I’ll have time to
finish up my list tomorrow, for there will be part
of the time when it will take only two of us to work
on the motors. I’ve had the dandiest luck in getting
a new motor. It’s a daisy and will burn either gasoline
or kerosene. They promised to deliver it down
here early this afternoon. I took Ike with me when
I went to see about getting transportation, and let
me tell you, that boy’s some bargainer. I could
never have got as cheap rates as he did out of the
freight agent. We are to have a flat car for the
*Rambler* and live on board of her until we reach
Seattle. But I am keeping you back. Hurry up
and get your things before dark if you can.”

Case was off like a shot and was soon uptown
in the shopping district where he spent a happy
afternoon making his purchases. With a grin at his
own foolishness, he added to his list a large box
of tallow candles. “Of course we will never have
to eat such stuff, but they will bring back more
than their value, I guess, trading with the Indians,”
he argued in justification. It was nearly dusk when
he finished his list and arrived at the *Rambler* to
find that Alex had arrived only just ahead of him.

Alex was excitedly talking to Clay who was busily
preparing their evening meal.

“What’s all the fuss about?” Case demanded.

“Nothing much,” Clay said, calmly. “Alex’s
just a little excited, that’s all. We’ll compare
experiences while we’re eating supper. Wash up
and get ready. I’ve got fried fish and that’s best
when eaten piping hot.”

It was not until the first pangs of his hunger was
satisfied, that Alex gave vent to his grievance, and
then it was in milder tones. “I guess I’m a little
touchy,” he confessed, “but it made me sore the
way Ike jumped on me this morning, and for nothing
too. Just about a little item that appeared in
the morning paper about our trip. It took me a
long time to convince him that none of us could
have put it in, and, by the time I had done it, I was
mad myself, while Ike seemed pretty well upset.”

“He spoke about that item to me when I went to
see him just before noon,” Clay remarked, “but all
he said was that he wondered who could have given
it to the paper. All I could tell him about it was
that there had been a couple of fellows prowling
around our boat last night and they might have
overheard part of our conversation, though why
they should give it to the newspapers was more
than I could figure out.”

“Would you fellows like to own an interest in
two rich gold mines?” Case asked when Clay had
finished.

“Oh, no,” retorted Alex. “We wouldn’t take one
as a gift. Money is the root of all evil and we don’t
want to get evil, do we?”

“It would not be exactly a gift,” Case replied,
ignoring the irony, and he proceeded to tell them
of his morning visitor.

“What kind of looking fellow was he?” Clay inquired,
eagerly, when he had finished.

“A big, heavy man, with long, thick whiskers. He
was not a bad appearing man. His face was good
humored but determined looking. He didn’t
impress me as a bad man.”

“Did he have a red scar on his right cheek?” Clay
demanded.

“He did,” Case assented. “Looked to me like an
old knife cut.”

“Then he is one of those men I told you about
last night,” Clay remarked. “He’s the best appearing
of the two. The other one could be hung for
his looks. Queer how so many little things keep
coming up that we can’t explain and which seem
to have some connection with each other. First
the first meeting between Ike and those men at the
news stand, then Ike’s constant suggestions to me
all winter about this Yukon trip, then the second
meeting at the stand when they had their quarrel,
then Ike’s wanting to go with us, then that queer
notice in this morning’s paper, and right on top of
it, all these men applying for passage. Makes a
queer chain, doesn’t it?”

“Our little kitten of a mystery seems to be growing
into quite a cub,” observed Case, delighted to
feel that his prophecy of trouble seemed to promise
to bear fruit.

“Oh, cut it out!” exclaimed Alex. “Let’s forget
it all. Don’t let’s spoil our trip at the start by
worrying over trifles that do not concern us anyway.
Case, you make me tired. You’re one of those guys
that are always looking at the hole while the other
chaps are watching the doughnut.”

“I don’t know but what you are right,” Case replied
shamefacedly. “I soon get rid of that habit
when we get started on one of our trips, but the
long, gloomy winter in the city seems to bring it
back on me again. Just bear with me until we get
started and I’ll be all right. But just remember one
thing, young man. You have used enough slang the
last few days to entitle you to do all the dishwashing
from here to the Yukon and back.”

“We have all of us been using too much of it
lately,” Clay remarked. “We had ought to make
a more determined effort to stop it. It’s catchy, but
the way we keep on adding new all the time it will
not be so very long before our talk will sound like
the chattering of a group of monkeys.”

“Well,” Alex grinned, “we had better stop our
chattering right now and get to work. We have
got a lot to do before we go to bed.”

Most of their stores had been brought down to
the wharf during the afternoon and lay piled in a
big heap beside the *Rambler*. As soon as the boys
had hurried through the cleaning up, they turned
on the prow light and lighting a couple of lanterns
went at the task of stowing their cargo. Boxes
and packages were carried below, broken open and
their contents stowed in the lockers, while the
emptied packages were thrown overboard. As each
box was opened it was checked off their lists so as
to make certain that they received every thing they
had ordered. Although they worked hard and with
zest, it was midnight when they got all the stuff, but
their new motor, safely stored.

“I don’t know what we had better do about that
motor,” Clay said, looking at it doubtfully. “I
hate to put it down in our freshly-painted cabin because
there is always such a lot of oil and grease
on even a new engine, but we can’t risk leaving it
up here all night.”

Case tried to lift up one side of it and failed. “I
guess there is not much danger of any one running
away with it,” he grinned. “It must weigh five
hundred pounds.”

“Oh, they couldn’t get away with the engine very
easily, but there’s a whole lot of brass and copper
fittings which they could unscrew or wrench off.”

“I’ll tell you what to do,” Alex suggested. “Put
a rope on Teddy Bear and tie him up to the engine.
There will be no one bother it while he’s around.
He has grown so big and strong that he’s got a
punch like a prize fighter.”

But Teddy did not take kindly to the idea when
they tried to lead him up out of the warm cozy
cabin. Alex had to fill a big can with sugar and
lead the way with it extended invitingly to induce
him to leave the boat. While Clay tied him to the
engine, Alex scattered the sugar all around in little
piles so that it would take Teddy Bear some time to
find and lap it all up.

This last job done the tired but happy boys turned
in, agreeing to be up early in the morning.

It seemed as if they had only just fallen asleep
when they were suddenly awakened by loud snarling
and scuffling on the wharf, followed by a harsh
yell.

“Wake up and hustle, you fellows,” shouted Clay,
as he pulled on his pants and seized his automatic.
“Teddy Bear is in trouble.” His two companions
were beside him when he gained the dock and the
three rushed for the place where Teddy had been
tied. Alex had switched on the prow light before
leaving the cabin and its rays lit up a circle around
the engine where they could see Teddy Bear sitting
close to the engine holding up his paws and whining
pitifully. The boys looked and listened but could
see or hear no one near.

“Whoever it was has had plenty of time to get
off the dock since we first heard the noise,” Clay
declared. “Let’s see what’s the matter with Teddy. I
hope he has not been hurt badly.”

Teddy extended his left paw with a little whine
and Case examined it gently. “Why, he’s been
stabbed clear through the fleshy part,” he exclaimed.
“Run down into the cabin, Alex, and get that bottle
of peroxide, some cloth for bandages, and the box
of salve. Now cheer up, Teddy, this isn’t going to
hurt you much. It will heal up in a hurry. You
don’t use tobacco or drink liquor, and you chew your
food well, so your blood is just as pure and clean
as blood can be. In a week you will not know you
ever were hurt.”

Teddy put his head sideways and looked at him
with a doubtful grin as though trying to understand
what was said to him.

“I wish I knew what brute gave him that cut.
I’d feel tempted to use my automatic on him,” declared
Alex, wrathfully, as he watched Clay, assisted
by Case, apply the peroxide until it stopped foaming,
follow it up with a liberal application of the
healing salve, and then bind up the paw with long
strips of white cloth.

“What’s the matter with his other arm?” Case
asked. “Look how he keeps it doubled up all the
time. I believe he’s holding something in it. I can
see a bit of black.”

“So there is,” Alex agreed. “Hold out your
other arm, Teddy, and let’s see what you have got.”

But Teddy was reluctant to part with his treasure
and it was only after repeated commands that he
obeyed.

Alex seized the object and bore it down into the
brighter light of the cabin, his companions following.
He laid the object on the table and all three
boys burst into laughter.

It was an old battered felt hat and across its top
were several long rents where the bear’s claws had
raked over; to one of the rents clung a generous
patch of skin covered on the outside by long, coarse
black hair.

“I guess Teddy Bear’s more than evened up
things,” grinned Alex. “I am going to bring him
down into the cabin and give it to him. It belongs
to him. He earned it. That fellow will not prowl
in the dark much for awhile.”

So Teddy was led below, and received the return
of the hat and scalp lock with much satisfaction.

“It is near day-break so there is not much use
of our going to bed again,” Clay said. “I’ll cook
breakfast and we will get to work early. I don’t
know what we are going to do about Teddy Bear,”
he continued. “He is getting too strong for a pet.
We can’t control him and he’s liable to hurt some of
us even in play. Get out of here!” he ordered, as
Teddy slowly worked his way up to the sugar
locker. He raised the knife with which he was
slicing bacon and pointed it at the bear to emphasize
his command.

Teddy fled to the far end of the cabin, whining
in fear.

“There’s your answer,” laughed Alex. “We have
never punished Teddy like we ought, but he has
learned by experience himself that knives hurt. I
guess a little punishment now and then when he has
done wrong will keep him under control. We began
his education wrong, we should have started with
discipline first.”

.. vspace:: 2

.. _`STARTING`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER V

.. class:: center medium

   STARTING

.. vspace:: 2

As soon as the sun was up the boys were at work
The first job was to remove the old motors to make
place for the new. This was a dirty, greasy job but
not hard. The nuts holding the motors to the
solidly-built bed were unscrewed and the motors were
carried out and stored in a corner of the big warehouse
where the aged docktender had offered to
keep an eye on them until the boys got back from
their trip.

But the placing of the new motor was more of
an undertaking. Strong as they were, the boys
could not lift it aboard.

“We will have to have help and plenty of it,”
Clay declared, after they had twice made the attempt
and failed. “Of course we could get a plank
and block and tackle and get it aboard, but if the
rope or board slipped just a little bit it would go
through the bottom of the *Rambler* as though the
boards were made of paper. Then I can see now
that the engine bed has got to be fixed. It’s too
narrow for this new motor. Now I’ve got a few more
things to buy, so I’ll run up town and get them. I’ll
stop on my way up and send down a couple of good
carpenters with plenty of hard wood to fix up that
engine bed right. Then when I come down, I’ll
bring four or five good husky men along with me
and we’ll have that motor in its place in no time.”

He was not gone long before the two carpenters
came down bearing their tools and several blocks of
oak. The engine hold was a close place to work
in, but they made good progress and soon had fitted
in a new bed smooth and level to fit the new engine.
They had just finished their job when Clay
appeared, followed by a loaded wagon and four big
strapping Irishmen.

With the aid of the Irishmen, and the help of
the carpenters who had remained to watch, the motor
was lowered down onto the new bed. This done,
it only remained to fasten it down with six big bolts
and connect the engine up with the shaft. A few
minutes sufficed for this. Clay paid the Irishmen
and the carpenters double wages for the time they
had worked and they departed well pleased with
their few hours’ labor.

The boys then turned to the task of stowing the
load the wagon had brought down. Part of this
consisted of three barrels of kerosene, two of which
they emptied into the *Rambler*’s tank, the third was
placed up on the forward deck. The boxes and
packages were taken below and their contents
emptied into the lockers. “We haven’t got space for
a hundred pounds more stuff,” Alex announced
when they finished. “We are just about filled up.”

“We are ready to start right now,” said Clay
with satisfaction, “but of course we cannot go until
tomorrow’s freight, and we can not go without Ike.
I saw him this morning and he said he would be
down tonight—likely would get down in time for
supper. What do you say, boys, if we take a little
spin just to try out our new motor and see if
there’s anything the matter with it. Turn on the
oil at the tank, Alex, and then both of you stand by
to cast off when I give the word.”

The boys obeyed quickly, eager for the test, while
Clay went back and fussed with the motor. Case
and Alex waited long by the mooring lines for the
signal to let go, but it did not come.

“Can’t you start it?” Alex at last shouted impatiently.

“Sure,” replied Clay, coolly. “I could start it
right off, but it would be ruined in ten minutes without
petting it up a little first. I’ve been filling up
grease cups, putting oil in the lubricating tanks, and
oiling up the working parts. You’ve got to watch
those things closely with this kind of a motor or
it will run hot and melt away its bearings. But I
am about to start now. As soon as she starts throw
off the lines, and you, Case, take the wheel.”

In a moment there came a series of sharp explosions
from the engine room. The boys cast off the
lines and Case jumped back to the wheel. The
*Rambler* backed slowly away from the wharf. As
soon as she was clear of the pier, Clay reversed the
engine and the *Rambler* was headed up stream.

Clay remained in the engine pit tuning up his
new charge, trying it out slowly like a new race
horse, striving to bring each working part into
harmony with its fellows, now turning on a little
more oil, or a little more air, again screwing down
for less oil and increasing the air; his keen ear attuned
to the throb of the exhaust whose varying
notes told the story of the changes his tinkering had
wrought. It was stuffy in the engine hold and once
he raised his head above the coaming for a deep
breath of fresh air. He grinned at the scraps of
conversation that floated back to him from up forward.

“The *Rambler* don’t go like she used to go,” Case
was saying, gloomily, “every craft on the stream is
passing us. Look at that Vixen behind. She is
creeping right up on us now and the *Rambler* used
to make two miles to her one.”

“Yes,” Alex agreed, dejectedly. “Clay has
handed us a lemon all right. It has turned the
*Rambler* into a floating hearse. Well, he meant it
for the best and we must not show our disappointment.
He’ll feel bad enough about it himself when
he finds out the mistake he made.”

“Sure, there’s to be no roasting of Clay,” Case
agreed, heartily. “He’s the best one of us three.”

Clay, still grinning, dropped down again into
the hold and resumed his tinkering with air and
oil tubes. He straightened up at last, and gave a
sigh of satisfaction as his ear caught a new note in
the throbbing exhaust, a low, mellow throb, throb,
throb, regular and even. He had at last secured the
right mixture of oil and air for the motor. He filed
little notches on the air and oil cocks so that in the
future the proper adjustments of air and oil could
be made at a moment’s notice. This done, he
climbed out of the hold and made his way forward.

“Well, how’s she doing?” he asked of the downcast two.

Alex tried to answer brightly. “She seems to go
a wee mite slower than she used to, but maybe she’ll
do better when the new engine gets limbered up a
bit.”

“It feels dandy to be out in the *Rambler* once
more, doesn’t it?” put in Case, hurriedly.

Clay turned aside to hide his grin. “Isn’t that the
Dingbat coming down on us from ahead?” Didn’t
we used to be able to outrun her?”

“No, she always used to beat us a little,” Alex
said, gloomily.

“Well, it’s time we were turning back anyway,”
Clay observed. “When she gets past you, Case,
turn around and follow her.” He walked back to
the hold grinning at the scraps of conversation that
followed him.

“Think of him wanting to race the Dingbat, with
this one-mule water wagon.”

“And the Dingbat is one of the swiftest motor
boats around here.”

“Think of our hoping that he would tumble to
his mistake by degrees and not get so rough a jar.”

“Well, he had to know it some time. He isn’t
quite blind.”

Clay reached the hold and dropping down into
it, stood with head above the hatch coaming watching.
He saw the Dingbat sweep past like an arrow,
and Case, obedient to order, swing the *Rambler*
around in slow, clumsy pursuit. Then he reached
down to the motor and shoving over the lever to
make a quicker spark, turned on a little more oil and
air. He could feel the *Rambler* leap forward as he
clambered out of the hold and walked forward.

The boys’ faces were a study. Case, his mouth
wide open, was handling the wheel and gazing ahead
at the great foamy waves parting away from the
bow.

Alex, leaning over the side, was watching the
foam slip by while amazement and surprise stood
out on his freckled face. “Clay,” he shouted, “pinch
me and see if I’m asleep or just plain crazy. Five
minutes ago I was in a hearse, and now I’m in a
flying machine.”

“Oh, she isn’t flying yet, laughed Clay. “She’s
only just getting off the ground. Face around and
have a good look at the Dingbat.”

The *Rambler* swept past the Dingbat like a trolley
car past a loaded wagon. The Dingbat’s captain
in assumed rage, rose to his feet and shook his fist
at them as they swept by.”

“Look here,” he shouted. “I’m willing to race
any motor boat around these parts, but I’ll be
hanged if I’ll match my boat against a hydroplane.”

“Want more speed, Case?” Clay inquired. “I’ve
only got three-fourths of the power turned on.”

“More speed?” yelled Case as he nearly swamped
a passing row boat with the high waves which the
*Rambler*’s bows sent rolling away from her. “More
power?” he repeated, when the curses heaped on him
by the row boat’s crew had died away behind. “The
balance of the power would drive her under water,
loaded as she is.”

“No,” Alex grinned. “It would send all the water
in the South Branch clean up into the city in a series
of tidal waves.”

Clay prudently set the timer at half speed. They
made the run back to the dock in less than half
the time it had taken them to go. The boys were
jubilant over the motor.

“I’ll bet she made 18 miles an hour on that first
sprint,” Alex exulted.

“Under full power and laden light, I am sure we
can get twenty-two miles an hour out of her,” Case
said, confidently.

They found the two applicants for passage waiting
on the wharf. “Hallo,” said the big man heartily.
“We come as we said we would. This is my
partner. Partner Bill, and a right good partner too
he is. Me and him have been partners for a right
smart number of years. Ain’t we, Bill?”

“Yes, Jed, but don’t talk too much,” growled Bill,
who, though smaller than his partner, was a man
of powerful build and heavily muscled, unlike Jed,
however, his hands were dirty and his face bore
the stamp of every evil passion.

“All right, Bill,” said Jed, good-naturedly. “I
guess this chap,” indicating Case,” told you fellows
about the talk I had with him yesterday.”

“Haven’t I seen you two somewhere before?”
Clay demanded before Alex or Case could reply.

Bill looked startled and Jed shifted his feet uneasily
before he answered. “You might have seen
us somewhere,” he admitted, slowly. “We have
been in Chicago all winter doing odd jobs to keep
our bodies and souls together, ’till the spring thaw.
Yes, you may have seen us working somewhere.”

“It was last fall at Ike’s news stand on the corner
I first saw you,” Clay spoke slowly and watched
the two faces. Jed squirmed uneasily but the other
came promptly to the rescue.

“That’s where it was,” he exclaimed. “We was
strangers to the city and we stopped there to ask
some directions, and had a right pleasant chat with
the boy before we left.”

“And I saw you there again,” Clay continued.

“Like as not,” interrupted the other. “We have
hung around the stand a good deal this winter and
Ike and us got to be real good friends.”

“Yes, you seemed mighty good friends the last
time I saw you together,” Clay said, dryly. “It was
only a couple of afternoons ago and you two were
trying to rough house Ike and you might have done
it too, if I hadn’t seen the fracas and called the police.”

Bill seemed at a loss for an answer for a second
and then his reckless air came back. “We wasn’t
going to hurt him none—just scare him. We asked
him for a dime to get a bowl of soup, ’cause we
were nearly starved, and that miserable whining
Jew——”

“Stop right there,” Alex commanded. “Ike is
a Jew but he is not miserable and he is not whining.
He is manly and straight. He is one of our best
friends and he is coming down this evening to go on
this trip with us.”

Clay had shook his head vigorously at Alex but
the boy would not be stopped until he said what
he had to say.

The effect on the two men was amazing. Anger
and evil passions played over Bill’s face like black
clouds over a murky sky. Even Jed’s good-humored
countenance became downcast and troubled.

“Come on, partner,” he said, plucking at Bill’s
sleeve. “They don’t want you an’ me here. Let’s
go and try somewhere else.”

Bill, with a string of oaths on his lips, suffered
him to lead him off the end of the dock where he
turned and shook his clenched fist at the boys on
the *Rambler*.

“He would sure be a nice one to have along on a
trip,” Alex grinned. “I’d be afraid to go to sleep
for fear I’d wake up murdered.”

“I’m sorry you told them Ike was going with us,”
Clay said severely. “If he had wanted them to
know he would have told them, but he didn’t. You
could see that by their faces when you blurted it
out. Well, it’s done now and can’t be helped. It’s
your turn to cook dinner, Case. After it is over,
I’ll show you both how to run the new motor. It’s
very simple. You’ll soon be able to handle it.”

.. vspace:: 4

.. _`A MURDEROUS ASSAULT`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER VI

.. class:: center medium

   A MURDEROUS ASSAULT

.. vspace:: 2

As Clay had said, it took but a little while for
Alex and Case to learn to handle the new motor
and they soon became delighted with its simplicity.

“The only bad feature about it is that it has to
be cleaned more frequently than a gas engine,” Clay
observed. “The kerosene soots up the piston and
coats the rings and then the motor does not work
well. It ought to be cleaned thoroughly at least
once a week. I’ve been thinking that we had ought
to make the cleaning of it a new punishment for
slang using. Our present penalty is too light—the
dish washing has been tried and found wanting. After
a man has spent a day down in that stuffy hold,
covered with grease and oil, it will make him careful
of his language for a long time.”

“All right,” agreed his companions, but Alex,
with an eye to the present, past and future, added
craftily: “Of course this doesn’t apply to past offences,
nor to future ones. It only goes into effect
when we are actually started on our trip up the
Yukon?”

“That’s about it,” assented Clay.

“Then I want to say that we are a lot of boneheads
running around wasting our precious oil. We
are dippy, all of us. Case has got bats in his belfry,
you have a few wheels in your head, and I’m not
quite right in my upper story. Let’s go in and
overhaul our stores instead of casting money.”

All the afternoon the boys labored on the more
careful repacking of their hastily stored cargo and
overhauling their personal belongings. When the
afternoon began to wane, Alex betook himself to
the kitchen to prepare the supper which they had
agreed should be quite a spread in honor of Ike’s
coming. As the sun went down, Case tied a rope
around Teddy Bear and led him up on the dock,
followed by Captain Joe. “I’m going up the street
a bit and meet Ike,” he said. The animals need
exercise and I guess Ike will be pretty tired with
his luggage before he gets down here.”

Alex, assisted by Clay in the preparation of the
feast, took but little notice of the passage of time
until the cabin grew so dark that they had to turn
on the lights to see.

“Gee, I wonder what’s keeping Ike so long,” Alex
exclaimed. “If he doesn’t come pretty soon the supper
will be spoilt.”

“Strange Case doesn’t come back,” Clay said
uneasily. “He’s been gone over an hour. I hope he
didn’t take Teddy up town. If he did, he’s liable
to have got into trouble and Ike may be trying to
help him out. One of us had better go up and see
what’s the matter.”

He had scarcely spoken when there came the
sound of slow foot-steps on the dock and Alex
snapped on the prow light.

The first to come inside of the half circle of light
was Teddy and Captain Joe, then followed Case,
half carrying, half supporting a limp form.

Alex and Clay leaped to the wharf to receive the
strange possession.

“It’s Ike,” said Case, as he stopped, and stood
panting, but still supporting his heavy burden. “Give
me a hand to get him down into the cabin. I’m about
played out.”

The three carried him down into the cabin and
laid him in a clean bunk, just taking off his shoes
and loosening up his clothing so that he might rest
easier. In the bright light, he looked ghastly, his
face pale and many blood stained handkerchiefs
around his head.

“Don’t look so scared,” said Case with a smile.
“He is not going to die. He will be all right in a
day or two. Let’s have supper and I’ll tell you all
about it. The supper was placed upon the table
and all three fell to eating while Case told his story.
“I waited up the street a little ways until I began
to feel uneasy and restless, then I moved further up
the street, almost opposite that lumber yard. It was
almost dark when I saw Ike coming. He was carrying
a suitcase and walking fast. Just as he came
to the other end of the lumber yard, two men sprang
out on him. One hit him over the head and he went
down like a stone. The other grabbed the suit case
out of Ike’s hand, tore it open as though it was paper
and dumped the contents out on the street. While
he was pawing it over, the other fellow went through
Ike’s pockets. For a full moment I was helpless
with surprise, then I ran for the spot. Teddy and
Captain Joe right behind me. The men saw me
coming, but they stood their ground until I was
about one hundred feet away. They evidently wanted
to make a thorough search. When I got that
close they ran and turned off the street into an alley.”

“Did you see their faces?” questioned Clay
eagerly.

“I did,” Case replied. “They were the two men
who wanted to take passage with us. Well, I did
not follow them up. I got Ike laid out as comfortable
as I could and called for the ambulance and then
ran back to Ike. The ambulance got to him as
quickly as I did. He soon came to under the
doctor’s treatment. The doctor shaved his head, put
ointment and sticking plaster on it, and bound it up.
To save him a bad night of pain, the doctor gave him
some sleeping, quieting dope, and then he ordered
the driver to bring us down to the pier and pick him
up on the way back. Well, the horses refused to
go out over the water and we took Ike out of the
wagon. I told the driver that I had a job on my
hands. I guess the dope had taken good effect for
he was unconscious and breathing heavily. I fairly
had to carry him to the boat.”

“Did you notify the police?” Clay asked.

“No, Ike was conscious all right until the doctor
gave him that dope and he begged me not to tell the
police, for we might be held as witnesses so long
that our trip would be spoilt.”

“Well,” said Alex. “I’ll be glad when we are off
at last.”

“And that will be tonight,” Clay said. “I’m going
to run the *Rambler* around tonight and anchor her
close to the railroad dock. We start in the morning
and it will be best to have her on hand. Besides
I want to get out of here. There’s too much trouble
going on around this pier. Do you think the noise
of the motor would wake Ike, Chase?”

“You would have to hit him again with another
pair of brass knucks—that’s what the doctor said
was used on him—to wake him up,” laughed Case.

So the moorings were cast off. And the *Rambler*
was run around close to the big railroad dock and
anchored, while the boys, deciding that they had
had enough excitement for one day, at once turned
in. At daylight they were up again and tied up to
the railroad dock. Here they passed strong ropes
under the *Rambler* and fastening them above the
boat had a strong, well-fixed sling, which would
lift equally on all parts of the heavily-ladened boat,
when the dock hoist was attached. This done there
was nothing to do but wait until their train backed
down to take them on.

Ike had been awakened by the noise on deck and,
when the boys descended into the cabin, they found
him sitting up on the edge of his bunk swinging his
legs. “No, I ain’t sick, you understand,” he said
in answer to their inquiries. “That low-life what
hit me over the head he don’t do nothing but make
my head ache some. Did them loafers steal anything
from me when I no got my senses?”

“They broke open your suit case and scattered
your things all over the pavement,” Case said. “I
picked up all I could find but of course I did not
know whether anything was missing.”

“Give me my clothes first,” Ike demanded. He
examined the pockets of pants and coat and grinned.
“They gets nothing here,” he said, “except a Canadian
quarter, a lead half dollar, and a dime with a
hole in it. I have a false lining here on the inside
and it makes a dandy place to carry money, you understand.”
He slapped the seat of his trousers and
it gave back a crisp rustling as of stiff new bills.
A careful examination of the torn suit case discovered
nothing missing and Ike, feeling better in
mind and spirit, declared he would like a bite to eat.

While Clay hustled around to cook him a slice
of toast, some soft boiled eggs, and a cup of coffee,
Alex ran up town and was soon back with a couple
of morning papers.

They contained only a brief notice of the assault
on Ike, probably given out by the ambulance surgeon,
but flaring across on the first front page was:

“Chicago’s open season for hold-ups and murders
has begun.” Then below the head lines followed.

“Mr. Austin, a rather prominent retail merchant,
was on his way home last night when he was attacked
by foot-pads who darted out on him from
the old lumber yard on L street. Mr. Austin had
been unable to get to the bank during the day and
carried in a wallet in his breast pocket, over $1,000.
While one man held him and choked him, the other
relieved him of his money, and of the fat wallet.
Then they tripped him up and took to their heels,
escaping, as there are no policemen and few pedestrians
on this lonely street. Mr. Austin describes
the two as being very big, roughly clothed men,
one of them having a red scar on one cheek. Of
course they got away. Even if Mr. Austin had been
able to obtain a good photograph of each it is doubtful
if our bone-headed police would recognize the
men if they accidentally met them.”

Just then came the rumble of a train coming down
the dock. Clay pushed his head out of the window.
“It’s our train,” he shouted. “Take those dishes off
the table and set the pots off the stove. She may
list a bit when they go to hoist her.”

A huge crane swung slowly over the *Rambler*
and from it a huge hook attached to a chain was
gently lowered. The boys quickly caught the hook
in the sling. The chain slowly tightened and the
*Rambler* was lifted bodily and lowered gently onto
a flat car, where she was quickly shored up with
timbers to keep her on an even keel.

It was only a few minutes before the train backed
off the docks, switched onto the main track and began
to crawl slowly out of the dingy city.

“Hurrah!” cried Alex in his joy. “We are off,
off at last.” And the others joined him in his jubilation.

.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE GOLD FEVER`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER VII

.. class:: center medium

   THE GOLD FEVER

.. vspace:: 2

Four travel-weary looking boys stood on the hurricane
deck of the steamer *Arctic* just landed at St.
Michael’s Island which lies somewhat below the
Arctic circle and close to the mouth of the great
river Yukon. We spoke of the boys as standing,
but that was incorrect, rather they were sitting, with
legs swinging, on the deck of the motor boat *Rambler*,
looking down at the strange scene going on
below them. From one gang plank the *Arctic’s*
passengers were pushing out eagerly to reach the shore,
while up the other gang plank was struggling a line
of curious humanity.

“Whew, if that’s what the gold-seeker gets to be
like, then I don’t want to be one,” declared a boy
gloomy looking, unless something exciting was going
on around him. “Gee, they are a ghastly looking
sight. See how some faces are disfigured by
frost bites, and those others at the foot of the plank,
notice how pale and wan their faces are, and notice
the lines of suffering on them. Famine all winter
I’ll bet caused that. See those three fellows coming
up now, two with only one arm and one with one
leg, been frozen or broken in accidents on the ice.
Right behind them are two nearly dead with the
scurvy; you can see the marks from here.”

“Well, maybe they have been well paid for their
sufferings, Case,” observed Alex, whose good-humored,
freckled face was always cheerful. “They’ll
most of them get well quick as soon as they get to
the States and get proper food and medicine.”

“They don’t look as though they make much
money,” observed Ike, the Jew boy, dubiously.
“Most of them has on rags and the best of them I
could fit out better in a cheap second-hand shop.”

“You can’t tell a man by his clothes,” said Clay,
the fourth boy, who was looking over at the distant
town of Nome, a cluster of tents and rough
shanties on the mainland.

“You’re right there,” said a voice behind them
and the four wheeled around to find the captain of
the steamer standing behind them. “No, you can’t
judge those men by their looks or clothes. That
fellow in rags has a claim up near Dawson that has
turned him out over two million already. He wants
a change. His folks have a kind of a farm up in
the States. He’ll go there and lay around under the
trees for a while and then drift back. That big man
next to him is one of the richest miners in the north.
He’ll go out for a month perhaps, spend a quarter of
a million having what he calls a good time, then he’ll
drift back. Maybe more than half of that crowd
coming on board have made good stakes. Of the
balance most are tenderfeet, who have simply got
cold feet and have given up the game. But, boys,
three-fourths of that crowd will be back in a year.
I can’t understand it myself, but there is a lure to
this Northland that seems to draw men back to her
in spite of the awful punishments she gives. But all
this isn’t what I came to see you about, boys. I
wanted to say that we can lower your boat down
any time, but its pretty rough now so I would advise
you to wait until tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Captain,” said Clay, after a questioning
glance at his companions. “We thank you
very much, but we have been delayed so much on
the journey that we have got to hustle to see much
of the Yukon before the ice sets in. We want to
see Nome this afternoon, and tomorrow begins our
trip up the Yukon. I am sure the *Rambler* can ride
those waves—she has gone over much bigger ones
in her time. If the slings are placed right so that
she will hit the water evenly, she will be all right.”

“All right, boys,” smiled the Captain. “Have
your own way about it. Good-bye, and I hope it
will be our fortune to go back on the same boat in
the fall. I’ll send the boatswain right up to fix the
slings. He’s an artist at that kind of work. We
will have your boat in the water in a jiffy.”

He was gone but a moment when the boastswain
appeared and with deft fingers adjusted the slings.
At a signal the steamer’s big crane, hoisted high,
swung in over their heads. The boys clambered
aboard the *Rambler* and took their places—Case at
the wheel, Clay at the motors, and Alex and Ike
at the slings ready to cast off when the time came.

The big crane lifted them over the rail, held them
poised for a minute, then lowered them gently down
into the rough water below. The moment the slings
slacked, Ike and Alex cast off the iron hooks that
connected them to the crane. Clay started the motors,
Case swung the wheel around, and the *Rambler*—like
a bird freed from captivity—darted away, followed
by the cheers of the steamer’s crew.

Alex danced up and down the deck, while the others
could hardly refrain from joining him in their
joy at being once more afloat on their beloved craft.

Case headed the *Rambler* for the straggling
village. The little motor boat rode the sea valiantly
and by mid-afternoon they were safely moored in
the lea of a short pier running out from the beach.
“Alex, you and Case run out and take in the sights
while Ike and I stay by the boat,” Clay said. “We
had not ought to leave the *Rambler* alone with all
her valuable cargo. As soon as you get through
with your sight-seeing, come back again and give
Ike and me a chance. Better take Captain Joe and
Teddy Bear with you. They need a walk after
their long confinement. The two eagerly obeyed
and Alex led Teddy away with Captain Joe at his
heels.

An ancient looking prospector who had been sitting
on a wharf post and who had been listening to
the boys’ conversation with unabashed interest, got
up and strolled over to where they were sitting.

“Chekakos, ain’t you?” He questioned laconically.
“Young ones, too, at that.”

“We’re young, all right,” Clay admitted with a
smile, “but we don’t exactly know what you mean
by ‘chekakos.’”

“Old timers’ name for a greenhorn or tenderfoot.
I knowed you was greenhorns from the States as
soon as I laid eyes on you,” he continued. “Your
faces haven’t been painted with lines and scars yet
by old North now; then, too, I heard you
talk, and that showed you didn’t know the region
around the Arctic. You can leave your boat alone
with the cabin unlocked at any miner’s camp and
nothing will be touched. We hang thieves on
mighty slim evidence up here. It’s a worse crime
here than killing. Run on and see the town if you
want to. No one will bother your boat.”

Clay was convinced by the rugged honesty of the
miner’s face.

“Come on, Ike,” he called. “Let’s go and stretch
our legs for a while and see what Nome looks like.
Slip your automatic in your pocket. One always
needs one when they haven’t got it. Hurry up, perhaps
we can catch up with the boys. They haven’t
been gone long.” But although they hastened their
pace, they could not catch sight of Alex and Case.
At last they gave up the attempt to find them and
turned their attention to the busy scene around
them. Everywhere upon little plots of ground heaps
of dirt were being reared skyward from holes in
which brawny men in their short-sleeves toiled with
shovels and hoisting-pails; the whole place looked
like a grouping of ant hills.

The boys paused beside several of these holes
and watched the steady labor of digging and hoisting.
Every man appeared to be working so against
time that the boys did not want to butt in with questions.
At one hole, however, they found a great
giant of a man clad in overalls who was handling a
bucket. He greeted them cordially with a demand
for the latest news from the States.

“Yes, these claims are rich, but gold ain’t all in
life,” he said in answer to Clay’s questions. “I
used to figure out if I was only rich I’d be happy,
but that thar hole holds a million dollars apiece for
me and my partners and I don’t feel happy. Seem
like I’d give it all now to think that I’d been kinder
to mother and sister when they were alive or had
tried to help dear old dad when he was struggling to
find clothes and food for us all. Hold on a minute,”
he said, as the boys started to bid him good-bye. “I
never let a stranger off my claim without a souvenir,
so to speak.” He gathered up a miner’s pan almost
full of the fresh gravel and taking it down to a
little running stream and filling the pan, tipped it
up on edge, and gave it a peculiar whirling motion
which sent the sand and gravel out over the edge.
This was repeated several times and then he extended
the pan out for their view. In its bottom lay fine
flakes of yellow and resting upon them as upon a bed
glistened eight nuggets varying in size from a grain
of corn to a small marble. “Take them and you can
have them made into scarf pins as a reminder of the
trip when you get back home. No, no, thanks. Just
take them and run along. I’ve got to get to work.”

Ike eyed the gold with a calculating eye. “I bet
that gold’s worth $20.00 he said. Suppose we stop
and talk to some of the other men what hoists the
buckets. Perhaps they give souvenirs too.”

“Not much, I guess,” laughed Clay. “That man’s
an exception; all are too busy to waste time on
strangers.” He stopped at the next claim to inquire
if anything had been seen of two boys, a dog
and a grizzly. The man scratched his gravel splashed
hair. “Yep, I did see a bear some time ago. He
was licking it for town in a hurry. He had a rope
dragging behind him so I reckon he was some one’s
pet. A little after a boy, all covered with gravel
and mud, passed a-running, an’ I made up my mind
he was the bear’s owner. Didn’t see no dog or other
boy.”

“Let’s make for town as fast as our legs will carry
us,” Clay said. “Alex has had trouble with Teddy
and no telling how it will end. I wonder how he
got separated from Case. I never intended for him
to be on shore alone. He always gets into trouble.”

A few minutes of running brought them to the
edge of the town, which consisted of one main street
bordered on each side by long ramshackle buildings
or dug-outs. Every building seemed to be a dance
hall, saloon, or gambling den; often one building
seemed to combine all three. The din of pianos
and the harsh discord floated out on the street,
disgusting the two boys who had carefully kept away
from unclean things.

They hurried down one side of the street and back
on the other side without catching sight of either
of the missing ones. “I wonder what could have become
of them,” Clay repeated for the twentieth time.
He stopped by a man sitting in a doorway and inquired
of him if he had seen anything of the boy
and bear.

“Sure, they are both in the Golden Nugget, that
saloon over there, where so much noise comes from.
It’s a tough place and y’d better get your partner out
of there right away. Wait a second till I get my
belt and gun an I’ll walk over there with you. I
know most of the fellows and may be able to save
you trouble.” It took the man but a moment to
buckle on his heavy belt, laden with cartridges and
two long barreled Colts. Then he led the way across
to the cheaply-gaudy saloon. As he flung open the
door a curious sight greeted the boys’ eyes. Leaning
against the bar with the air of an old toper,
his head tipped to one side and his mouth parted in
a silly grin, was Teddy, his eyes fixed on a pail of
beer the bartender had drawn and which, when full,
he set before the bear.

Alex, in the far corner, tears of sheer rage in
his eyes, was pulling with all his strength and
repeating commands for him to come away. He had
not noticed the entrance of the boys. Suddenly he
dropped the rope and his hand sought his coat
pocket.

“Look here, you fellows,” he called, his eyes flashing
through his tears. “That’s my bear and I want
you to leave him alone. Don’t give him another
drink; why, he’s getting as drunk as some of these
men and he hasn’t got much more sense than they
have when he’s this way. He would not be in here
if you hadn’t coaxed him in with sugar and got him
to boxing and drinking beer. Now stop it, cut it out
and cut it out quick.”

“What are you going to do about it, my young
bantam,” sneered the bartender.

“That’s simple,” said Alex, in steady tones. “I’m
going to shatter that mirror. I’ve heard one was
worth $2,500.00 up here. Then those rows of
bottles on the shelves—I’ve seen you sell some at
$10.00 per bottle—that I think will about pay for
Teddy.”

“What do you think I’ll be doing all that time,”
sneered the bartender.

“You’ll be smiling sweetly and holding up your
hands as high as you can get them,” came the cool
retort; “otherwise I might take you for an enlarged
whiskey bottle and make a mistake in my shooting.
Stop!” he cried, as the bartender reached under the
bar.

“It’s time to interfere,” said the stranger by
Clay’s side.

.. vspace:: 4

.. _`AN EXCITING TIME`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER VIII

.. class:: center medium

   AN EXCITING TIME

.. vspace:: 2

The low ceilinged room was filled with roughly
dressed miners and a few women gaudily attired.
Alex’s voice had rang out so seriously and deadly
that a wide lane had opened up between him and the
bartender. Clay and Ike, with the stranger in the
lead, pushed forward to where Teddy, a leering grin
on his face, was waiting for another round of beer.
The bartender was striving to secure his long-barreled
pistol, which lay on a shelf underneath the
bar, but Alex was on the watch and the pinging
of the automatic sent a steel-nosed bullet crashing
through the bar close to the bartender’s hands,
which he promptly elevated on high. “Now for
your insults and threats and the way you have
abused Teddy,” Alex cried, anger taking full
possession of him. He sent two bullets in the mirror
which cracked it from top to bottom, then he began
to shoot slowly and carefully, at the four tiers of
bottles behind the bar. Each bullet brought forth
the tinkling sound of splintered glass and the
gushing forth of escaping liquor. The bartender’s face
grew paler with each sound of breaking glass, for
liquor was liquid gold at Nome.

But this state of things could not last. The shots
brought the reserve force of bartenders and bouncers
from other parts of the building, some pulling out
their long-barreled revolvers as they ran to their
chief’s assistance. The first appeared behind the
bar just as the stranger, with the boys at his side,
struggled into the open lane that ran from Alex to
the bar. Alex had emptied his pistol and was calmly
reloading it with deliberate care, although he
could not but realize the peril in which he stood. His
face brightened as he saw his two friends.

“Get out while you’ve got the chance,” he shouted.

But Clay only smiled as he whipped out his automatic
and leveled it at the newcomer behind the
bar, who was cocking a heavy 44 Colts.

“Hold on a minute, you gunmen,” rang out the
stranger’s voice, cool and crisp. The constantly
augmented group of bartenders and bouncers hesitated
for a moment at the determined tones of
authority, and Alex finished his reloading.

“I reckon you all know me,” went on the cool
drawling voice, “if some of you don’t know me, I’m
the Yukon Kid an’ you may have heard the name
before.” A murmur swept over the crowd.

“I never thought much of Nome, with her gambling
dens, dance halls and dives like this, but I never
thought one of the places I have mentioned would
descend so low as to hector and make desperate a
boy, just a stripling, and a chekako (tenderfoot), at
that.” His clear voice swept the assembled miners
and the group of hesitating bartenders. His two
heavy revolvers seemed to leap from their holsters.
One steel muzzle described a rapidly slanting arc
back and forth before the saloon men, while the
other whirled rapidly in a circle with a finger
pressed gently on the trigger, seemed to cover the
whole crowd at once to their evident uneasiness.

“Boys, go and get your bear out in the street.
Don’t be too hard on him,” said the Yukon Kid,
with a grin. “Remember it’s his first offense and
likely his last, for he’ll be a sick bear tomorrow.”

Alex came forward from his corner and Ike and
Clay moved up to Teddy. “Come on, Teddy, and
no foolishness about it,” Clay commanded. But
Teddy, a maudlin insane glint in his eyes, squared
off angrily to fight.

Clay snatched out his sheaf knife and made a
downward sweep with it. Teddy’s eyes lost their
look of insanity, and whining, he dropped on all
fours and made for the door, followed by the boys.
Once outside Teddy tried to arise to his hind feet
but found his legs too weak and wabbly, so dropped
back on all fours.

“Take him right down to the boat and tie him up
to the snubbing block in the prow, Alex,” Clay
ordered. “You go with him, Ike. I’m going to look
for Case and Captain Joe. I am worried about them.
Where did you see him last, Alex?”

“We got separated soon after we left the boat, I
was trying to hunt him up when that brute gave me
a shove down into one of those worked out mines
and bolted. By the time I got out I was not thinking
about anything but finding Teddy before he got
into mischief. I don’t know what became of Case.”

“Stop a minute, Clay,” shouted Ike, as they were
moving off. “Don’t forget if a man insists on our
taking souvenirs, there’s eight of us in the crew, you
understand.”

“But there are only six of us,” said Clay, puzzled.

“You forget the dog and bear,” replied Ike solemnly.
“Don’t you think animals have some feelings
and don’t like to be slighted? If they don’t
want them we can take care of them for them.”

Clay turned back into the saloon with a smile on
his face.

It was quite a different sight that met his eyes
when he stepped inside. The Yukon Kid was the
center of the crowd of miners, who, pressing around
him, were loudly demanding news of the upper Yukon.
Two bartenders were, with forced smiles on
their faces, serving the crowd with drinks on the
house. The others were mopping up the spilled
liquor from the broken bottles.

The crowd was so dense that Clay could not force
his way in so he stood on its edge striving to signal
the Kid. “Great man, the Kid,” volunteered a miner
next him. “Came into this country just a kid and
hasn’t been outside since. Carries the mail back
and forth as far as Dawson. Never misses a trip,
and let me tell you that’s a trip but few dare to
make in the middle of winter. Don’t reckon he’s so
very rich—gives away too much. But, I reckon, he’s
known better and trusted more than any man in
the North. He’s a good man to tie to for he’s
always reliable in peace or trouble.”

Clay studied the Kid’s face closely as the man
talked. In spite of the roughness and scars placed
there by Mother North, it was a young, comely,
strong face, and set off with twinkling steel gray
eyes. Their eyes met and the Kid pushed through
the crowd to his side.

“Hello,” he said. “You back?”

“I wanted to thank you for what you have done
for us,” Clay said gratefully.

“Bosh!” exclaimed the Kid, the red mounting to
his face. “What little I did for you I’d do for any
chekako who was staked up against odds,” he
chuckled. “That’s a fire-eating little partner you’ve
got. He’ll make a sour dough all right if he doesn’t
get killed in the making.”

“I have got another partner just as gamey.” Clay
said proudly. “He is not as quick tempered as Alex
but he’s all right. I wanted to ask you if you had
heard or seen anything of him. The two left the
boat at the same time, but soon got separated. He
had a big white bull dog with him. I am afraid
something has happened to him.”

“No, I haven’t seen or heard anything of him,
but wait a bit, some of this crowd may have heard
of him. I’ll inquire.”

“He was gone but a moment then returned to
Clay. “I’ve found out where he was an hour ago,
but Lord only knows where he is now. Wait! I’ll
go with you. You couldn’t find the place alone.”
He moved up to the bar and called for drinks,
taking a glass of root beer for himself. “My parting
round, boys,” he said friendly. “Have something
yourself, Charley,” to the white-clad bartender.
“What I’m trying to figure out is who’s going
to pay for that mirror and the wasted liquor—about
$3,000, I calculate,” scoffed the bartender.

“It’s your own fault, Charley,” said the Kid,
lightly. “You can’t collect it out of the boys—they
are minors any way. Better charge it up as advertising.”

“Say,” he continued, as he noted the black frown
on the other’s face. “I’ll take responsibility for that
bill. Just send it up to my cabin, and then come up
and try to collect it.”

The frown disappeared from the fellow’s face
and he tried to force a grin.

“Guess I’d better charge it to advertising,” he
said.

“Sure, advertising pays,” agreed the Kid cordially,
and turning, he strode for the door where Clay
was awaiting him. As they stepped outside, a
strong wind smote their faces so as to almost
prevent conversation. The Kid turned, his hand
against his mouth. “Keep close to me,” he shouted
“and no matter what trouble comes up, don’t pull
your gun unless I give the word.”

Clay obeyed and kept close at the Kid’s heels. A
half hour’s walk brought them to the fringe of the
town, where they could see the *Rambler* dancing at
her dock about a mile distant.

“We’re nearly there,” said the Kid, “and remember,
you’re to let me handle this thing, in my own
way. Just keep still and let me do the talking. He
had reached a group of tents which were pitched in
a kind of circle leaving a round plot of ground
inclosed within. From this court yard came the
sounds of laughter, hoots and cries. The Yukon
Kid picked his way in between the ropes of two
tents, Clay following. At this entrance they paused
a minute to review the scene.

The courtyard was about one-fourth of an acre in
extent. All around its sides were packed a dense
crowd of men offering and taking big bets on the
outcome of the battle that raged in the center.

Here, within another circle, a curious battle was
going on. Ranged around in a silent circle, according
to their usual code, were a dozen or more wolf-dogs,
more wolf than dog, squatted on their
haunches, their eyes eager, and their long white
fangs dripping saliva, for to them belonged the
spoils of the battle that was going on now within
this inner circle. When one of the combatants died,
it was their privilege to drag it outside of the circle
and satisfy their hunger-warped souls on its flesh
and bones. They cared not which died, only that
he died quickly. Theirs was the sentiment of aching
bellies.”

The Kid kicked a way through the circle of dogs
and Clay followed him. Inside two men, seated on
a log, were evidently refereeing the fight while on
the other end of the log sat Case, tightly bound hand
and foot, his face a picture of anger and helplessness.

The Kid took a seat on the log by the side of the
one who appeared chief in authority and who shifted
uneasily. He did not like the Yukon Kid. The
Kid knew too much and had an uncanny way of
learning hidden things.

“Having a good match, Major?” enquired the
Kid pleasantly, as he glanced at the desperate battle
for life Captain Joe was putting up against a gaunt,
husky wolf dog that towered way above him. Both
dogs were fighting desperately and silently as became
their breed, the husky darting in and out,
snapping viciously, and Captain Joe whirling to meet
the attack on his short, stumpy legs with surprising
quickness, always trying to reach the enemy’s throat.

“Yes, it’s some match,” agreed the other, cautiously.
“A good many thousands of dollars of gold
dust changed hands on the first match alone.”

“You don’t mean you’ve been fighting that bull
dog against more than one husky?” the Kid cried
in amazement.

“He’s killed two, this is the third one,” said the
Major: “By jove! there goes the third.” Captain
Joe had found his goal at last. The husky, eager to
kill, had bent too low and Captain Joe’s teeth were
buried in his throat in a death-like grip, which, rear
and plunge as he might, the husky could not shake
off. In a few moments it was all over and the dead
husky was dragged away by his ravenous comrades,
while Captain Joe painfully limped over to Case and
Clay, his sides heaving and his white body bleeding
from countless wounds. Clay picked him up and
wiped his poor punctured body. “He’s fought like
a hero without a whine,” Case said with dim eyes.
“I tried to stop the first fight when it started, but a
dozen of the crowd grabbed me and tied me up. All
I’ve been able to do is to sit here and see them make
him fight one husky after another. He’s got four
more to fight before they’ll let him go. He can’t
finish those four. He is getting too weak. I doubt
if he can go through another round, he has lost so
much blood.” The voice of the referee interrupted:
“Captain Joe still alive and on his feet. Next match,
Captain Joe against Birch Bark.”

At the other end of the log the Yukon Kid was
talking sweetly and cooly to the man in authority.

.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE VISITORS`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER IX

.. class:: center medium

   THE VISITORS

.. vspace:: 2

“Do you think it quite fair to make one little
brute fight seven big huskies, worked until they are
as hard as iron, Major?”

“He’s got to do it or die,” said the Major. The
Kid, however, seemed to have lost all interest in
the dog fight. “Remember that murder up on the
Stewart when some one did up Old Joe and made
off with the whole of the gold dust that the old man
had cleared up? Remember it, Major?”

“I don’t exactly remember it,” said the Major, uneasily.

“’Course you remember it,” said the Kid softly.
“I met you just south of the Stewart and you were
driving as though the devil was after you. Queer,
ain’t it?” he continued, “that the police could not
find out who the murderer was, while I knew in
less than a week. Strange tales from the Indians
reached my ears and one of them brought me a lot
of things he had found around the cabin before the
mounted police came. There was a mitten, an
empty 45-50 shell, and a handkerchief with a man’s
name on it, and, well, there were a lot of other
things. But what’s the use of bringing up old
scores. Joe was so mean that the poison in his heart
would have killed him pretty soon anyway. Look
here,” he said abruptly. “I reckon this dog fight
has gone about far enough. That white bull is dead
game, but he can’t go another battle.”

“You want the fight called off?” the Major asked
with head bent.

“I reckon that’s about it,” said the Kid cheerfully,
“and you might as well untie that youngster’s hands
and feet. It ain’t no ways comfortable for a boy to
be trussed up that way.”

“All right,” said the Major listlessly, and he
walked over to the referee and spoke a few words.

“All right,” the referee replied sullenly, “you’re
the boss. Match declared off for personal reasons,”
he shouted to the crowd outside. “All bets on this
fight declared off.” There was an angry murmur
from the crowd outside. The Kid slashed away
Case’s bindings. “Bring your dog and keep close
to me. There’s no telling how that crowd will act.
There are some bad men amongst them.” A hundred
men surrounded them with angry threats as
they broke out of the circle. The Kid took Captain
Joe and held him up to the view of the crowd.
“Here’s a poor, little four-legged American citizen,”
he said. “He’s game, if he is a chekako. He’s
killed three of your trail-hardened huskies. That
ought to be enough, but now you want him to tackle
four more. Is that a square deal? Is that the
American spirit of fair play?”

“You Americans are always boasting about what
you do,” sneered an Englishman. “Why, that dog
isn’t an American. It’s an English bull dog.”

“I will admit his ancestors came from England
and that he has inherited his awful looking mug
from them, but he isn’t to blame for that. He’s got
the true American spirit.”

The Americans in the crowd laughed at the Kid’s
retort, and one of them shouted: “Hurrah for the
stars and stripes.”

“You blooming braggers,” shouted the Englishman.
“You’ll never stand straight up and fight fair
with odds even.”

“We, as a nation, never get the chance,” retorted
the Kid. “We always have had to give odds of five
to one at least. Remember the wars of 1776 and
1812?”

The cheering over the Englishman’s discomfiture
rose uproariously until a big Swede stilled it by
raising up his brawny arms above the crowd as a
signal for silence.

“Ay tank day United States ban all right. Ay
tank day American dog with the ugly face ban all
right too. How you all like to fight four more mens
after you already lick three? Ay tank we better let
the dog and boys go.”

The air rang with applause from the now good-natured
crowd. “Let ’em go,” shouted a hundred
voices, and the two boys worked their way through
the ropes into the open once more, followed by the
Yukon Kid.

Once distant from the circle of tents, the Kid
stopped. “I guess you can find the boat all right,”
he said. “I’m going to take a short cut home. I’ve
traveled fifty miles today and only eaten one meal.
I’ll rest a bit and then get something to eat.”

“I wish you would take your rest and then come
down to the boat and have supper with us,” Clay
said earnestly. “We have got a lot of dainties, and
we brought up loads of books and magazines.”

“I’ll go you,” said the Kid boyishly. “I have
been living on bacon and beans all winter—and magazines
and books! Have you really got them? I
had almost forgotten that there were such things in
the world. Why, I got hold of a New York paper
last winter and I read it and read it until I wore it
out. Sure, I’ll be down just as soon as I can catch
a couple of hours’ rest. So long, boys, till supper.”

Clay and Case made their way down to the Rambler
without any difficulty. The ancient mariner
was still sitting on the post, watching, with delight,
Ike and Alex pouring pail after pail of water on
Teddy Bear, who, up in the prow in the sunshine,
was snoring loudly. The only effect the water
seemed to have upon him was to make him roll over
on the other side and resume his loud snoring.

The veteran prospector beckoned to Clay to approach
him. “Say,” he said in a hoarse whisper.
“There’s been strange goings on in your boat since
you left. I never expected to see anything like it
around here. Just after you left, two men came
down the dock and went aboard your boat. I didn’t
take much notice of them, ’cause the latch string
is always hangin’ out in the North and I could see
that they were sour dough boys and reckoned they
were some friends of yours. But they staid down
in the cabin so long that I made up my mind that
I’d step down and tell ’em that you-alls wouldn’t
be back for a couple of hours. Soon as I peeked
into the cabin, I saw what they was up to. There
they was with all the lockers pulled out looking
through your things and throwing your clothes out
on the floor. One of them was just putting a battered
silver watch in his pocket. I got a bead on
him with my old 44 and let out a yell. He dropped
the watch like it was red hot. I marched ’em out
of the cabin and up on the dock. Then I says to
’em, ‘Hike for shore and don’t be long getting
there, for my fingers are getting shaky with old age
and might press the trigger too hard, any minute.’”

“Did they run?” questioned Clay, with a grin.

“I could not have caught them if I had been forty
years younger, and, believe me, I used to be some
runner,” said the old prospector with open admiration
at the speed the two fugitives had displayed.
“But the further they got the madder I got to thinking
old sour doughs would act meaner than a chekako.
One of them was marked with a red scar across
one cheek, and, just as they made the shore, I decided
I’d mark the other one so I’d be sure to know him
the next time I saw him.”

“Did you hit him?” asked Clay, still grinning.

“I reckon I’m getting an old fellow. I aimed for
the lobe of his ear and only just nicked it.”

“We’re mighty grateful to you for defending
our property,” Clay said. “Stay and have supper
with us,” he urged. “We are fixing to have quite a
spread.”

“No, thankee,” refused the old man. “I’ve got a
pot of bacon and beans cooked up down at my cabin.
I’ve eaten them and pertatoes and now and then a
piece of moose meat for forty years, and I’ve got
so a meal don’t taste right without ’em.”

“We have got beans, plenty of them,” urged Clay.

“I know the kind,” said the man, scornfully.
“Come in a can with a little slice of bacon on top
that you can see through, it’s so thin, and the beans
below ’em are so weak and pale that they always
color ’em up with tomato juice to make ’em look
healthy and deceive you. No, no such kind of beans
for me; just the raw kind. Put ’em in a pot with at
least a third of their bulk in sizable cubes of bacon.
Then fill the pot plumb full of water and sit on the
fire to simmer. When they are done you have got
beans what is beans. Come right handy on the trail
in winter, too. You can freeze them into sticks an’
pack ’em on your sled an’ when you want to cook
dinner, just chop off as much as you want and thaw
it out in the frying pan. Well, good-night. Reckon
I’ll see you afore you leave.”

Clay turned back to his friends, a gentle smile on
his lips, for the quaint, honest Old Timer. He found
his three companions washing and doing up Captain
Joe’s numerous wounds, while the dog licked their
hands in dumb gratitude.

“It does not need all three of you to fix up
Captain Joe,” he observed. “Someone got into our
cabin while we were gone and messed up things a
good bit, though I don’t believe they got away with
anything. I should like Ike to put things back in
their place. All I can see that he’s doing is to look
at Captain Joe’s teeth to see if there are any gold
fillings. When you get through with Joe, both of
you come up and help me for we are going to have
the biggest feast we ever have had in the *Rambler*,
tonight. We are going to have a visitor to supper.”

“Who?” Alex asked, smearing ointment over one
of Captain Joe’s wounds while Case applied a clean
white bandage to another.

“The Yukon Kid,” said Clay. “I invited him
down and he accepted.”

“Hurrah,” shouted all three boys, and Ike added
thoughtfully: “That Kid, he knows a lot about the
country; you understand, maybe he can tell us where
there be more miners what like to give away
souvenirs.”

Ike’s face went deathly pale when he caught sight
of the scattered things that littered the cabin. He
rushed to the pile near his bunk and pawed it out
pantingly. The battered old silver watch lay near
the pile and Ike pounced on it with delight. “I
don’t care so much about the rest, but this my uncle
gave me. I wish I had a good safe place to put it.”

“We fixed up a safe place to put our valuables
while we had spare time this winter. Come here and
I’ll show it to you.” Clay lifted up a square of
flooring right behind the stove, disclosing a cavity
about a foot square and the same in depth, the whole
carefully lined with moisture-proof oil cloth.
“That’s a mighty good place,” said Ike with satisfaction.
“Soon’s I get time, you understand, I
wraps up my watch, that nugget, and them bills I’ve
got in the seat of my pants and put them here.”
Clay replaced the bit of flooring. It fitted so carefully
that the cracks could only be discovered with a
close scrutiny. “We always put a couple of old
sacks or an old piece of carpet over it and Captain
Joe sleeps there most of the time, so you see there
is but little chance of its being discovered. By the
way, one of the chaps that raided the *Rambler* had
a red scar on his face, and the other one had a face
that would hang him without a trial.”

Ike’s face grew downcast. “Dem must have been
them two low-lifes that tried to rob me in Chicago.
I wonder how they gets here. They had no money.”

“I guess I know how they managed it,” said Clay,
thoughtfully. “I’ll show you something when I get
the time. We have talked too long now. Let’s get
to work.”

Ike with deft fingers folded and replaced the scattered
things in their lockers, while Clay started a fire
in the stove and began preparations for the grand
feast. He was soon joined by Case and Alex
followed by Captain Joe. Alex was grinning. “You
had ought to have seen Captain Joe,” he said, “the
minute we turned him loose: he made for Teddy
Bear, I guess, to tell him his trouble and gain a
little sympathy. He looked puzzled when he found he
could not rouse him. He walked all around him
sniffing until he got to Teddy’s head, then he caught
a good smell of Teddy’s breath. He turned away
and came with us with such a comical look of
disgust on his face, that it would have made you laugh.

Captain Joe lay down behind the stove on the
secret hiding place, while Case and Alex hastened
to Clay’s assistance. The boys had brought along
with them a small stock of dainties with which to
help celebrate on special days, and this they broke
into with rude hands. Soon the table, covered with
a white cloth, was laden with cream cheese, jars of
preserves, jellies, a fruity fruit cake, jams, and even
a jar of anchovy paste. A plate heaped with nuts,
figs and raisins, stood in the middle, while at each
individual plate was one each of their precious stock
of oranges and apples.

Over the stove Clay labored, steaming sausages
and frying canned beefsteak with onions, while big,
mealy potatoes already cooked were placed on the
back corner of the stove to keep warm.

“He’s coming now,” said Alex, as a light, vigorous
step rang on the dock, and a moment later the
Kid’s cheery face appeared in the cabin door. He
looked more like a man who had slept fifty hours and
traveled two miles, than like one who had just traveled
fifty miles and slept two hours. His brief rest
had removed all weariness from his face.

His keen eyes swept from the boys to the laden
table. “Gee! boys,” he said, boyishly. “This isn’t
a supper. It’s a banquet, and me here without my
dress suit on.”

.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE YUKON`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER X

.. class:: center medium

   THE YUKON

.. vspace:: 2

The boys were delighted with the way their
visitor ate. “I am ashamed of myself,” he said as he
passed his plate a third time, “but everything tastes
so good. Especially after a man has been eating
his own poorly-cooked grub for a year. We do
not do much cooking on the trail. One cannot carry
great quantities of food on sleds and make much
progress. It’s the curse of the North that one is
always possessed of a gnawing hunger without the
means of satisfying it. Men seem to thrive under
it, though. Few of them carry an extra ounce of
flesh on them, but they are as hard as iron. One of
them can do as much hard labor in a day as three
well-fed chekakos. And while I am talking, son,”
addressing Alex, “let me warn you not to pull your
gun in this region unless you mean to kill or be
killed. Mere bluff does not go in this country
without a bad reputation to back it, and sometimes not
even then. You’re a pretty fair shot, boy, I noticed
that today, but lad, there are old timers who can
give a good hair cut at twenty paces without
breaking the skin. Better not draw your gun unless you
have to. Pluckiness is all right, but it’s suicide to
try to stack up against too heavy odds. Don’t think
I am trying to lecture,” he added apologetically.
“It’s just good advice I got hammered into me when
I first hit this country. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll take
a look at that pile of magazines and books I see over
there. They stack up like a heap of gold dust to
me.”

The five of them clustered around, while the Kid
handled the books with reverent fingers. He laid
a few books and a couple of magazines one side. The
boys looked at them with surprise. They consisted
of a book on surgery and two law books, which belonged
to Clay, whose private ambition was to be a
lawyer. Clay glanced at the titles, “Chitty on Pleadings”
and “Bishop on Contracts.”

“Gee!” he said. “You’ve chosen some heavy
stuff. Why, it took me a year to get all of ‘Chitty
on Pleadings’ through my head.”

“Light reading is all right for summer,” said the
Kid, “but for winter give me the heavy books like
these that keep your mind so busy that you do not
think of the long darkness, the great silence, and the
everlasting whiteness. Besides, I need that book on
surgery. I meet so many injured men on the trail
and there isn’t a doctor between Nome and Dawson.
As to the law books, well, this is going to be
a great country some day, I guess, and the man
on the ground who knows the miners as well as
the laws will stand a good chance of making good—anyway
it will beat traveling the long trail, and
I’m for it.”

Case brought out some cigars which they had
brought along with them for just some like occasion.

“Take a handful,” he said, hospitably, but the
Kid only took one. “I have sorter got used to my
old pipe and cut plug,” he apologized. “Say, don’t
none of you boys smoke?”

“No,” said Clay, but don’t stop for that. Light
up.”

“No,” said the Kid decidedly. “I am not going
to stink up this dainty little cabin of yours with stale
tobacco fumes. Let’s go up on deck if you don’t
mind. It’s the finest hour in the twenty-four, according
to my notion.”

The five seated themselves on the edge of the cabin,
silent for the moment. Twilight had set in and
the day’s work was over. Outside the shanties small
fires were blazing from which came the savory odor
of frying bacon and boiling coffee. A keen, clear
wind fanned their faces, while from the huddled
settlement came to their ears, faintly, the weird,
soul-stirring wail of the wolf dogs. But, because
they were well fed, and happy, and young—above
all, young—they began to sing. Clay first, by some
hidden chord, had been touched by that soul-touching
wail and dearly his fresh young voice rang out, softly
at first, but gradually growing in volume.

   |  “Back in the dear dead days beyond recall,
   |  When on the earth the mists began to fall,
   |  Out of the dreams that rose in happy throng,
   |  Low to our hearts love sang an old sweet song.”

“Know any more of it?” asked the Kid, eagerly.

“Sure, a part of it,” Clay said with a glance at
his companions. None of the boys had cultivated
voices but they were clear and ringing and bore the
thrilling note of youth. They had often sang together
on their long trips and when Clay started
again the other three joined in harmoniously.

   |  “And in the even when fell the firelight gleam,
   |  Slowly it wove itself into our dreams.”

A shanty door slammed, another and another until
it seemed to Clay as if all Nome was banging
doors. He stopped. “We’re going to be mobbed,”
he said, “and it’s your fault, Ike. That golden note
in your voice is starting a stampede.”

“Go on,” commanded the Kid, who was lying
back on the cabin top, his face upturned to the stars.

Clay hurried to the end filled with apprehension
at the sight of many dim forms filing out on the
dock, but in spite of his fears he sang on to the end,
the words ringing out sweetly over the water.

   |  “And in the end when earth’s dim shadows fall.
   |  Love will be found the sweetest song of all.”

Uproarious applause came from the now densely
packed crowd on the dock.

Clay sat down in amazement. “An audience! and
I thought it was a mob!” he gasped.

“You green, green chekako,” grinned the Kid.
“Don’t you realize that most of these men have been
up here for years without hearing any music but the
tin pan din of the saloons and dance halls. Sing to
them, boys, not cheap rag time, but some of the old,
old songs they sang in the States years and years
ago.

Clay grasped the cue and one after the other,
followed by his companions, sang all the old familiar
songs he could remember, the crowd on the dock
occasionally joining in on some old time favorite.
When they had finished, he sought in his mind for
something that would appeal to them all. As he
looked down for a moment upon the rough faces,
marked with scurvy, frost bite and famine, there
came to him a realization of what it was that drove
these men to endure the cruelties of the Northland.
It was not gold, alone, but shining above the brilliant
metal, the face of some woman; wife, mother
or sweetheart. He closed his eyes for a second and
the vision was strong upon him of a slender girl in
a white dress with a blue sash, seated at a piano, her
soft white fingers wandering over the keys and her
gentle voice singing—what was she singing forty
years ago, what was she singing today? What did
that girl in Chicago in the white dress and blue
sash always sing to him when he called? He had it,
but that first verse he never could remember, so
he softly sang the second.

   |  “Her brow is like the snow drift.
   |    And her throat is like the swan’s.
   |  Her face it is the fairest that
   |    E’er th’ sun shon’ on.”

When the final—

   |  “An’ for Bonnie Annie Laurie
   |    I’d lay me down an’ dee”

died away the crowd stood quiet and silent for a
minute.

“Now’s the best time to pass the hat, Clay, you
understand,” whispered the commercial Ike. “That
song was too sad-like—it sends them all home. You
should have sung them something pretty, like the
Hebrew Lovers’ Dream.”

“They’re dreaming enough about gold already,”
retorted Clay, tartly, as he noted a man moving in
and out amongst the crowd. He divined his intention.
“Friend,” he called. “We don’t want a collection.
If we have given a little diversion for a
couple of hours, we are pleased and want no money,”
but the crowd was not listening. They were now
talking amongst themselves. “Can’t hear that song
without thinking of my girl in Florida that’s waiting
for me to make good. One of those slim little
gals what wears white dresses with a blue sash and
a bunch of orange blossoms stuck in it.” “Just like
my wife,” assented a rough bearded miner, “only she
lives in Connecticut, an’ we don’t have orange blossoms,
but she’s always got something catchy pinned
on her dress.”

“Case, for goodness sake, start some parting
song,” whispered Clay. I can’t think of a thing,
and that man keeps on taking up a collection.”

Case promptly stepped into the breach and his
mellow tenor voice rang out the good old parting
hymn:

   |  “God be with us ’till we meet again,
   |  By His counsel guide, uphold you,
   |  With His sheep securely fold you,
   |  God be with you ’till we meet again.”

“Hanged if I just like that,” grumbled a miner
whose bowed legs told of a cow-boy life. “I don’t
want to be folded up with no sheep. If it was cattle
now I wouldn’t kick so much.”

The crowd departed slowly, and as silently as
they had come, only one, a little, energetic man
with a spade-like beard remained. He approached
the boat slowly and the boys thought he was coming
on board, but just as he came opposite the cabin, he
flung some heavy object up on it and ran for shore
like a rabbit.

“Look out,” cried Clay, as the Kid reached out
to pick it up. “It may be a bomb.”

The Kid chuckled. “We ain’t civilized enough
for bombs up here yet. I would be glad to stand up
and let a man throw bombs like this at me all day
long. Why, little chekako, this is a miner’s poke,
and if I am any judge of gold dust weight, it must
be worth $400.00. I reckon that Annie Laurie
business got them in a soft spot. That little spade-bearded
man is Cook, the richest man in Nome and
mighty generous when his mean old cat of a wife
isn’t around. Reckon he didn’t marry his Annie
Laurie.”

“I guess we done better than if we had taken up
a collection. I guess maybe you got a good business
head on you after all, Clay,” said Ike happily.

“But we don’t want all that money for doing such
a little thing,” Clay stormed. “Let’s give it back
to them.”

“Don’t get excited, son, just keep it. It belongs
to you. Everyone knew what he gave and could
afford it too. Why, half the wealthy of Nome were
here tonight. Well, I’m too short of dust tonight
but maybe I can put you wise to a few things. I
don’t generally give advice to chekakos for this is
a country where every man has got to play his own
game, but you all seem clean, gritty chaps and I like
you, so I’m going to put you wise to a few things.
I understand that you are going up the Yukon to
trade for pelts with the Indians. The idea is all
right, but you’ve come too late. All the furs got
last summer were traded out during the winter and
spring and there won’t be but a few to be got until
just after the hunters come in from their big hunt
just before the big cold.”

The boys’ faces were a picture of disappointment.

“We hate to go back now,” Case said gloomily.
“We’ve put all the money we had in on this trip,
and I, for one, hate to go back and to be laughed
at too.”

“I am not advising you what to do. But I know
what I would do myself in like case,” said the Kid
slowly. “I wouldn’t give up. A thing not worth
pushing through is not worth starting. I’d go on
up as far as Dawson maybe, kinder going along
easy and learning the ways of the Yukon and having
as much sport as I could, and buying more supplies
when I could get them cheap. As soon as it started
to get cold at Dawson, I’d start down the river,
stopping only at a few big settlements to trade. I
would try to get close to the lower Yukon before the
river froze up. I wouldn’t take any chances. As
soon as floating ice began to form, I’d run my boat
in some cozy cove, pull her out on shore, and make
myself cozy for the winter. Then I’d find me a sled
and dogs and hit for the nearest settlement. I’d
be pretty liberal with my first buying and it wouldn’t
be long before the Indians would be coming from
hundreds of miles to exchange their pelts for tobacco,
beads and trinkets. Tobacco tempts them
most, tobacco and cheap watches. Did you bring
any of those cheap watches?”

“We’ve got a case of the kind that is making the
dollar infamous,” grinned Alex.

“Them’s the kind,” grinned back the Kid. “Just
show them how to keep them wound up and ticking
and they will fall for them all right. They think
the ticking inside is a spirit and they back it up to
keep the evil spirit of the Yukon from bothering
them. But to go on, by spring I would have my
boat loaded with valuable furs and when the ice
went out, I would make Nome and hike back for the
States with the satisfaction of knowing that I had
cleaned up a few thousand dollars on the trip.”

“But a winter on the Yukon!” gasped Case.

“A winter on the Yukon is largely what a man
makes of it, as in all things,” said the Kid gently.
“If a man is strong of soul, he will thaw out with
ice a still stronger man. If he’s a weakling, it’s
just as well for him to find it out early in life. You
boys are fixed comfortable for the winter and had
ought to go through it all right. The main thing
is to keep busy and cheerful. Remember, boys, I
am not advising you boys to do this, for you might
come to grief and I would always blame myself. I
am merely telling you what I would do in your
case.”

“Thanks for what you have told us,” said Clay,
gravely. “We know that you know what you are
talking about, but it knocks the wind out of us for
the moment. We had built so on the plans made
in our ignorance that, now they are all shattered,
we don’t just know what to do until we have slept
over it and talked it over. Now, I have got a question
to ask you,” he said abruptly. “Do you know
or have you ever seen two men that fit this description,”
and he described Jud and Bill.

“I’ve crossed their trail many a time, and Jud
is one of the most powerful men on the Yukon and
a right gentle good man when you get him away
from his partner, but Bill is as full of poison as a
rattlesnake. Don’t know why Jud sticks to him,
but he does. Bill seems to have some hold on him.
You seldom see them apart. Don’t know as any
serious crime could be proved against them, but the
Injins have brought me some ugly stories and I
believe they are true. Anyway, they are men I
want nothing to do with.”

“Say, Mr. Kid,” Ike asked, eagerly. “How far
up the Yukon is Rainbow Bend?”

“Don’t know of any such place,” replied the Kid,
promptly. “And I know the Yukon like a book. Yet
the name has a familiar sound. I’ll try and think it
up. I will remember in time what it is, for I never
really forget anything. Well, so long, boys. It’s
time for all of us to go to bed. I expect to go up
on the steamer tomorrow afternoon. I make my
trip by water when the ice is out. If you start early,
I reckon we’ll catch you at the mouth of the Yukon
and you can keep in our wake as long as you can
see us.

“What time does the steamer make?” inquired
Case.

“Ten miles an hour against the current,” said the
Kid, proudly.

“Then we’ll see you on the Yukon,” promised
Case with a grin.

As soon as the Kid was gone, the tired boys
sought their bunks and sleep.

.. vspace:: 4

.. _`TRAPPED`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XI

.. class:: center medium

   TRAPPED

.. vspace:: 2

“Gee, Case, what’s the matter?” and Alex
reached over and flung a hard pillow at his sleeping
companion. Through the little cabin window came
the first grey light of dawn.

“What’s the matter?” inquired Case, sleepily.

“That’s just what I’m asking you,” snapped Alex,
tartly. “Goodness, man, don’t you feel the boat
wallowing in the trough of the sea? She wouldn’t do
that if she was moored to the pier. She must have
broken away. “Hey, rouse up, you, Clay and Ike,”
he called. “The *Rambler* is adrift in a heavy sea.”

Eight feet struck the floor and the four boys began
hustling into their clothes.

“I don’t understand how she broke loose,” Clay
said, as he pulled on his shirt. “I looked at her
moorings just before I turned in, but loose she
certainly is. Otherwise she would be pitching fore and
aft instead of rolling in this sickening way. Come
up, I am going out now and see what’s the matter.
He twisted on the knob of the cabin door and tried
to open it, but it resisted his efforts. He turned
sharply around. “Who came in last night, you,
wasn’t it, Ike?”

“Yes, I sits up on deck a little while, thinking over
things,” Ike confessed.

“Did you change the key and lock the cabin
door?”

“I don’t remember it,” Ike confessed, miserably.
“I was thinking hard of other things, you understand.”

“You’ll understand some things more in a few
minutes,” Clay said crisply, as he snapped on the
cabin lights. He pounced upon a small dark object
by the stove behind which Captain Joe lay in a
sort of stupor. “That’s why Captain Joe didn’t
warn us. They threw him a piece of poisoned meat
through the window. I guess he won’t die. He
only bit off a small chunk and he spit most of that
out. Wise old owl, Captain Joe.”

“Whew,” whistled Alex. “Look, they have taken
the rifle and shot gun.”

Each boy darted to his bunk, for they all kept
their automatics under their pillows at night. They
found them all safe.

“I wonder who did it,” Alex said.

“Ike’s friends, Bill and Jud, of course,” said
Case in a tone that caused the little Jew to wince
wretchedly.

“The thing to think about is to get out of here,”
Clay said. “I don’t believe those fellows can start
the engine up. They are almost a new invention.
Now, if the wind is blowing from the same direction
as it was when we turned in, we are bound
to hit the rocks somehow between Nome and Cape
Nome. This sea will break her up in no time and
will drown us like rats in a trap. I would rather
put up a fight against any kind of odds than to die
that way.”

“Hallo,” hailed a voice from the aft window.
“We want to talk peaceable with one of you, no
shooting.”

It was Jud’s voice and Case stepped forward before
any of the others could act.

“What do you want?” he asked, as he threw open
the window, disclosing Jud’s face.

“We want one of you to come up and start this
darned motor,” he said. “We can’t make it go.
’Pears like we can’t do it. Reckon you boys must
have almost filled up your tank with kerosene by
mistake. The engine is fairly dripping with it.”

“If you want the engine started, unlock the door
and let us all up,” Case said.

A low-toned conversation ensued between Jud
and his companions, then Jud’s face reappeared at
the window.

“Bill says it can’t be done,” he said dejectedly,
“an’ Bill generally knows what’s right.”

“It’s all of us or none,” Case said, decidedly.

“Don’t say that,” begged Jud. “We’re driving
on shore an’ it ain’t more than 500 yards away.
You don’t want to be drowned like rats in a trap,
do you?”

“What are you going to do if one of us does come
up and fix the motor?” Case questioned.

“We will not harm you boys,” said the other
earnestly. “All we want is that little Jew. He’s
done us out of something that belongs to us. First
thing is to get the boat off this shore, then we want
you to steer straight for the mouth of the Yukon.
We have got boats there. The one of you on deck
can put us and the Jew on shore and then come back
and free the rest an’ go on about your own business.”

“Nothing doing,” Case said decidedly. “We
never desert a comrade. Might as well go back to
your motor.”

The boys in the cabin had heard all the conversation
and their faces were grave. In one corner sat
Ike, a huddled heap of woe with something of the
persecuted pathos of his race in his dark eyes.

“They lie,” he cried. “I have got nothing what
belongs to them loafers. I am honest and steals
nothing. But I am sorry I bring trouble on you
boys. Do as that low-life says and save your lives
while you can. I’m sorry I got you boys into
trouble.”

“No, Ike,” Clay said firmly. “The *Rambler* boys
always stick together in time of trouble. If something
doesn’t happen pretty soon we’ll break down
the door and make a fight for it.”

A light stole over Alex’s freckled face. “I’ve got
an idea. It may work and it may not. Do you remember
that hatchway up forward in the prow, Case?”

Case nodded quickly.

“Well,” went on Alex, hurriedly. “I believe we
can work our way up over the cargo to the hatch.
If Teddy Bear is sleeping on it we will not be able
to lift it up. If not, we will crawl out. The men
will likely be working on the motor and we stand a
good chance of catching them napping. Two of
us is enough. The other two had better stay in
the cabin talking all the time. If the cabin got quiet
all of a sudden, they might get suspicious and be
on the watch.”

“All right, you and Ike stay here, and Clay and
I will try it,” said Case.

“You will not, you big stiff,” declared Alex excitedly.
“It’s my plan, and I’m going to run it.
Anyhow, how could you big chaps wiggle through
that small space between the deck and cargo. No,
Ike’s going with me if he will.”

“Sure, I will,” said Ike delightedly, as he felt
in his pockets to see that his automatic was safe. “I
ain’t afraid of them loafers, you understand. Alex
and I do the trick all right.”

Alex threw open the door at the front end of
the cabin and the two wiggled into the inky void
beyond.

“Well, they have gone,” said Case despondently.
“The best thing we can do is to stand by the cabin
door and break it down the second we hear trouble
on the deck.”

“Yes,” Clay agreed, and they took up their positions.
Case on one side ready to swing the axe
while on the other side Clay held an automatic in
either hand ready for action.

Alex and Ike pushed steadily if slowly forward.
Their position was one of extreme peril. Their
cargo had been well stowed but the violent rolling
was shaking it loose and as they crawled, they were
often hit by rolling casks and shifting boxes. This
cargo was part of their trading outfit for which they
had been unable to find room in the lockers. Every
now and then the two boys received painful bruises
from shifting boxes. It was easy to see that the
cargo was fast breaking up and that they would
not be able to return the way they came. At last,
battered and bruised, they reached the hatch. Alex
gave it a tentative push upward and it yielded easily.
Evidently Teddy was not sleeping on it. He raised
it to its full height and the two boys clambered up
on deck. It was now broad daylight and only a
glance was needed to show them their peril. The
*Rambler* was wallowing in a heavy sea, dipping her
decks under with every roll, but what was worse,
not less than two hundred yards away to leeward,
lay a rock-strewn shore dashed upon by the huge
surges. The cabin hid the boys from the two men
and Alex raising his head, shot a swift glance over
its top.

It was as he expected, the two men were working over
the motor, or, rather, Jud was working
while Bill was cursing him volubly for not being
able to make it go, to which Jud replied gently:

“Be patient, Bill. “I’ll get her going. I nearly
got her that last time.”

Alex dropped down, an anxious look on his face.
“It’s Teddy,” he whispered, “he’s crawling aft over
the cabin top. I’m afraid they will see him and kill
him. Why can’t that bear keep out of trouble?”

But it was not Teddy Bear’s intention to avoid
trouble, rather he was seeking it.

The rolling of the boat had wakened him slowly
to a realization of an aching head and foul taste in
his mouth and a stomach that revolted at the thought
even of sugar. A feeling of enmity to all men was
strong within him. Dimly he recalled the drinks,
the liquid which the man in the white jacket had
sweetened with sugar. Clearly it was that liquid
that had made him so sick. His uptilted nose
caught a fain scent that reminded him of the odor
of the unwashed bodies that had crowded around
him the day before. Clearly they were some of his
enemies who had made him so sick and had turned
his blood to water. He clambered clumsily on to
the cabin top just as the boys reached the hatch.
His padded feet made too little noise to be heard
above the sound of wind and water. He reached
the other end of the cabin and dropped off on the
deck below where he reared up on his hind feet. The
first intimation the men had of his presence was the
vision of a raising arm and a heavy smack on the
side of the vicious looking Bill’s head, which sent
that worthy ten feet over the stern.

Jud, with a cry of “My God, Bill can’t swim!”
dived over the side to his partner’s assistance.

Alex and Ike came running aft just as the cabin
door splintered under a lusty blow from Case.

“Stop,” shouted Alex. “The key is on the outside.
I will let you out.”

The imprisoned boys sprang out as soon as the
door yielded. Both took in the situation at a glance.
Clay sprang for the motor, while Case ran forward
to the wheel.

“Lower the anchor,” Clay shouted despairingly,
a moment later. “Run the cable out until she is
close to the breakers. These fools have flooded the
engine and it is going to take some time before I can
succeed in working it all out.”

The three boys rushed to the bow and heaved the
heavy anchor over. Alex took a turn around the
snubbing block, paying the cable out, rapidly at first,
then slowly tightening up on it until the *Rambler’s*
bow swung up into the wind. Instead of rolling and
wallowing, she met the seas with a steady, easy
pitching. Just keeping the cable taut enough to
hold the boat up to the wind, Alex continued to pay
it out slowly until the *Rambler’s* stern was within
forty feet of the breakers. Then he fastened the big
hempen rope tightly to the snubbing post. The
three boys stood tense awaiting results. Slowly
the *Rambler* drifted back, dragging the huge
anchor with its long cable with it. “No holding
bottom,” Alex shouted. “She’s going on the rocks.
Get ready to jump.”

But when her stern swung within a dozen feet
of the foaming breakers, the *Rambler* brought up
with a jerk, that threw the boys to the deck. The
anchor had caught on a hidden rock. Their first
act on regaining their feet was to assure themselves
of their own safety, then to look around for their
late captors. At first they could see neither of them
in the long rolling waves. It was Alex who spied
them first. “Good heavens!” he cried, “look there.
Did you ever see a man like that in your life?”

Following his pointing finger, his two companions
caught a glimpse of a sight, startling but inspiring.
Jud, with one hand was holding not only Bill’s head,
but half of his body, above the high waves, while
with the other hand he was keeping his own head
above water and swimming powerfully for the
breaker-racked shore. The boys gained some idea
of the man’s magnificent strength in the way he
sustained the weight of his partner’s body aloft and
still kept his own head high above the water. They
caught one more glimpse of the two just before they
entered the boiling breakers. Jud had turned on
his back and had drawn the limp form from above,
holding it tight with one arm thrown around his
waist, while with the other he was still desperately
battling to win through the rock-strewn smother to
the sandy shore beyond. “Look at a man, boys,”
Alex cried in admiration, “using his own body to
protect his partner’s body from the rocks. That’s
some man, I’m telling you.” In a few moments the
two bodies were rolled up on the beach by a mighty
wave. Jud stooped and picked Bill up as though he
were a sleeping child, and laying him down on the
dry, warm sand, thrust a bunch of dry sea moss
under his head for a pillow.

The boys were close to the shore and could see
the eyes of Jud clearly. They were eloquent with
tenderness and woe. He was bleeding from a dozen
gaping wounds, made by the cruel, ragged rocks,
but he did not seem to notice them. Kneeling down
by Bill’s side, he applied the first aids to the drowned,
such as raising and lowering the arms and depressing
the chest. The boys stood and watched him
anxiously.

Suddenly Jud lifted a beaming face. “He’s coming
to all right,” he shouted joyously. “Reckon
that bear knocked him senseless so that he didn’t
swallow much water.”

“Strange how the Northland brings such different
characters together in such strong partnership,”
said Case, musingly. “I wonder if Bill would have
done as much for Jud. I doubt it.”

A cry from Alex brought him back from his
musings. The little lad’s freckled face was pale.
“The cable’s parted. We are going on the rocks.
Start her up, Clay. For the love of heaven, start
her up.”

.. vspace:: 4

.. _`A CLOSE CALL`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XII

.. class:: center medium

   A CLOSE CALL

.. vspace:: 2

Clay had just finished working the oil out of the
engine and was examining it to see if the vandals
had broken anything, when Alex called. With calm
quickness, he threw on the switch, rocked the fly
wheel over, and shoved the timer over to full speed.
At the first throb of the motor. Case had sprung to
the wheel and ground it hard over. The *Rambler*
trembled like an overworked race horse. She hung
in the trough of a sea that threatened to swamp her
for a moment, then gallantly she swung around,
meeting the next sea bow on, plunging bow under
and sending great showers of spray over the
cabin, she leaped away into the teeth of the wind.

“For goodness sake. Clay, shut down that motor
some,” Alex begged. “She will bury herself in
some of the big waves.”

“I thought you wanted speed from the yell you
let out a minute ago.”

“I did,” Alex retorted. “Then I was afraid of
going on the rocks. Now I’m afraid of going down
in a submarine.”

Clay shoved the timer over to half speed and the
*Rambler* rode the high swells more easily. On
looking at their watches, the boys were surprised to
find that all their terrifying experience which had
occurred had taken place in less than an hour, during
which time they had drifted about a mile from
Nome. It took the speedy little launch but a short
time to cover the distance and they soon moored
securely again to the little pier.

The boys were all hungry, and Case immediately
began frying eggs and bacon and making coffee
while the other boys hung around saying little and
even breakfast was eaten without the usual clatter
of conversation.

“Boys,” said Clay when the meal was finished,
“we each of us know why the others are so silent.
We have to decide a most important question today.
A man who has lived in this country for years, and
whose word I believe can be trusted, gave us some
important advice. You have had time to think it
over and arrive at a decision. Let each one speak
up for himself. I’ll have my say last, so as not to
influence any one. Go ahead and speak and let each
one think of it as a matter concerning himself only.”

“I did my thinking last night.” said Ike quickly,
before any of the others could reply. “I thinks so
hard, I forgot to lock the door. I says to myself.
‘Ike, you come up here to see your uncle and you
don’t want to go back to the States until you do see
him. But there are those boys what you talked into
coming up here and who have all been good friends
of yours. What are you going to do about that?’
Then I thinks some more. I got plenty of money
here,” slapping the seat of his pants dramatically,
“so I says to myself, ‘If Alex goes back I pay his
fare and the money for his share of the cargo. If
Case wants to go home, I do the same. If Clay
wants to go, also, I do the same.’ Course if all go,
it take pretty near all my money, but I will own the
stock, you understand, but I thinks uncle and I make
good money on it. Of course I don’t own the boat,
but if you go back I give you a bill of sale for my
news stand for the boat. We trade back again news
stand for *Rambler* if I bring back boat all right. And
I tell you, boys, that news stand is worth more than
that boat. She burn up money all the time while
the news stand makes money always, but most of
all in the winter, when folks are cold and in a hurry.
They give you a nickel or a dime for a penny paper.
If they don’t get their change quick, they hurry on
without it. I make change very slowly in the winter
time,” he added shrewdly. “Well, what you says,
boys?”

For a moment they sat appalled at the heroic
pluck of the little fellow who was willing to go
through the perils of an Arctic winter all alone. It
was Alex who spoke first.

“I made up my mind when the Kid was talking
last night. I believe in what he says, ‘that a thing
not worth finishing, it not worth starting.’”

“You can’t ship me back home to be laughed at
by a lot of sapheads who have never been ten miles
from Chicago in their lives. It’s me for the great
silence and all the rest rather than that.”

“Can’t drive me back with a club, either,” announced Clay.

Ike danced up and down in glee. “I meant my
proposal, you understand, but all the time my heart
was like lead for fear you all go home.”

“I felt so sure of what you fellows would decide,”
smiled Clay, “that I’ve made out a little list
of things we had ought to buy here at Nome. They
are mostly things we will not need until winter, but
I’m sure that we can buy them cheaper here than up
the river. They have larger stocks here and we will
not have to pay the heavy river freights and the big
profits to the dealer at the other end.”

“That’s good business, Clay,” said Ike admiringly.
“Let me do the bargaining.”

“All right,” agreed Clay. “Case had better go
with you. I can’t trust you and Alex together,
you’d be sure to get into trouble right off.”

The boys were off at the word and while Alex
tidied up the cabin, Clay toiled over the motor to
correct small derangements the vandals had caused.

Alex and Ike were back long before they were
expected, and three sleds followed them bearing
their purchases. On the first was tied a small light
canoe. “It was not on your list, but I thought it
would be handy to go ashore in at places where we
could not run the *Rambler* in. It will save a lot of
wet feet.”

“Good idea, Case,” Clay approved.

The other two sleds contained more warm blankets,
snow shoes, fur-lined parkas, a kind of cape
with a monk-like hood, moccasins and clothing of
furs. Besides all of which Case had thoughtfully
bought another sack of potatoes and one of onions.

In a few minutes they had all the stuff aboard and
stacked up in a pile to wait until they had more
time to stow it. Then Alex cast off the moorings,
Clay started up the motor and Case took up his
usual place at the wheel, and the *Rambler*, swinging
around the end of the pier, headed her sharp bow
straight for the mouth of Father Yukon, nearly one
hundred miles away.

“Good bye, Nome!” said Case, waving his hat.

“So long, ’till next spring,” shouted Alex, throwing
up his hat and catching it.

The old prospector, sitting on his usual post, taking
the farewell for himself, rose painfully and after
waving his red bandana handkerchief in the air,
fired a parting volley from his heavy pistol.

Ike was not to be outdone. He intended to make
his farewell dramatic and impressive. He mounted
the rail and threw out his arms as if to embrace the
whole straggling town. “Good-bye, Nome the golden,”
he cried. Good-bye golden city, what gives
four boys $420.00 in one day for doing nothing,
but though we will leave you now, Nome, the golden,
we will come back.”

Clay, down by the motor, heard nothing of the
banter going on above deck. From the gentle motion
of the boat, he decided that the sea had gone
down. In fact, it had subsided greatly before they
had left the dock. He wanted to reach the Yukon
long before the river steamer did, so he pushed the
timer over to full speed. The *Rambler* responded
with a forward leap which caught Ike just as he
was concluding his eloquent farewell. He struggled
to retain his footing, but with arms waving,
disappeared over the stern.

Alex ran to the motor hold. “Man overboard,”
he yelled. “Stop her and back up.” Case had been
laughing over the joke on Ike, but his face grew
suddenly pale as Ike’s head appeared above the surface,
his arms grasping at the air.

“Why, he can’t swim a stroke,” he cried.

But Alex had realized that fact more quickly.
In a flash he had slashed away the laces of his shoes
and kicking them off his feet, dived far out over the
rail. Just after he leaped, he saw a white flash
passing above him. As he came to the surface, he
saw Captain Joe, loyal and faithful, though wounded
and weak, swimming twenty feet in front of him.
It was Captain Joe also who first saw the black head
and seizing the long hair in his teeth, strove valiantly
to hold it above the surface. A few strokes
brought Alex to their side, and with the quickness
that he had learned by desperate experience, he relieved
the panting animal of his burden. Ike, after
the manner of drowning people, strove to drag Alex
down with him to the depths below, but Alex was
expecting that and clinching his little freckled fist
he drove it with all the force he could summon, just
under the drowning lad’s jaw. Ike loosed his grip
and hung limp as a rag. Alex gave a sigh of relief,
and rolling over on his back, drew the other up over
him so that Ike’s head was raised above the water.
In this position he could not swim. It took all his
strength to sustain their bodies above the water. He
knew his companions would come to their assistance
but would they be in time. The icy cold water was
striking a chill to his blood. Could he last that
long? He dreaded the cold that was boring into his
very bones.

His friends were loyal to his faith in them. The
moment Alex spoke Clay threw off the switch shutting
off the power, but the *Rambler*’s momentum
was so great that he did not dare to reverse the engine
immediately; to do so would have stripped the
gears and made the engine helpless. So soon as he
dared, however, he threw on the switch and shoved
forward the reverse lever. The *Rambler* stopped
suddenly and under full speed tore her way backwards
to where the three, fighting for their lives, lay
400 feet astern. As the *Rambler* backed swiftly
down upon them. Clay gradually shut down the
power and finally stopped her short twenty feet
from the straggling, drowning ones. Calling to
Case to leave the wheel and come to his assistance,
Clay sprang out of the motor hold and snatching
up the stern fine, flung an end of it over Alex’s face.
Alex, by exerting all his strength, managed to shift
so as to pass a couple of turns around Ike’s body just
below the arm pits. “Hoist him up and then take
Captain Joe up. He’s about all in.” Alex rolled
over again on his back to float, floating took so little
exertion. He was surprised to find how warm and
comfortable he was becoming. True, his feet were
sinking and would soon drag his head under water,
but what did he care. He was warm and comfy
and was getting deliciously sleepy. Something hit
him across the face and he brushed it off dreamily.
As his head slowly sank beneath the surface, something
fastened in his hair and dragged his mouth
above water. He opened his eyes dreamingly to
look into Captain Joe’s loyal, loving eyes. In one
corner of his mouth Joe carried the end of the rope.
With the last bit of reserve of his strength, he twisted
the rope around one arm and with the other
clasped Captain Joe around his thick neck. He felt
himself being pulled violently forward—then came
darkness and a void.

When he came to he was lying in his own bunk
with warm blankets piled over him and Clay trying
to force a cup of hot coffee down his throat, while
Case and Ike stood near with a suspicious moisture
on their eye lashes.

“What are you sniffling for?” he demanded crossly
of Case and Ike, for his whole body was sick
and aching.

“We’re not sniffling,” replied Case, hotly, with a
boy’s disgust at being caught in a display of
sentiment “We are just sweating from working over
you so hard.”

“My noble preserver,” said Ike, dramatically, “I
owe my life to you but how can I reward you? How
can I ever repay you for your so nobly risking your
life for mine? This lump on my jaw that you gave
me will always remind me of your noble action.”

But Alex had had all the sentiment he could bear.
“Shut up,” he snapped. “I didn’t go after you. I
went after Captain Joe. He’s a valuable dog. If
you want any more souvenirs of your little wetting,
I’ll give you one on the other jaw, and as soon as
they go down I’ll give you fresh ones. Oh, I’ll keep
your memory fresh and green. Gee, I’ll give you
the other one now,” he declared, throwing off his
blankets, but Ike had fled at the first signs of war.
Alex chanted after him, with a grin:

   |  “Mush, mush, mush,
   |  Always to be taken with
   |  A tablespoon of gush.
   |  Mush in the morning
   |  Slush at night
   |  If I don’t get my mush
   |  I’m bound to get tight.”

“What are you waiting for, Case?” he interrupted
his chant to demand.

“Just to tell you that you have got to keep quiet
until tomorrow morning. Clay is going to start up
the motor now. We let the *Rambler* drift while we
were working over you and Ike. One of us will
stay down in the cabin with you all the time ready
to get you anything you want.”

“So I’m to be made to stay here and miss the
last glimpse of Nome,” Alex growled. “Miss seeing
the *Rambler* tearing through the water at over
twenty miles an hour. Miss seeing Michael’s Island
and the river steam boat, and worst of all, miss the
first glimpse of Father Yukon. What are you going
to do if I refuse to be in this old bunk?” he demanded.

“Then I’ll have to tie your hands and feet, lash
you down to the bunk, take all your clothes away
from you, lock them up in your locker, and keep the
key,” Case said firmly.

Alex laid back and closed his eyes.

“Well, which shall it be?” demanded Case, as
Alex still lay quiet with closed eyes. “Will you
promise to lay quiet or will I have to tie you up?”

“Don’t disturb me, Case,” Alex murmured rapturously.
“I’m having a vision, such a touching
vision. Maybe I’m only delirious, but it’s touching,
touching. Let me tell it to you, Case. It seems like
it was the Sunday before we left Chicago and I am
sitting on a bench looking at the couples strolling
around, when I see a fellow I know walking with a
red-headed, freckled-faced girl.

“Her hair isn’t red, it’s auburn, and she isn’t
freckled,” Case said, indignantly.

“Keep still,” said Alex. “This is only a vision
and I’ve got to tell it as I saw it. They didn’t notice
me, they were so taken up with each other.
Pretty soon they sit down on the bench close to me,
only a clump of bushes between them and me, and
the fellow talked so funny you would have laughed
to have heard it, Case, honestly you would have,
and then they got up to go, Case,” and Alex’s voice
lowered. “He kissed her, Case, and said, ‘I’ll be
back in the fall, darling.’”

Case had reddened to the roots of his hair. “I
am not ashamed of what I said or did,” he said,
desperately, but a great fear was in his heart as he
foresaw the ridicule and banter he would have to
endure if Alex told the story.

“Does she play ‘Annie Laurie?’” inquired Alex,
who had been writing rapidly on a scrap of paper.

“Of course,” said Case stoutly. “She can do anything
any girl in Chicago can do, and do it better.”
“I just made up another verse that you two might
like to sing together when you get back.”

Case took the scrap of paper and read:

   |  “An’ her hair was like the red bird’s
   |  Her neck scraggly like the crane’s
   |  An’ her feet they were the biggest
   |  I’ll ever see again.”

Case surrendered. “Sit still for two hours and
I’ll fix a place in the sunshine on deck for you. And
you won’t tell any of the boys about your vision?”
he inquired anxiously.

“Nary a tell,” Alex promised, solemnly, “and I
say. Case, I was just joshing about her. She’s pretty
and a good appearing girl.”

“She’s both,” said Case, happily, as he turned to
go on deck.

.. vspace:: 4

.. _`ON THE YUKON`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XIII

.. class:: center medium

   ON THE YUKON

.. vspace:: 2

Case had hardly disappeared when Ike came rushing
down into the cabin in a panic. “My pants, my
pants,” he cried.

“Is this the proper way to invade a sick man’s
room?” demanded Alex with a grin.

“But my pants,” Ike said excitedly; “the wet
ones.”

“Want to put them on and imagine you’re drowning
again?” grinned the invalid.

“All my money is in the seat of them pants, you
understand,” Ike explained. “Maybe it’s no good
now.”

“I think your pants are in that wet heap over in
the corner,” Alex said, roused to interest.

Ike pounced upon the wet heap and quickly finding the
valuable garment ripped the seat open with
his knife. “It’s all right,” he cried in joy. “It is
all wet, you understand, I’ll spread it out on the floor
and it soon be dry.”

Alex watched him curiously as Ike separated the
wet bills and spread them out to dry. He was
amazed at the amount the little Jew had been carrying
about his person. Idly, he figured up the amount
as Ike spread out each bill. When Ike spread out the
last one with a sigh of satisfaction, Alex lay back
and did some mental figuring. He repeated the
operation again. The result was the same. If they
had all taken up the offer the little Jew had made
and all have gone home, Ike would have been left
alone in this strange, fearsome land with less than
ten dollars in his pocket. Alex felt a fresh respect
for the pluck and determination of this lad no bigger
than himself. He would have liked to express
this sentiment but he detested open displays of
emotion, so he merely growled.

“I’m sorry I hit you so hard on the jaw.”

“That’s all right,” said Ike, cheerfully, as he felt
tenderly of the lump. Some day when we both
feel better we fight it out with fists, you understand?”

Alex’s stout little heart warmed to him. Who
had said a Jew would not fight, he wondered.

“I say, Ike,” he said softly. “I didn’t want to hit
you. I just had to. I grabbed you just the right
way but you twisted and caught me tight. We
would have both been drowned if I hadn’t lammed
you so hard as to knock you loose.” Feeling that
he had spoken too softly, he said severely: “I never
expected to see a Chicago kid of your age that
couldn’t swim.”

“You see,” Ike explained. “I went to a swimming
teacher once to learn to swim good, you understand.
He try me for awhile then he tell me I
can’t never learn, my race is too much against me.”

“How’s that?” Alex asked, sympathetically.

“He said I would always work my hands palms
up instead of palms down.”

Alex, grinning, got out of his bunk and began
slipping on his clothes as he saw Case descending
the cabin steps. “Ike,” he said, “you’re a cheerful
liar but all the same I believe we are going to be
great pals.”

It was when he started for the door that Alex
realized his weakness. His legs wabbled under him
and his head began to swim. Case caught him tenderly
as he reeled and supported him up to where
a blanket spread in the sun awaited him. “Say,
Case,” he said, as the other tried to make him
comfortable, “what makes me so blamed weak?”

“You were farther gone than any of the rest,”
Case replied. “Ike got off the lightest of you three,
Captain Joe had most of his wounds open with the
exertion and he is in pretty bad shape. We thought
you were dead when we palled you in over the side.
We had to roll you over a barrel and do a lot of
other things to get the water out of you.”

“Why, I didn’t swallow much water,” Alex protested.

“You did not notice it because you were so cold
and numb. When you were floating on your back
you were taking in water all the time.”

“But I felt warm, comfortable and sleepy.”

“Which meant you were mighty near the end,”
Case said firmly. “If it had not been for Captain
Joe’s catching you before you got too deep down, I
don’t believe you would ever have come up again.
We threw the rope to you and when you brushed it
off we knew what the trouble was. We kicked off
our shoes and were going over after you when we
saw Captain Joe come to your rescue.” He lowered
his voice anxiously. “Remember you’re not going
to tell about that vision of yours?”

Alex smiled blissfully. “No, it’s just our own
little secret, Case. Maybe bye and bye I’ll make up
some more nice verses and we will sing them over
until you catch the words and then when we are
alone we can have some nice talks about her.”

Case departed groaning in spirit, realizing that if
he had disposed of two possible tormentors, there
still remained a third, the worst of all.

Clay climbed out of the engine hold to greet the
invalid. “Well, how’s the boy?”

“Fine and dandy,” Alex smiled back. “Feel as
though I could set up and take some nourishment
now.”

“I’ll have Ike start up the fire and make you a
bowl of oyster soup. It isn’t good for one to eat
much after swallowing so much salt water. Well,
you missed the last glimpse of Nome.”

Alex grinned, “I don’t mind that so much. I
guess I saw enough of Nome that first day to last
me.”

“We’ll soon be getting in sight of St. Michael’s
Island,” Clay continued. “I’m going to slow down
going past the island. I want to punish the Yukon
Kid for bragging over that clumsy old river tub
he calls a steamboat. After we get well past we’ll
speed up and run up the river ’till well along in the
afternoon. Then we can anchor in some cozy nook
and get a good night’s rest. I don’t believe that
steamer will pass us before morning. Look. Alex,
you can see the island now. That blot of green
straight ahead of the bow. Now I’m going to let
her out to the last notch. Watch her go.”

Clay shoved the timer over to the last notch and
the *Rambler*, raising a still higher wave at her bow,
ploughed like a shark through the small billows.

“Going some, isn’t she son?’ exulted Clay, wiping
his hands on a bit of waste.

Alex raised on one elbow and gazed at the foam
flying past with a sigh of satisfaction. “She goes
like a blow fly to the fish market. She must be
making twenty-two miles an hour.”

“One cannot tell without running a boat around
a staked course what time it will make, but I figure
the *Rambler* is making twenty-four miles an hour
right now. I’ve got her tinkered up like a watch
and she’s running like a railroad train.

St. Michael’s rose quickly on the horizon and when
within about half a mile of it, Clay slowed the engine
down and the *Rambler* ambled past at a sedate
rate of speed. As they passed the island, the boys
saw the river steamboat lying at her pier, a thin
trickle of white smoke trickling out of her funnels.

“Only just beginning to get up steam, it will take
them a full two hours to get up a full head, and the
Yukon Kid expected to pass us at the mouth of the
Yukon,” said Clay scornfully.

As soon as they were well clear of the island, Clay
shoved over the timer again and the *Rambler* leaped
ahead like a sword fish.

The distance between the island and the famous
river was not great and they soon headed up its
broad bosom. Case had a chart of the lower Yukon
and a box compass by which to steer, and they made
steady progress up the great river. Long before
twilight they ran the *Rambler* slowly into a tiny
cove where they found the water deep enough to
run her bow clear up on shore. An anchor was
thrown on shore and another heaved as far as they
could heave it and its cable tautened up so as to
prevent the *Rambler* slewing in on the beach.

“I’m going to be boss for the rest of the day,”
Clay declared, pleasantly, when the work was done.
“First of all, I want that young monkey,” indicating
Alex, “to go right to bed. I’ll make him a
bowl of hot broth and he’ll be asleep in ten minutes
after he drinks it.”

“Me for the broth and the blankets,” agreed Alex
willingly, for he was coming to a realization of his
weak state.

“Teddy Bear has got into better humor this
afternoon, I believe, Case, if you would take him
ashore and lead him around a bit he would eat a big
supper and be his own good-humored self tomorrow.”

“I’ll go,” said Case, eagerly, for he was eager to
explore the forest that stretched away back of the
cove.

“Good,” approved Clay, “while you are gone
Ike and I will cook up a big supper. We have been
on rather short rations today.”

“Ike,” he said, as soon as the meal was well started,
“come on up on deck with me, I want to talk
with you a little.”

“Now, Ike,” he said as soon as they were seated
close together on the cabin top. “I don’t want to
pry into your personal secrets, but I do want to
know something about those two men and why they
are following us so closely. They nearly finished
us off today. Next time they may be more successful.
Now we want to know all we can about these
men so as to know how to deal with them when we
meet them again, as I feel sure we will. Wait a
minute and I’ll read you something.” He took out
a slip of the papers they had bought the morning
they left Chicago and read the account of the holdup
and robbery. “Pretty desperate men I should
call them,” he commented. “Highway men, burglars,
and almost murderers, in our case, at least. I
think you had ought to tell us all about them.”

Ike’s face filled with trouble and anxiety and it
was a full minute before he replied. “You are a
man, may own a secret and be so bound by promise
laid on him by some one else, that he is not free to
tell it, you understand, but all I am free to tell you,
I’ll tell you, Clay, tell it to you honestly.”

“I’ll believe you, Ike,” said Clay quietly.

“Well, you hear me speak often of my uncle. My
uncle was a great man in the old country, a student
and a scientist. He was rich, too, very rich, but
instead of spending his time at court, he was all the
time going amongst the poor, teaching, helping, and
giving money where it was needed most. It’s a
crime in Russia for a Jew to do like that, so the
Little Father pretty soon takes away all his moneys
and sends him to the mines in Siberia to work all
his life, but, after eight years, they let him go, and
we sent him the money to come to us in good America.
But, after he come, he was not content. He
wanted so bad to work, but his fingers were twisted
and stiff from handling pick and shovel in the cold,
so he could not get work in the sweat shops. That
made him sad. Then one day comes the news of
gold in Alaska and next morning uncle was gone,
just leaving a little note saying that he was not
going to be a burden on us any longer.” There was
a dry sob in the lad’s throat at the recollection of
the note, but he bravely conquered his emotion and
went on. “About eight months later, we got a letter
saying he had got to the Yukon and would send
us some money in the spring, soon as the mining
commenced. About every six months after that
there comes a kind, cheery letter, but no money.
Uncle’s not what you call a business man, he all
the time dreams big dreams about helping the people,
you understand. I believe he finds but little
gold and much suffering on the Yukon.”

“But where do those two men come in?” asked
Clay.

“They bring me a letter from him last fall. The
moment they gave it to me I see it had been opened,
but I kept quiet, and reads it while they keeps telling
me they were my uncle’s partners and what a good
friend they were of his. Then they ask me what
was in the letter and I tells them I can’t say until I
see my uncle and that I don’t understand it plain
because there was a big piece torn off the bottom.
All that winter they keep at me about that letter and
all the time I tell them the same thing.

“I did some worrying that winter and I gets to
thinking about the long trips you boys take every
summer and makes no money, and I thinks that
there’s a good chance for them boys to make a little
money and a good chance for me to go too. So I
kept at you about going till I gits you interested and
you decided to go. I’m sorry now. Clay, honestly,
Clay, I’m sorry.”

“I’m not,” said Clay cheerily. “Jump down into
the kitchen and stir up that stew and set the coffee
back. I can smell it boiling.”

Ike was back in a moment and resumed his tale.

“That’s all that I know about them fellers, excepting
what you fellows know. I wish I could tell
you what was in the letter, but uncle told me to tell
nobody till I see him, besides I don’t understand all
of it myself, there’s so much of it torn off.”

“It’s all right, Ike,” Clay said absently. “I believe
you and the boys will too. Stick by us and
we’ll stick by you. I wonder what has become of
Case.”

.. vspace:: 4

.. _`ANOTHER MISHAP`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XV

.. class:: center medium

   ANOTHER MISHAP

.. vspace:: 2

As it drew still nearer to twilight, the boys grew
more and more uneasy about Case, until at last Ike
got out the rifle and fired four shots in quick succession,
the distress signal they had agreed upon,
but there was no response.

“I’m going to go ashore and look for him,” Clay
announced. “Turn on the prow light and signal
with the rifle every half hour. I cannot understand
what trouble Case has got into—but he has sure got
into trouble of some kind.”

“I’ll go with you.” Ike offered eagerly, but Clay
shook his head decidedly. “No, I am much taller
and can travel faster than you. Besides, some one
had ought to stay by the boat and keep watch. This
is a strange country to us and we don’t know what
danger may be around us, and then it needs some
one to look after Alex. He is pretty weak yet.”

“I’ll stay then, Clay,” said Ike willingly.

“Good, so long,” said Clay, as he plunged into the
group of cottonwoods.

Ike got out his automatic and paroled the deck
back and forth with a delicious sense of his responsibility
as defender of the *Rambler* and her sick crew
of one. Occasionally he relaxed his vigilance long
enough to dart down into the cabin to see if the
meal was keeping warm and also to take a look at
Alex, who was snoring peacefully in his bunk. As
the minutes went on, however, his anxiety over his
comrades, more than overcame the novelty of his
position. Not a sound came from the cottonwood
thicket. The only noise that came to his ears was
the soft murmur of the flowing river as it lapped
the stones of the shore. At the end of the half
hour, he brought out the rifle and fired the four
quick shots. He was delighted to hear in return the
sharp crack of Clay’s automatic. It sounded not
far away, but it was long before a rustling arose
from the cottonwood trees and Clay emerged into
the dim twilight bearing a limp body in his arms.
“Come on and give me some help here,” he cried,
as soon as he spied the boat, but Ike was already
hastening to his assistance. “Is he dead?” inquired
Ike in an awed whisper as he gathered up the
dangling legs.

“I don’t know,” said Clay, wearily. “It is dark
in the cottonwoods so I could not see, but his heart
was beating all right when I found him. I stumbled
over him by accident or else I would not have found
him until morning. I found him lying all in a heap
at the foot of a big cottonwood. I don’t know what
happened to him. Let’s get him down into the cabin
where we can see what’s the matter with him.”

Between them they managed to get him on deck
and down into the cabin’s bright light.

“I’ll hold him while you get a blanket and spread
it out on the floor,” Clay said. “He’s dripping with
blood so it would ruin his bunk to put him in it. Now
put some water on to heat and then come back and
help me get his clothes off. I guess we will have
to cut them off him.”

Together the two worked away at Case’s clothing,
removing it bit by bit, being careful not to cut into
skin or flesh. Each piece they removed was stained
with blood. When the last piece had been cut away
Clay arose and got the now hot water. “Get the
medicine chest, Ike, while I wash off some of this
blood,” he directed.

When the dried blood was washed away, the boys
stood appalled at the sight that met their eyes. From
head to feet Case’s body was a mass of cuts and
bruises. Clay looked puzzled. “His heart action
is good, and all his wounds, though there are a
multitude of them, are not deep. If he has not been
injured internally, I believe he will pull through. I
think that lump on the head there is what has made
him unconscious. Well, let’s get to work and fix
him up as best we can.”

For a full hour the two boys labored over their
wounded companion. First cleansing the wounds
with warm water made antiseptic by the addition of
a little carbolic acid, they applied a healing salve,
and bound clean bandages to the parts until the
unfortunate lad’s body looked like a checker-board.
Along towards the last, Case began to show signs
of returning consciousness and as they lifted him
into his bunk he opened his eyes.

“I knew you fellows would come and find me,”
he murmured weakly. “That, I guess, was the last
thing I thought of before I hit that cottonwood
tree.”

“Who hurt you?” inquired Clay eagerly.

Case tried to grin but groaned at the effort.

“It was Teddy Bear,” he said faintly. “As soon
as we got amongst the cottonwoods, he bolted. I,
like a fool, wrapped the end of the rope around my
waist three or four times and tried to check him, but
the first jerk threw me down, and away he went
dragging me over logs and roots and bumping me
up against the trees. I saw that big cottonwood
tree coming and tried to throw myself one side, but
couldn’t do it. I felt a smash on the head and that’s
the last I remember.”

“Teddy must have pulled loose after you hit the
tree,” Clay mused. “Feel any pain inside of you.
Case?”

“No, but I feel mighty weak, loss of blood, I
guess. If you’ll fix me up a bowl of broth, I’ll drink
it and see if I can’t sleep off this weak feeling.”

Hot water was already on the stove and the addition
of a full jar of beef extract quickly made a bowl
of strong broth. Soon after he swallowed it, Case
was sound asleep. His first deep breathing was the
signal for the two boys to partake of their own supper,
which had suffered greatly through neglect.
Little was said as they ate, only Ike remarked.

“I don’t think Case is bad off. See how soundly
he is sleeping. Those wounds don’t seem to hurt
him a bit.”

“They will by tomorrow,” Clay prophesied, grimly.
“Every inch of his body will be filled with aches
and pains. Flesh wounds do not hurt much at first.
If we keep on at this rate we’ll soon all be disabled,”
he added gloomily. “Only one day out from Nome
and two laid up beside Captain Joe. We will not go
far at this rate.”

But Ike’s spirits had risen with the assurance of
Case’s being in no immediate danger. “Oh, Alex, he
will be all right,” he declared, as Alex’s loud snores
filled the cabin. “Case, take longer maybe, but his
blood is strong and clean an’ he’ll be all right in no
time. Captain Joe, I am not so sure about, you
understand, but I think maybe he die.”

“He certainly will if you do not quit stuffing food
into him every half hour. When an animal or man
is in Joe’s condition, the less you give them to eat
the better until their wounds are mending. Captain
Joe would stand more chance of getting well if he
only had a bowl of broth with a few crackers broken
up in it, three or four times a day, but we had better
be getting into our bunks for we have to get an
early start in the morning. If you’ll wash up the
dishes, I’ll overhaul Captain Joe’s wounds again,
and then turn in.”

Much to his surprise, Clay found Captain Joe’s
cuts in much better condition than he had expected.
“It must be that long soaking in the cold salt water
has drawn a good deal of the fever out of them,”
he said. “It looks to me as though the old fellow
was going to get well.”

It was with the cheering thought that both their
companions were in no danger of death that they
fell into a sound sleep, exhausted by the eventful
day they had been through.

So soundly they slept that they did not hear Case
awaken just after midnight and groan to himself
softly as he waited through the dreary hours for
daylight to come and his chums to awake.

It was Ike who was the first to awake, and by
the unwritten law of the cruise, he it was to whom
the lot fell of cooking breakfast. He lay quiet for
a minute, blinking the sleep out of his eyes, then
slipped softly out of his bunk so as not to awaken
his companions. He stopped at Case’s bunk with
joyful greeting to find him conscious, if in pain.

Case tried to smile at the little Jew’s joyous greeting,
but it was all he could do to stifle a groan.

“I’ll fix you up a cup of coffee and some broth,
good broth, right away,” Ike said. “They no stop
the hurt you understand. They just make you more
strong to fight the hurts.” He was as good as his
word and was back in a few minutes with the coffee
and broth prepared over the electric stove while
breakfast was cooking over the other one. It was
not long before he was able to call “Grub’s ready,”
which brought Clay and Alex tumbling from their
bunks, Alex apparently none the worse from his
experience of the day before. They both greeted
Case with joy, but while the mystified Alex was
learning what had happened to put his chum in such
a condition, Clay slipped out to the point and looked
up and down the river. Far down toward the mouth
of the Yukon he saw a thin streamer of smoke and
he grinned with satisfaction.

“We’ve got plenty of time to linger over our
breakfast,” he announced gleefully. “That steamer
is eleven or twelve miles down the river yet. Come
on all, let’s eat.”

Over the meal Case’s accident was discussed. Alex
was worst hurt of all, for Teddy Bear had been his
dearest pet.

“I think if he comes back before we go we had
ought to shoot him,” Ike declared, savagely.

“No, don’t hurt him,” growled Case from his
bunk. “He didn’t mean to hurt me, I am sure. He
was just wild for a run on shore.”

“I am the one to blame for this,” said Clay,
regretfully. “I saw Ted’s trouble coming days ago.
I ought to have insisted on leaving him at Nome.
We were bound to lose him sooner or later, but I
never thought he would do so much damage in his
leave taking.”

“How did you know that Teddy was going to run
away?” demanded Alex, scornfully. “Bears don’t
think out loud and, if they did, I fancy it would take
you some time to pick up their lingo.”

“Alex,” said Clay, thoughtfully. “Did you ever
stop to think how good it seems when we get back
to Chicago from one of our long trips? Everything
looks fine and fresh to us. The shop windows are
wonderful, the noise and bustle thrill one and even
the smell of the asphalt is pleasant.”

“And there are the movies and the shows and all
the excitement going on all the time,” murmured
Alex, half regretfully.

“Well, that was what was the matter with Teddy,”
Clay continued. “He was born in the Northland
and its lure is one of the strongest instincts in
him. As soon as we touched St. Michael’s he began
to get uneasy. The trees and the smell of the
earth was in his nostrils, and the whole lure of the
Northland, handed down from a long line of savage
ancestors, was stirring deep down within him and
he had to go. He just had to go.”

“Bosh,” Alex said. “You’re weak in your comparisons.
Aren’t we dead sick of Chicago early in
the spring and eager to be off on another trip?
Besides, Teddy is an educated bear with a taste for
sugar that he will not soon forget. I’ll bet you we
will see him again.”

“I hope not,” Clay said, arising. “Well, I guess
we had better be getting under way. That old
water wagon must be within three or four miles
from here now. Ike, will you wash the dishes and
tidy up the cabin? I hate to ask you to do it so often,
but with Case laid up, I’ll have to have Alex do the
steering.”

“That’s all right, Clay,” Ike replied cheerfully.
“I can run a news stand all right, you understand,
but I can’t run a motor boat yet, so why should I
not make myself useful at something else? I didn’t
come as a passenger. I came as one of the crew.”

The *Rambler* was backed slowly out of the little
cove into the open river.

About two miles down the river the river steamboat
was making slow progress against the current.

Alex headed out for the channel, the *Rambler*
ambling lazily along under third speed. As soon
as Alex reached the channel, he headed up stream so
that the steamboat’s bow was headed directly for
the *Rambler*’s stern.

Clay came forward to hold a conference with the
wheelsman. “I am going to keep slowed down until
we are within a couple of hundred yards of her,
then swing around in a broad curve and come alongside,
but be careful to keep far enough away, we
don’t want any smash-up.”

He walked back to the motor, wishing he had
Case, cool, cautious reliable Case, who was always
alert to run no more risks than could be avoided.
Alex was a skillful wheelsman but daring and reckless
at times.

The big steamboat came up on them slowly but
surely. When she was within about 200 yards of
the *Rambler*, Alex twirled the wheel over and the
*Rambler* swung around in a graceful curve, while
Clay bent to his motor, shoved the timer up a few
more notches and turned on a little more oil and
air. A great yelling from the steamboat drew his
attention away from the motor. Most of the passengers
were on their feet waving their arms excitedly,
while an officer on the upper deck was cursing
volubly in the most approved Yukon style, for the
*Rambler* was driving down on the steamer as if
bound to cut her in two. Unmindful of the curses
of the officer, Alex held on until it seemed that only
a miracle could save the tiny *Rambler* from being
smashed to pieces against her big sister. Alex
jammed the wheel hard up and the *Rambler*, spinning
around like a top, ranged alongside of the big
boat, their sides almost touching. A swift glance
upward showed him that he had hit where he had
aimed for; on the deck above sat the Yukon Kid and
close beside him was a wonderfully pretty girl.

The danger over, Clay was busy at the motor
closing the timer down until the *Rambler* was
running even with the steamer.

Ike had come out of the cabin and stood looking
up at the Kid with a delightful grin on his face.

“Hallo, Ikey,” greeted the Kid, in good-natured
banter. “Have you decided to set up that secondhand
store in Nome yet?”

“No. Mr. Kid,” replied Ike politely. “It wouldn’t
pay. There’s got to be more nice ladies come there
first. It takes the ladies to make the men dress up
fine. My, Mr. Kid,” he added innocently, “you
sure are fixed up fine today.”

The Kid’s face grew red to the roots of his hair,
while on the girl’s face a smile struggled for
mastery over a blush.

Alex, up at the wheel, felt a thrill of joy for the
quickness of the witty retort. “Ike’s sure my partner
for this trip,” he promised himself.

.. vspace:: 4

.. _`ESQUIMAUX`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XVI

.. class:: center medium

   ESQUIMAUX

.. vspace:: 2

“Hallo,” shouted Clay from the motor. “Good
morning to you.”

“Same to you,” called down the Kid. “Say,
that little tub of yours makes better time than I
thought she would. I thought we passed you during
the night. By the way. I’ve got something for
you fellows. I’ll lower it down to you on a string.”

“Come down yourself,” Clay invited. “Just fasten
a rope to the rail and shin down. I want to ask
you a lot of questions and I can’t hear you well
above the din of the motor, and the thrashing of the
paddle wheels.”

The Kid hesitated. “I’m afraid you can’t get
me back alongside again,” he shouted, “and I’ve got
to be there with the mail on time.”

“We’ll get you aboard all right,” Clay promised.
“That is, if you are not afraid. It’s a little risky for
a tenderfoot.”

No live young man could stand such a taunt to
his courage before a pretty girl, and the Kid
surrendered. “All right,” he called down. “I’ll see
the captain and see if he’ll promise to slow up a bit
if we get too far behind.” He looked around at
the crowd on deck and finally beckoned to an old
sour-dough to take his chair. The old-timer obeyed,
although he nevertheless seemed in his nervousness,
to experience great trouble in disposing of his hands
and feet.

Clay smiled at the Kid’s maneuvers. Evidently
he was taking no chances.

Alex, up forward, secure in the fact that he could
not be reached, was taking an impish delight in
bantering the officer who had cursed so fluently. “Say,
you snapping turtle of a log rider,” he hailed.
“What do you mean by using such language when a
real sure enough boat comes alongside your old
mud scow? Afraid we were going to smash your
old hulk to pieces? Where did you learn that sort
of language, anyway? I’ll bet you used to raise
mules down in Missouri.”

“I did handle mules for a while,” said the other
with evident pride of his accomplishment. “That
helped some. Then I mushed dog teams up here
on the Yukon trail for four years and that sure
taught me a lot. The rest is mostly Spanish I picked
up here and there.”

“Why, you can’t swear at all,” scoffed Alex.

“You’re only an amateur. You just repeat words
you have heard others use. You had ought to coin
your words, have them nice and fresh and new all
the time.”

“That’s a hard thing to do,” said the officer,
gloomily.

“Pshaw, it’s easy,” Alex declared. “Just buy
an automobile and run it yourself for six months
and you’ll be a different man.”

The roar of laughter from the crowd above was
as incense to Alex’s soul.

“The lad’s right,” said a serious-minded little
man. “I used to own one in the States and I would
hate to say half the things I used to think when I
used to have to lay on my back under the car in
maybe six inches of mud, wrastling away with a
monkey wrench.”

Just then the Kid slid nimbly down a rope to
the *Rambler’s* deck. Clay shouted to Alex to steer
off from the steamer and as soon as he saw the order
was obeyed, he moved the timer ahead at full
speed and the *Rambler* shot away from her big,
clumsy sister.

“Good-bye,” shouted Alex to the officer. “We
hate to leave you but we got tired of staying in one
place all the time. We’ll see you at Dawson if you’re
lucky enough to get up there before the river freezes
over.” But the officer was standing speechless, his
mouth agape at the *Rambler’s* wonderful burst of
speed.

As for the Yukon Kid, he slipped down on the
deck and grabbed the funnel with both hands as
though afraid the boat would slip out from under
him. Gradually the startled look died out of his
eyes to be replaced by a glint of humor. “This is
one on me, boys,” he acknowledged. “It’s more
than one, it’s a full baker’s dozen,” he grinned. “Just
think of my begging the captain to slow up until I
got safe back aboard. And me being so sure that
we must have passed you during the night. I never
dreamed a boat so small could run so fast, but I
must go back on the steamer. I’ve got the mail
locked up in my cabin, but I am supposed to guard
it all the time.”

“Was that some mail you was guarding so close
up there, Mr. Kid?” asked Ike, innocently.

The Kid ignored the question though he blushed
deeply. “I’ve got something to give you that may
be some use to you. I’ve got a copy of it at Nome
so you needn’t hesitate about taking it. It’s pretty
well thumbed and torn, but I guess you can make it
out all right.” He unrolled a stiff paper and spread
it out on the deck. It was a complete map of the
Yukon. “I made it and it’s true to a hair,” said
the Kid with pride. “Take it and keep it. It can
be trusted where the government charts can’t. I’ve
marked in red ink where the best Indian villages
are.”

Clay thanked him and bent over the chart
thoughtfully. “Look’s like clear water for a couple
of hundred miles up.” The Kid nodded. “Pretty
smooth sailing until we get to the Upper Yukon.
Then it’s rapids after rapids, and some of them
pretty fierce.”

“I see an Indian village marked down about 110
miles above here,” Clay remarked. “I believe we
will run ahead and camp there tonight. We haven’t
seen a native village yet.”

“This one is rather small. Most of its inhabitants
died of famine last winter, and all the able
bodied men and squaws are off on the long hunt
now. You’ll likely find only old men and old
women there now. Well, I’ll have a look at Friend
Case and then I’ll have to get back aboard. I’ve
been gone too long already.”

“Getting afraid your old-timer cannot hold down
that chair?” smiled Clay with freedom of their
quickly born liking for each other.

“Oh, Olson will keep that seat reserved all right,”
said the Kid confidently. “He’s gun shy on women
folks. What I am afraid of is that some chekako
may try to take it away from him. If that happens
there will sure be some blood spilled on deck, an’ I
don’t reckon she’s used to sights like that. Don’t
get me wrong. It’s no case of spoons or anything
like it. She’s just an innocent girl with an old father
and mother, and the poor innocents have got an idea
that they are going to make a fortune by opening
up a restaurant in Dawson. Think of it, boys. Those
three poor innocents trying to stack up such a game
in Dawson of all places on earth. They have
brought in no supplies either, and even flour will be
nearly worth its weight in gold dust before the
winter is over. The chekakos are pouring in faster than
the supplies. That’s what makes me want to get
back to the steamer quick. There is a crowd of
greenhorns on board and some of them think they
are mashers. If any of them try to get gay there
will sure be something doing. Well, I’ll just run
down and see the invalid while you run me back to
the steamer.”

Case, suffering intently in his bunk, greeted the
Kid with delight. His firm, friendly hand shake
seemed to lessen his intense pains.

The air of strength, energy and power radiating
from the Kid seemed to enthuse his own battered
body with new strength. The Kid sat down on the
edge of the bunk and with a touch as tender as a
woman’s, examined the deeper wounds. “You’ll be
fit as a fiddle in no time,” he declared, cheerfully.
The wounds are beginning to heal already. That’s
the reason they hurt so. I’ll see you again tomorrow
maybe. I’ve got to go now. Good-bye, keep as
quiet as you can and don’t fret.”

Case, soothed and strangely comforted by the
mighty magnetism of the man, snuggled down in
his bunk and dropped off to sleep.

“He’ll be all right if you take good care of him
and fever does not set in,” said the Kid as he came
to deck. “But have one of you down with him all
the time so as to keep him entertained and to wait
on him. Just a simple little thing like his getting
up to get a drink of water for himself might prove
fatal to him in his present condition. At the best
though, it will be a long long time before he will be
completely well.”

“I should have stayed right by him,” Ike exclaimed
with contrition. “I go right down now to
him.” He paused on the steps to add shyly, “I got
so interested to see if that mail was still well guarded
that I forgot. It’s all right, Mr. Kid.”

A playful kick from the Kid sent him tumbling
down the balance of the stairs.

As they swept alongside the steamer, Clay noted
with a grin that Olson was still holding down the
chair, a heavy long-barreled revolver resting across
his knees, while two of the detestable breed of mashers
stood a ways off eyeing the coveted chair with
glances in which desire and temerity were equally
blended. Whatever of womanly shyness Olson had
ever possessed must have melted away, for his
wrinkled face was smiling and with evident enjoyment.
“Yes, he was admitting, reluctantly, “It does
get a wee bit cold up here now and then, say around
December, but Lord, man, what a country she is.”

The Kid grabbed the swinging rope and clambered
up it like a monkey.

Olson gave up his seat with evident reluctance.

“Say, Kid,” he whispered. “She’s gold, pure
gold, right down to bed rock.”

“I knew it,” replied the Kid, briefly. “Go and tell
those two fresh young chekakos I want to see them
in half an hour in my cabin on important business.
I’m going to spank them both like their mothers
used to do, only more so.”

Olson departed well pleased with his errand and
sought out the two offenders, taking great pleasure
in impressing upon them the dire evil that always
followed disobedience to the Yukon Kid’s
commands.

Later on he listened gleefully at a locked door
from the other side of which came the sound of
steady smacks laid on with a heavy hand. The
heavy smacking was broken occasionally by
subdued sobs.

While this little scene was being enacted, the
*Rambler* was miles away, headed for the Indian
village. Once clear of the steamer, Clay shut down
the hatch cover over the motor and joined Alex in
the bow. “Let me take the wheel for a while,” he
offered kindly. “Take a rest while you can, you’ll
want to look over the village when we get there.
You haven’t got back your full strength yet. You
look all played out. That motor will run itself now.”

Alex meekly surrendered the wheel. “I do feel
slim,” he confessed. “I guess I’ll stretch out and
rest for a little while. But here comes Ike with some
dinner for us. I guess I’ll tuck some of that inside
me first.”

Ike stood beaming upon them while the two boys
ate the dinner he had so thoughtfully prepared. As
soon as they had finished he bore the empty dishes
below while Alex stretched out on a seat and was
soon asleep.

As the *Rambler* dashed through the water. Clay
frequently consulted the chart and compared it with
the passing shores. It was accurate as the Kid had
stated. Near the middle of the afternoon, he sighted
the tall cliff just beyond which the Kid had said
lay the little Indian village. He awakened Alex,
and turning the wheel over to him, went back to
the motor. As they passed the cliff they come into
sight of the village, a miserable collection of anthill-like
huts. As they eased the *Rambler* to shore,
their noses were greeted by a multitude of odors
blended into one malodorous whole—the usual odor
of an Esquimaux village. “You and Alex can go
ashore and look around,” Clay said. “I’ll stay and
look out for Case. I’ve got a hunch that there’s fish
lurking in this little cove and I’m going to have
a try for them. Taste good for a change, wouldn’t
it?”

The village lay back a ways from the river on a
high bank and this the boys scrambled up, to find
themselves in the middle of the settlement. It was
almost deserted, only a few old men and old women
crouched in the warm sunshine in front of their
wretched buildings. Only a very few children
played solemnly in the sun and they looked wan
and haggard. None of the faces looked attractive.
They were broad, flat and stupid.

Ike, with true trader’s instinct, had brought a
pack with him and a glint of interest shone in the
eyes of the old men. It might contain tobacco of
which they had none in many weary moons. The
one who seemed in authority, approached Alex.
“How,” he said.

“How yourself?” replied Alex. “Who is your
chief?”

“I am a great man amongst my people,” said the
native. “I am Shaman, the medicine man. I protect
my people from sickness and guard them from
the evil spirits of the Yukon.”

“Guess you got the wrong hunch last winter or
else the Yukon spirit’s out-wrestled you,” said Alex
lightly, as he glanced around at the empty huts.
“Say, who’s that chap with a face like an Indian’s?”

The Shaman glanced at the still impassive face
that Alex pointed out.

“Him Nichols, the story teller. He is a great
man in the tribe. He keeps the people contented in
the long winter’s darkness by telling them wondrous
tales about when the Northland was always
green and the sun shone every day warm, and game
was plenty in the land. Not like now when the cold
pierces to the marrow and hunger gnaws always at
the empty belly.”

Alex was not taken much by the Shaman’s looks,
so leaving him to the tender mercies of Ike, who
was undoing his pack, he strolled on through the
little village, thrusting his little freckled face in here
and there and noting everything with keen eyes.

There was little to be seen, however, and he soon
returned to Ike, who was exultant over his bargain,
conducted on both sides by many words and protests
of being robbed. It ended by Ike becoming
possessed of a silver fox skin worth many dollars—while
the Shaman, smiling broadly over getting the
best of the white man, was now the possessor of a
one dollar watch, two plugs of tobacco, a ten cent
looking glass, and a pair of green goggles.

.. vspace:: 4

.. _`ABE`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XVII

.. class:: center medium

   ABE

.. vspace:: 2

“Come on, Ike,” said Alex. “Let’s go back to the
boat. There won’t be anything worth seeing and
I’m getting sick of this smelly place. Better fun to
go down and fish with Clay.

“All right,” agreed Ike, willingly. “I got the only
good fur in camp, so I guess we don’t need to stay.
Understand me, though, that Shaman is a thief and
a robber. We got a bargain all fixed up once and
then he backed out and wants one more plug of tobacco.
My, but he is a rascal.”

“You poor fellow,” said Alex in mock pity. “I
don’t believe you made over 1000 per cent on that
deal.”

Ike grinned joyously. “There is some little profit,”
he admitted. “Enough to help pay the expenses.
I wish we could find more Shamans with pretty fox
skins.”

“He has got something prettier than a fur skin,”
exclaimed Alex, as they paused by the Shaman’s
igloo. “Say, did you ever see anything like that
team of dogs?”

Inexperienced as they were with the toilers of the
North, the two lads recognized that these dogs were
no common breed of huskies like those they had seen
at Nome. They were bigger and lacked much of the
wolf-like features of the usual husky, nor was there
the usual husky’s bearing of white fangs at their
approach. They were lean and gaunt, as scantily-fed
Indian dogs always are, but there was strength
and endurance written on their broad chest and lithe
muscles. Even their coats of thick, black, glossy
hair did not resemble a husky’s in the least. They
were stretched out in a line basking in the sun. One,
apparently the leader, for he was by far the biggest
and most powerful of the lot, attracted Alex strangely.
The large, noble head and big eloquent eyes
seemed strongly familiar to the boy. He approached
the magnificent animal cautiously and held out his
hand warily, ready to snatch it back if he was greeted
by the silent snap of the wolf-bred dog. Instead, he
was met by a wag of the bushy tail and the dog
reached out and smelt of the extended hand. A
second smell, and Alex felt the soft, warm caress
of a licking tongue. The boy stooped and patted
the dog’s head and the dog responded with a short,
joyous bark and lifted up his eyes, eloquent with love
and reverence. Alex was now examining him closely.
“Ike,” he cried. “He’s Newfoundland, clear
bred Newfoundland.”

“Well,” said Ike, indifferently. “What of that?
He’s just a dog, ain’t he?”

“But just think of it,” Alex cried, angered by
his friend’s lack of interest. “A dog from God’s
country up in these desolate wastes.” A recollection
of a dog of whom he had read, in “The Call of
the Wild,” swept into his memory. “Buck,” he
called softly, “Buck.” The animal with one magnificent
leap covered the space between them, while
the rest of the pack crowded around him, wagging
their tails and looking at him with curious eyes.

The Shaman seeing his interest in the dogs,
approached him to be greeted by a volley of questions
by Alex.

“Yes,” he admitted. “They were his dogs.”
“Would he sell? Perhaps, but the price must be
large for they were the best dogs on the Yukon. Yes.
they were the best dogs in all Alaska. They could
go faster and further than any other dogs in the
country. Yes, he knew where they came from but
the big one, the leader, was no doubt a gift of the
good spirits sent to him, the Shaman, for his great
goodness and virtue. He, the big dog, had come into
their camp one stormy night in the blackness of
winter and had made it his home. He, the Shaman, had
with his own hands, harnessed him with the other
sled dogs, but, at first, there had been trouble. The
new dog was a born leader. One by one he had
fought and whipped the other huskies for he had
ways of fighting new to the North and he always
won. Lastly, he had whipped the leader and become
by the law of the North, the leader himself. Later
he had mated with a huge husky and there had been
five puppies. The strange dog had trained them
himself in the ways and laws of the trail. No, they
were not bad dogs. Never did they snarl or fight
amongst themselves like the huskies. But one thing
one must never do. He must never lift a stick to
the big dog. One man had done so and like a flash
the big dog’s teeth had met in his throat.

Buck’s eyes, now mistily wistful, met Alex’s.
“Good Lord, Buck, you can almost talk,” Alex said
reverently. “I understand what you are trying to
say. You got sick of running with the wolves, their
ways were not your ways. So you sought out your
own kind again. They are not like the white gods
you used to serve, though you have served them
faithfully. But you want to leave them. Your sensitive
nostrils that can catch the faintest odor in the
air are sick of the scent of blubber, seal oil, and
stinking furs and you want to be gone from it all
serving men with white bodies, clean from much
washing, big men who will smile at you kindly and
like you because you are brave, strong and fearless.”
Buck wagged his tail as if to show that he was
understood.

“Lord,” said Alex, again reverently. “You can
do all but talk. Say,” he demanded of the Shaman,
“how much do you want for that team, leader and
all?”

“Nine hundred dollars, said the Shaman firmly.

“We can’t buy them,” Alex said sadly. “We
haven’t got that much money. Besides, it would be
an awful expense to feed them the balance of the
summer. I sure would like to own that Buck dog
though.”

“We get him when we come back,” Ike whispered.
“I trade for him and get him cheap. I talk
to that robber, now, so he will not sell him ’till we
get back.”

“We go up the river ‘You Never Know What’
in our steamer that travels by fire,” he explained,
with many gestures of his hands. “Before the big
cold we come back to trade with our new friends.
Our hearts are big and we pay big for everything we
buy. The eyes of the Indians have never beheld
such wondrous things as we have on board our fire
boat. Cloth like fresh gold from the ground, warm
like the blue of the sky in summer, and others so
rich of color that they dazzle the eye. Of tobacco
we will have hundreds of plugs. Of the ice that
never melts and shows a man his face like still clear
water, we will have great quantities. And of many
other things new and strange we will have a plentiful
supply. We have a little box filled with spirits
that talk or sing or laugh as it’s owner commands.”

“All white men are liars,” said the Shaman calmly.
“How do I know you have such a wonderful
box?”

“Come down and see it tonight,” Ike invited.

“I will,” accepted the Shaman, “but it will be
much better if I come alone. It is bad for the
people to know too much about spirits.”

“Your dog team is as good as yours already,”
whispered Ike as they turned away. “He will hold
that team for you if he has to wait all winter, you
understand. Once he hears that spirit box he’s
going to want it badly.”

Alex grinned. “Put me next,” he begged. “I’m
not wise to that spirit box stunt.”

“Say, you remember that cheap phonograph you
boys bought for one of your trips and the heap of
old cracked up records too? In Chicago the lot might
be worth $5.00, but I doubt it. Here it’s worth a
dog team, which costs nine hundred dollars, if you
boys let me do the bargaining, you understand,” Ike
enlightened him.

“Go to it,” exclaimed Alex joyously. “Hello,
there’s something going on around that ant-hill over
there. Let’s run over and see what the trouble is.
Maybe it’s a fight.”

The two boys pushed through the little circle in
front of the igloo just in time to see a litter
carried by old men pass up from the burrow-like
entrance. On the litter lay a skeleton-like figure of a
young boy. His large, mournful-looking eyes
looking out of a face on which the skin was pulled
tightly over the bones.

“What’s the matter?” Alex demanded of a native,
who happened to be Nicholas, the story teller.

“He plenty sick,” Nicholas replies. “He die
pretty soon.”

“But why don’t they leave him in the hut?” Alex
persisted.

“Esquimaux no stay in house where one has died,”
said Nicholas.

“What are they going to do with him?” the boy
insisted.

“Put him in a thicket and stuff moss in his mouth
so he make no noise to keep people awake,” said
Nicholas calmly. “By and by Luna come and get
him spirit.”

“What’s Luna?” Alex demanded.

“Him the great spirit of the Yukon,” said Nicholas
with a shiver. He live down under the ice. Him
the greatest spirit of the Yukon.”

“What are we going to do about it, Ike?” Alex
asked, helplessly. “It’s their law and custom. Has
been for hundreds of centuries, I guess, but we can’t
let that little fellow die like that. Of course we
could pick him up and carry him off but it might
mean a fight with these old men and old women
and we might kill some of them. It wouldn’t be
right to kill a live person for the sake of saving one
who is dying. I don’t know what to do.”

“I’ll fix it up all right,” said Ike. “Don’t you
worry your head none.”

“Him got father?” he demanded of Nicholas.
“Father him die. Winter famine catch him.”
“Mother,” Ike questioned.

“She die too—famine.”

“Ain’t he got no relations at all?” Ike inquired.
An old man, shaky with age, stepped out from
the group. “I’m his uncle,” he quavered.

“Now we are getting down to business, you understand,”
said Ike with satisfaction. “Your
nephew no good to you now?” The old man shook
his palsied head. “Him dead plenty soon,” he said
stolidly.

“You no want nephew then?” Ike persisted, and
the old man shook his head decidedly.

“Then I buy him,” Ike said promptly. “For him
I give two plugs of tobacco, of red cloth 20 yards,
and of big tallow candles three. Does the uncle
accept?” The uncle did with eagerness. It was
more than the boy was worth when well. He was
little and it would be many seasons before he could
become a skillful hunter. Clearly these pale faces,
not yet the size of men, were crazy, crazy as wolf-dogs
when the moon is full. A fear seized him that
this crazy young pale-face, who waved his hands
so wildly when he talked, might repent of his bargain
and demand all this wealth back. He was
starting for his igloo as fast as his shaky legs would
carry him, when Ike sternly commanded him to stop.
“Take me to where you put the boy,” he said, “and
explain to him that hereafter I am his father, mother
and uncle, and when I speak he is to obey.”

They found the little fellow in the middle of a
bunch of willows, a handful of dirty moss stuck in
his mouth. He was lying perfectly quiet looking up
at the skies with his black, beady eyes. He was only
a child, but he knew the laws and custom of his people,
many had he seen during the great cold, dragged
out to die alone in the deep snow.

Alex pulled out the gag of dirty moss and threw
it away, while the old man in quavering tones, told
him what Ike had directed him to say.

The child looked up at Ike with grateful eyes.
“All right, fadder, me do what you say.”

Ike strove to hide his pity for the sick, deserted
little fellow. He bent down and put his arms
around the shrunken shoulders. “Put your arms
around my neck and hang on as tight as you can,”
he commanded sternly. “Here, Alex, grab him
around the legs and we will have him down to the
boat in no time, you understand.”

Clay was still fishing contentedly, a number of
large salmon flapping helplessly on the deck around
him.

“For goodness sakes, what have you there?” he
cried as he spied the limp burden.

“This is my son,” said Ike, solemnly. “He is
sick, very sick. Come help us with him, Clay.”

A bunk was hastily made up on the floor, and on
this the little Esquimau was placed.

“He’s got no fever,” Clay said, after examining
the little thermometer he had been holding under
the lad’s tongue. The way I size it up is that he
starved so long last winter that his stomach rejected
the greasy heavy blubber with which they broke
their long fast in the spring. I believe that he will
come out all right with careful feeding and good
care. The first thing to do is to take off those filthy
furs he has got on, give him a good bath, and find
something clean and warm for him to wear.”

“I find him some clothes what gets too small for
me, but which I can pin up a little for him,” said
Ike. “Say, I think I call him after a good friend
of mine, a fellow named Abe. I think Abe a pretty
name for him.”

When the last of the mangy furs were removed
from the little lad, the boys stood back and viewed
him pitifully, wondering how the spark of life had
managed to keep alight in such a wasted and shrunken
skeleton. Abe objected as much as his feeble
strength would permit, to the awful bath, but when
he was, at last, rubbed clean and dressed in a suit
of Ike’s pajamas, he drank a bowl of warm soup
greedily and in a few minutes was sound asleep.
Alex had been cooking supper while his chums had
labored over the lad and they now sat down to a
meal of delicious fried salmon, coffee, and mealy
potatoes. They had but finished, when the Shaman
appeared, slipping in softly like a cat. The boys
had had no time to separate the good records from
the bad. All they could do was to wind up the
wheezy old machine, start it going, and trust to luck,
which proved to be in their favor, for the Shaman
listened like one entranced, to songs, minstrel jokes
and music.

.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE TRADE`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XVIII

.. class:: center medium

   THE TRADE

.. vspace:: 2

The records could hardly have been worse and
the machine was suffering badly from the asthma,
but the Shaman could not have shown more appreciation
had it been the grandest combination in existence.
“Won’t you come Home, Bill Bailey?” seemed to
give him complete satisfaction, but “Ain’t
It Funny When You’re Out of Money That the
Only Thing You Get Is Sympathy?” brought forth
an expressive grunt, while “If You Ain’t Got No
Money, Why You Needn’t Come Around,” appeared
to afford him great pleasure. Then Alex
made the mistake he had been dreading all the evening.
After winding up the machine he slipped in a
fresh record and started it going. At the first snappy,
scratching, breaking sounds, Alex and Ike
looked at each other in dismay. It was the worst
record in the lot because it had been their favorite
and had been played over and over again until it was
only a battered wreck, seamed with scratches and
disfigured by cracks. Of the former Battle Hymn
of the Republic there remained only a few unintelligible
words and a discordant discord.

The boys glanced at the Shaman fearfully and
were surprised to find him grinning with delight at
the awful discord.

“I know that spirit,” he declared, proudly, as the
record ended with one last abrupt crash, “It’s the
voice of Luna, the great Yukon spirit. It is his
voice. I know it. Many seasons I have heard it
when he was breaking up the ice in the spring. Have
you more of the spirits to put into the box?”

But Alex was not going to risk another mistake.
It might not turn out so fortunately next time.
“There are dozens more of them,” he said, “but we
are getting tired of calling them forth. It is enough
for tonight. We have proved that all white men
are not liars.”

“It is true,” agreed the Shaman, “but,” he added,
thoughtfully, “you are not grown to man’s size yet.”

“Maybe we trade it to the Shaman in the next
village,” Ike suggested with a guileless face.

But the Shaman protested violently. “They were
not all good Shamans like himself in the other
villages. They would certainly cheat and rob him.
Why did he not trade with him? He had a big
heart. He always gave more than he received.
Then, too, he was losing power over his people.
There were the priests that traveled summer and
winter through the land, treating the sick for nothing
and always talking against the medicine men
and forever preaching a new faith that might be
all right in another land, but which would not work
in the Northland, where life was cruel and no man
could love his brother like himself. Many of his own
tribe had embraced the faith and openly laughed at
his power. And soon he, the Shaman, whose father
had been a Shaman, and whose father’s father had
been a Shaman, would be regarded as only a common
man in the tribe. The wondrous box would
help him to regain his power. His people would be
convinced of his greatness when he summoned the
spirits to talk and sing to them, but to give up the
finest team in Alaska, that was too much.”

This was Ike’s cue, and the bargaining that ensued
was a thing worth remembering. From the
lockers, Ike brought out some of all the things they
had brought to barter, while the Shaman viewed the
head with eyes of cupidity.

Ike selected a dozen plugs of tobacco and laid
them out in a row.

The Shaman eyed them with envy, but controlled
himself with an effort.

“More,” he grunted.

Ike wrung his hands and declared he was being
robbed, but he added four more plugs of tobacco
to the row. After all it was only the beginning of
the battle and he had decided in the first place to
give thirty plugs if he had to do so. For two hours
the battle raged, the pile of trinkets before the Shaman
growing steadily. Often the boys turned their
heads aside to hide their grins at Ike who, with tears
in his eyes, protested that he was being robbed, that
he was a poor man with a sick child to support, and
he was taking the bread from his child’s mouth to
give to a stranger, but Ike’s wildest outbursts were
met by the Esquimau, with a steady demand of:

“More, more.”

But it was not in the law of things for a Jew to
be worsted by a mere Esquimau, so when Ike
decided that the pile had grown big enough, he reached
out and gathered it up in his arms. “We can not
trade,” he shouted angrily. “Here I offer you gifts
worthy of a prince, besides a box full of spirits, and
all you say is ‘More, more,’ all the time. All these
things I offer you for a few mangy dogs, so poor
you can see their ribs and so old and worn out that
they do not snap and bite like real huskies do. Go.
Perhaps in the next village we will find a Shaman
who is not a robber.”

“Wait,” protested the Shaman, startled at all the
rich treasure he was about to lose. “Let not a trifle
upset a trade between friends. Just give me of those
shiny things a few and our trade will be complete.”
The shiny things were a box of coffin trimmings
which Clay had brought as a venture because,
though made of tin, they were cheap and bright and
stamped out in the shape of birds, fruits and
flowers.

Alex measured out a quart of them with a reluctant
hand. “Now you must keep the dogs for us
till we come back in the fall. Not starve ’em, you
understand, make them sleek and fat.”

“It will take many salmon,” said the Shaman. For
that there should be two more measures of the shiny
birds and flowers.”

Ike hastened to dole out the two measures, for
he had expected to pay much more for the dogs’
keep.

Business concluded, the boys showed the Shaman
how to run the phonograph, and the wily savage departed
as silently as he had come, all his newly
gained treasure tightly rolled up in his dirty, greasy
parka.

“How much did the team cost us?” Alex inquired.

Ike grinned. “Not so bad, you understand. Fifty
dollars as near as I can tell and that includes their
board.”

“Why, that’s highway robbery,” Clay exclaimed.
“Fifty dollars for a nine hundred dollar team of
dogs is as bad as stealing.”

“It’s business,” said Ike, placidly. “If he was
smart enough, don’t you think he would take everything
we have got? Besides,” he continued. “You
needn’t worry about him. He will get plenty of
furs with the things we gave him. I expect he make
them coffin trimmings bring him in a fur for each
trimming.”

“Then the poor people of the villages have to pay
for our bargain,” Alex said.

“That is business also,” Ike remarked. “But I
think the same as you, Clay. We get a good trade.
When we come back let’s give them poor people
plenty of good things to eat, so that they will not
suffer from hunger this winter. Say we give five
hundred dollars’ worth of rice, sugar, beans and
flour. You see, we still have made a good trade
for the team, the Shaman makes plenty of money
off his coffin trimmings, and the box, and the poor
people are contented because the hunger does not
gnaw at their bellies.”

“I am too sleepy to point it out,” yawned Clay,
“but there’s a flaw some where in your reasoning.
We beat a man out of his dogs for a few worthless
trinkets. We gain, don’t we?” The man who owns
the dogs gains, the people gain also. Nobody loses.
Looks to me like high finance.”

“High finance,” snorted Ike, indignantly. “Who
ever heard of high finance giving back food to the
people—a library or an institute, perhaps, but food,
no. We might give them $500.00 worth of books,”
he added thoughtfully, “on condition, you understand,
that they raise another $500.00. The Shaman
could be the librarian.”

“You idiot,” grinned Clay, as he crawled into his
bunk. “What do the Esquimaux want with books?
They are too hungry, weary, and hopeless for books.”

“Maybe,” admitted Ike, as he climbed into his
own bunk, “but say, it would make us one splendid
advertisement.”

When they crowded up on deck after a hearty
breakfast next morning, there curled up on the bank
was Buck, surrounded by his family. At sight of
Alex, he barked joyously, and the boy went ashore
to bid the noble animal farewell. “Good-bye, Buck,”
he whispered. “We will come back for you soon.
Be patient, for it will only be a short time. Very
soon we come and get you.”

Buck wagged his tail mournfully at thought of the
delay, but beamed with joy over Alex’s parting head
patting.

As they backed out of the cove, Alex glanced back.
Buck was leading his family back to the settlement,
but the big leader’s tail drooped mournfully and
every few paces he would stop and gaze back at
the retreating boat.

The boys found that the steamer was some five
miles ahead of them, but under full speed it took
but a short time to range alongside the clumsy craft.
The Kid, without waiting for an invitation, came
sliding aboard. “Well, how did you like the village?”
was his first query.

“All right, except for the people, the huts and the
smells,” Clay grinned and he proceeded to relate
the story of their experiences.

“Sure you’re going some for chekakos,” the Kid
commented. “I’ve heard of that dog team. All the
Yukon has for that matter, but few have seen it. I
saw them once on the trail and I’d been glad to have
traded my team for them and given two hundred
dollars to boot, which is going some, for I’ve got
one of the best teams on the Yukon.” The kid will
be a lot of help too, if you can raise him. The
Pymauts live not far from the Holy Cross Mission and
the fathers have taught many of them to speak English
and have converted many. He’ll come handy
interpreting for you when you get down to trading
with the tribes. I reckon I’ll step below and see
how both of those chaps are making out,” he said.

He was back soon with a smile on his face. “They
are both sound asleep,” he said and I wouldn’t disturb
them. “Sleep’s the best healer there is. I’ll see
them again after they are awake,” he said.

“Do you think your party would like to take a
spin on the *Rambler* today,” Clay asked, thoughtfully.
“I mean of course, Miss—er—”

“Ethel Mason,” supplied the Kid promptly. “Miss
Ethel Mason and her parents, I mean, of course,”
Clay said. “It would be a change from that slow,
lumbering steamboat. They could troll for salmon—there
are lots of them around here and we could
have a fish dinner and maybe they would like the
change from the steamer for even a day.”

“They would,” exclaimed the Kid, brightly.

“It’s rough on them—being only two women
amongst such a raft of men. ’Course the men don’t,
many of them, mean anything wrong but they haven’t
seen anything but ugly Indian squaws for so long
that they can’t help but stare when they see a pretty
face peeping up like a flower out of the snow.
Sure, they will come. I’ll get one of the crew to fix
up a boatswain’s chair and lower them all three down
easy.”

“I’m so sorry you can’t come, Mr. Kid,” said
Ike, regretfully.

“But I am coming,” declared the Kid emphatically.
“Why not?”

“I thought you had to stay on board and guard
that mail,” said Ike, innocently.

The Kid reddened. “I’ll go up and tell them and
see about getting that chair ready,” he said,
hurriedly, as he clambered up the rope.

“In a few minutes the chair was ready and the
two old folks, followed by the girl, were lowered to
the *Rambler’s* decks.

Clay immediately decided that he liked all three
of the visitors. The girl had a frank, boyish-looking
face, charming in its gentleness and firmness. Her
father was a great giant of a man with the quaintly
gentle air of authority that one comes to associate
with country storekeepers or local postmasters, while
his wife was a kind-faced, motherly-looking woman.
Clay decided that the Kid was right. These three
gentle folks were not of the kind to meet the
rough, lawless element of gold-mad Dawson.

Mrs. Mason at once declared her desire to see
the sick boys, of whom the Yukon Kid had told her.

Ike led her below, having already informed the
invalids of her coming. Case ground his teeth to
shut out the groans. He was feeling worse than
usual that morning. His wounds were knitting and
the tortured nerves were crying out for mercy. He
looked up suddenly to see a kindly face with tear-filled
eyes bending over him and to hear a quite
motherly voice saying, “You poor, poor boy; how
you must be suffering.” A few deft pats to the pillow
and a rearrangement of the blankets gave Case
unspeakable relief. “Now, boy, just keep still and
try to go to sleep,” commanded the gentle voice. “As
soon as I look at that other poor boy. I’m going to
come back and read to you for a while.”

The little Esquimau met Mrs. Mason’s eyes with
the dark mournful gaze bred by the untold suffering
of hundreds of generations of hunger, suffering
ancestors. The good woman groaned at the sight
of the skin-covered bones. “You speak English?”
she inquired with lips that trembled with emotion.

“Yes, I speak the English,” he said weakly.
“Learn it at Holy Cross Mission. Here all the same
as Holy Cross, all clean and white and every one
good and kind.”

“You must lie still and get well,” commanded the
lady, “so you can tell me much about the Holy Cross,
and, always, eat of the things I send you. They
will make you well and strong. Good-bye, I’ll see
you again soon,” and the tender-hearted woman
stumbled up the cabin stairs with eyes that could
scarcely see through the tears that blinded them.

“Go right back to the steamer,” she commanded
Clay. “You boys have done your best for your sick
companions, but there are some things you lack and
I am going back to get them.”

Clay signalled to Alex to turn around and in a
few minutes the *Rambler* was tearing her way back
to the steamer.

.. vspace:: 4

.. _`WINTER QUARTERS`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XIX

.. class:: center medium

   WINTER QUARTERS

.. vspace:: 2

“Slow her down, Clay, slow her down,” pleaded
Case. “Slow her down,” shouted Alex from the
bow. “I can’t do much with her going so fast.”

It was a different scene from that, in which we
last saw the boys. Long gone were the golden days
when they had journeyed leisurely up the river with
Mrs. Mason nursing Case and the Esquimau lad
back to speedy health. Gone also were that exhilaration
of shooting the rapids, and gone were the
pleasant nights when, with a bad stretch of water
ahead of them, the steamer and the *Rambler* had
tied up together at the bank and all had made merry
by the light of big fires, singing, talking, and even
dancing on the rough, uneven ground. Gone were
the pleasant loitering days in gold-mad Dawson,
mingling with the old timers, eager to lend a hand
wherever needed and gaining in return many new
quaint facts of the country and the trail. They had
hardly noted the growing keenness in the air until
the Kid, anxious still in his love affair, whispered
to them that it was time for them to go, that much
ice was already bubbling up in the smaller streams,
and, knowing the Kid as they did, they had followed
his advice. It was an exciting race with winter at
their heels, but the *Rambler* driving ahead with the
current at a speed of from twenty-five to twenty-eight
miles an hour, kept ahead of the big cold.

At the Indian village they had stopped to get their
dogs and buy furs from the Shaman who, fat and
sleek, by artful trading, had acquired nearly all the
furs from the hunters who were drifting in from the
long hunt one by one. To the hunger-pinched poor
folks, they gave the provisions Ike had suggested.
They also gave them freely of their trinkets that
they might not be tempted to trade off the precious
food for the Shaman’s worthless baubles.

Short as their stay had been, they were surprised
at the change in the river. Much ice was bubbling
to the surface like yeast. It was not the same Yukon
upon which they had ridden up so pleasantly in
summer. It was tempestuous with white-capped
waves that battered against the *Rambler’s* bow and
sent icy showers of spray aft. By midday the fierce
wind had died away and thin cakes of ice were floating
on the surface.

Slow her down, Clay,” Alex begged. “I can’t
help much at the rate she’s going.” He was leaning
over the bow, boat hook in hand, trying vainly to
thrust to one side the blocks of ice that impeded the
*Rambler’s* progress. While Case, well once more,
was standing at the wheel, his alert eyes picking out
the channels of open water freed from ice throes.

Down in the cabin, Ike was already beginning the
evening meal and talking gravely to Abe, whose
wan face had filled out amazingly and who was
clumsily trying to help fadder with the cooking.

“Slow her down, can’t you?” Alex yelled again.

Clay left the motor and made his way forward.
“Do you see that mountain ahead where the river
seems to make a bend? I noticed it when we were
going up. Just beyond it is a snug little cove with
a shelving beach. Just the place to winter in, it
struck me. Now the shores here are not fit for a
winter camp. They are too wind-swept. We have
just got to make that cove. We simply can’t stop.
The river will be frozen over by morning and when
the ice breaks up in the spring, the *Rambler* would
be crushed into splinters between the floes. At this
rate we can not make the cove before night. I don’t
want the responsibility all on myself. But I think
now is the time to make a break for it. The ice is
thin yet and the *Rambler* has got plenty of power
and we know she has not got an unsound plank in
her. I vote to try for the cove. What do you fellows say?”

“I’m for it,” said Case, knocking his ice-cold hands
against his body to take away the numbness. “Anything
is better than this.”

“The cove or bust,” Alex exclaimed, as he threw
the boat hook up on the cabin top. “This spearing
off ice floes is like bobbing for apples, only more
so. One just gets wet and tired without getting any
apples.”

“All right,” Clay agreed. “Pick out the smoothest
course you can, Case, and hold her to it.”

He went back to the motor and slowly shoved the
timer ahead. The *Rambler*, which before had been
barely moving, suddenly gathered speed and leaped
forward at the ice field ahead. She struck with a
crash, and, scarcely pausing, darted forward to meet
the next, leaving behind a rapidly closing wake filled
with shattered ice.

Clay, leaning out of her motor hold, grinned with
delight. “She eats them, eats them up alive,” he
exulted.

But it was a dearly bought victory for the little
boat, for when at last she reached the cove, her bow
post was a mass of splinters, while long streamers
of wood hung from her bruised sides, and showed
where the sharp ice had torn streaks out of her oak
planking.

“Another victory like that would be a defeat,”
remarked Case, as from the shore he viewed her
wrecked appearance.

A portion of the brief Arctic day remained, and
it’s dim twilight glow was too precious to be wasted.
Alex cut down a dead cottonwood tree and chopped
it up for the Yukon stove, which they had bought at
Dawson, on the Kid’s advice. While he was thus
engaged, Ike, leaving Abe to look out for the cooking
supper, came on deck to render his assistance. A
thick layer of spruce boughs were cut and laid ahead
of the boat, and, by use of rollers and block and
tackle, the three managed to pull the *Rambler* out
on her springy bed.

“That will help to keep her warmer inside in winter,”
Clay said with satisfaction. “We could never
have kept her warm with her bottom resting on the
ice. Now the next thing is to fix up the sides and
cabin top so as to protect them from the stinging
cold.”

Long poles were cut and placed rafterwise from
the peak of the pitched cabin roof to the ground. On
these rafters they piled layer upon layer of small
spruce boughs and banked up around the sides with
a generous supply of the fragrant limbs. It was
almost dark when their task was completed and they
stood back and viewed the result with satisfaction.
“A house inside a house,” Case said. “All it needs
is a good fall of snow to fill up the chinks and we
will be as snug as a bug in a rug.”

They were all tired, cold, and hungry and it was
a joy to descend into the brightly lit cabin where a
merry fire crackled in the Yukon stove and a savory
supper fresh from the fire, steamed on the table.

“I wonder when we will see the Yukon Kid
again,” said Case musingly, during a lull in the
supper chatter. “He was due to leave St. Michael’s
yesterday and I bet he started on time, for he’s fairly
crazy to get back to his lady fair in Dawson.”

Alex snorted in disgust. “Looks like all you fellows
can think of is girls,” he sneered, and his companions
shifted sheepishly in their chairs, expecting
and dreading a storm of ridicule from his sharp
little tongue. But Alex remained silent after his
outburst. In truth, he was picturing for himself
a dull and sombre future. As the others wandered on
to other topics he sat thinking gloomily. Here was
the Yukon Kid, mightiest of the mighty men of the
North, hanging to the apron strings of a mere slip
of a girl. Clay and Case both had girls in Chicago,
he knew; they would soon be getting old enough to
marry and then the fine long cruises would stop, for
their wives would not let them go unless they went
with them. Case’s red headed girl wouldn’t, he was
certain. There would be no more trips. Only he
and Ike would be left to talk over alone the glory of
this trip. A horrible suspicion flashed into his mind,
perhaps even Ike had a girl.

“Ike,” he demanded, suddenly. “Where does
Rebecca work?”

“She works in a shirt waist factory. By and by
she be forewoman,” Ike said proudly, caught unawares.

A roar of laughter from the boys awoke him to
the slip he had made. His face reddened and he
resolutely closed his mouth and refused to commit
himself further in reply to Alex’s adroit question.

“It’s all right, Alex,” he said stoutly. “Maybe
you got one little laugh on me now, you understand.
But some day I get big laugh on you because I laugh
last.”

“Fadder,” interrupted Abe, “you better put mukluks
by the fire to dry.”

It was a rule of the trail, the Kid had tried to
impress upon them, to always dry out their footwear
after the day’s work, but it needed the grave voice
of the child to recall it to them. Abe was born on
the trail and he was learned in its dangers.

“If Abe says so we had better do it and turn
in,” Clay remarked, and soon five sets of footwear
were ranged around the stock and the five boys were
sound asleep in their bunks.

It was Clay’s cheery “Get up, grub’s ready,” that
awakened his sleeping companions.

“What do you mean by having breakfast at such
an unearthly hour?” grumbled Alex, tumbling out
of his bunk and fumbling for his trousers. “Why,
the cabin’s as dark as pitch.”

Clay snapped on the electric lights. “We are late
getting up this morning. Remember, young man,
this is the season when the days grow short and
we’ve got to make every minute of daylight count.
Get up and thank your lucky star that you’ve got a
partner good enough to get up before you, warm
the cabin up, fry ham and eggs, and cook coffee for
you.”

The mention of food sent Alex tumbling into his
clothes, an example his companions were not slow
to follow.

By the time they had finished eating, a wan light
was stealing into the cabin windows. The last
mouthful swallowed, they hurried up for a look at
the river. It was a sheet of solid white from shore
to shore. They all felt a feeling of gratitude that
they had won to the little cove and were not penned
up out there in that desolate waste exposed to the
full fury of every gale. They now had time to note
more closely the place in which their winter was
to be passed. It was a tiny cove well protected from
wintry blasts. On one side of them rose the big
mountain; on the other side lofty crumbling cliffs
protected them from the raw west winds, while back
of them the ground rose in a gradual slope, densely
covered by cottonwoods and spruces.

“The first thing to do is to get out our snow
shoes and practice breaking trails,” Clay declared.
“We have got to harden our muscles and get used
to it before we start out on the trading trips.”

All of the boys, but Ike, had had on snow shoes
before, but this task of breaking trail for the dogs
was a new trick to them and they could not quite
get the hang of it until the little Esquimau lad
gravely strapped on a pair and showed them how the
big webbed shoe must be lifted carefully up, straight
up, until it cleared the surface, so that no snow
should be tumbled into the packed place, then how
it must be shoved cautiously ahead while the same
careful uplifting must be repeated by the other foot.
Ike’s first experiment plunged him into a snow
drift, leaving only his big snow shoes waving madly
above the surface.

“Fadder, fadder,” cried Abe in delight. “If you
want to walk on your hands tie the shoes on them.”

Clay and Case grinned at each other. It was the
first time either of them had heard the lad laugh.
Clearly, under the nourishing food and kind treatment
he was receiving, Abe was certainly picking
up.

The unaccustomed trail breaking brought into play
muscles the boys never dreamed they possessed, and
after a few hours’ practice, Clay called a halt. “We
don’t want to try it too long at a time. Tomorrow
we will do a little more and keep it up that way until
we can do an all-day stunt. Then we will be fit to
start out on our trading trips.”

About noon the Yukon Kid hove in sight and with
but little pressure, was induced to stay to dinner and
rest up his tired dogs, which he had evidently been
pushing hard.

“I’ve got a bit of news for you,” he said between
mouthfuls. “Got the true story of Bill and Jud.
Got it straight from an old timer who lived in the
same part of Ohio that Bill came from. Bill and
Jud are brothers, but no more alike than a rotten egg
is like a fresh laid one. Jud, he stuck to the farm
and grew up big, strong, and honest, though I guess
he would have done that anywhere. Bill hit for the
city, and the village folks said they hoped he would
never come back for he’d always been mean, lying
and thieving, although Jud was always mighty
fond of him and was always making excuses for him
and claiming that it was only Bill’s high spirits that
got him into mischief. Well, Bill got a job in a
store and mighty proud of it Jud was, always telling
people that Bill was getting along fine in the city
Pretty soon the store people found out that their
cash was turning up short every night and they
traced it to Bill. He confessed and Jud put a mortgage
on the farm and went up and settled with the
store folks so that Bill wouldn’t be prosecuted, but
the lesson didn’t do Bill any good, he kept getting
lower and lower until he got to be a common holdup
man and burglar. Then Jud up and sold his interest
in the farm, and bid good-bye to the village
folks, telling them that he was going to get Bill away
from the bad fellows who were always leading him
into trouble all the time. He made good his word
evidently, for here they are up here on the Yukon
with Jud looking out for Bill and keeping him as
straight as he can. Funny ain’t it, how a good man
like Jud will let himself be forced into bad ways
just to keep a worse man from doing worse things.
I reckon Jud would kill any one who tried to hurt
his brother. Reckon that’s what the Good Book
calls brotherly love, but I don’t take much stock in
that kind of love myself, it’s too one-sided.”

The Kid did not pause for much more conversation
and the boys did not attempt to detain him, for
they knew he was eager to be off for Dawson.

“I’ll have more time to stay with you on my way
back,” he shouted back to them as his rested team
swung into line. “Oh! by the way. Bill and Jud are
on the Yukon now somewhere. Heard they left
Nome with two boats and a small outfit, but I
haven’t passed them on the river.”

.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE VISION`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XX

.. class:: center medium

   THE VISION

.. vspace:: 2

It was not until they had practiced a week at the
mock trail work that Clay decided they were in
shape to tackle the real work of the trail. The week
had wrought changes in them. It had been real
work. Everything they had learned of the work
from the old timers they had put into practice again
and again until they had learned to do the thing
with neatness and despatch. They were astonished
at the miracle the week had wrought in themselves.
Their bodies were stripped of every ounce of fat and
new unknown muscles had sprung into notice while
the old prominent ones had become as things of elastic
steel. Their hunger was of the order of famished
wolves and they grew to understand the look
of knowing hunger in the eyes of their dogs as they
wistfully watched them eat breakfast and supper, of
which two meals the animals were not allowed to
partake, but could only look on in wretched misery
at their masters eating with such relish.

Before leaving Dawson the boys had cleared out
the forehold and had filled it with a great store of
dried salmon. Of this, they gave their dogs more
than double the quantity usually given by dog drivers.
But they gave it to them only at night, according
to the iron law of the trail, whose motto was
that a full dog travels slow. Their first real trip
was to the nearest of the Indian villages which
seemed to inclose the Catholic Mission of the Holy
Cross in a kind of semi-circle. They started with
the usual trail traveler’s pack, containing only the
things absolutely necessary, such as frying pan and
a big kettle to cook in, a change of footgear and
clothing for each, an axe and a fair amount of the
staple food of the trail, beans, pork, coffee, flour and
sugar. A smaller pack contained the supply of dried
salmon for the dogs, and another of trading trinkets,
while over all was strapped down tightly over the
load a large square of waterproofed canvas, another
of the Kid’s suggestions. It being the first trip and
a novelty, all were eager to go, but none liked to
leave the *Rambler* alone. For, although well protected
from view, there was the possible chance that
some traveler might stumble upon the tiny cove and
relieve the *Rambler* of some of her already diminishing
stock of provisions. So it was decided that one
should be left to guard the boat, that one to be
decided by the drawing of straws. The short straw
fell to Case to his intense disgust.

“Just my luck,” he grumbled, “to be left behind
on a day like this when the snow has just got a crust
an elephant could not break through, and everything
seems to promise the finest kind of weather. When
I get a chance to go the snow will be five feet deep
and we will have to pack trail every foot of the way
right in the teeth of a sixty-mile gale.”

What Case said about the conditions for traveling
were true. They could hardly have selected a better
time. The start was made long before daylight,
Clay running side by side with the leader and striving
to keep to the due south course by his pocket
compass, but he soon realized that Buck sensed their
destination and, like one on familiar ground, was
picking his way toward a certain goal. Now and
then he would swerve to one side to avoid a clump
of trees or a steep gully, but always swinging back
again and ever bearing back again to the south.

“No use trying to guide that dog,” Clay panted
as he fell back to join his companions who were half
running to keep up with the flying sled. “He knows
where we are going and the best way of getting
there far better than I do myself. I don’t believe
there’s another team like this in the world. Look
how they run in perfect harmony with each other.”

Their admiration for their team was further increased
when, upon the rising of the sun, they looked
back at the distant mountain from whose base they
started only a few hours before. All the boys were
feeling the tremendous pace at which they had traveled
and Clay called a brief halt for them all to gain
their breath. The dogs, obedient to his commands,
dropped down in their traces and instantly curled up
in the hard snow.

“Look how much trail wisdom they’ve got,” said
Alex in admiration. “They go like the wind, by
they don’t waste a second when they get a chance to
rest.”

“We have got to borrow a little of their wisdom,”
Clay observed. “If we don’t we will all of us be
tired to death and have to camp long before the day
is over. We had better take turns in riding on the
sled, one at a time. That will give each man thirty
minutes of running and fifteen minutes to rest up
in. We ought to be able to hold on at that.”

Even under this liberal arrangement, the boys
were well pleased when the whole team stopped
and curled up in their traces, close beside a bunch of
cottonwood trees.

“Get up! Push on there!” shouted Clay, surprised
at the sudden action, but Buck only gave him
a reproachful look.

Alex grinned with delight. “Don’t disgust Buck
right at the start by letting him know that you are
a blamed chekako,” he advised. “He knows that it’s
dinner time and that this is a mighty good place to
cook with all the dead cottonwood lying around.”

The boys fell to the work of getting dinner with
the system of old timers. While Clay cut dead cottonwood,
Ike built a fire and melted snow for coffee.
Alex brought out a frozen sausage-like length of
beans, ready cooked with a generous mixture of
cubes of pork, from which he hacked short pieces
and placed them into the frying pan to heat, continuing
the operation until the pan was full. Then
in a short time dinner was ready and the boys sat
down to it with keen appetites. A short rest after,
and they were off again. Before daylight ended,
they swept around a high bluff into full sight of the
village they sought. Buck, in his knowledge of the
country, had brought them straight to their destination.
Barking dogs and a crowd of natives met them
at the village limits. The dogs’ barking ceased at
sight of Buck who, with hair raised and teeth bared,
gave utterance to one low ominous growl at which
the dogs in front shrank back silently, leaving a path
through their midst for the sled. Down it Buck
walked in state with never a glance to left or right,
moving like a king before his subjects.

“He’s grand,” Clay exclaimed. “He’s the Yukon
Kid of the dog trails.”

It was evident that the natives thought so too, for
they crowded around with grunts of envy and admiration.

“Sell him?” queried one native, but Clay shook
his head.

“No sell.”

“Trade?”

“No trade for dogs. Trade for furs plenty. Got
a pack full of wonderful things.”

The crowd of Esquimaux greeted this announcement
with grunts of satisfaction. No trader had
come their way as yet and their igloos were crowded
with furs of the finest. Would the strangers
come and look and be convinced? But Clay declined
the invitation. He had learned too much of the
stuffiness and smells of the average Esquimau
dwelling to care to enter one again. “No,” he announced,
“they would camp in the open. When the
night fires were lit all who had fine furs could come
and exchange them for many wonderful things.”

The preparations for the night were simple and
speedily made. While one cut wood, another put
on a huge pot of bacon and beans to boil and the
third cut poles and drove them down in the snow,
then all three joined in stretching the big square
canvas over the poles, bringing it down to the snow on
one side and raising it at the side nearest the fire so
the heat would radiate downwards.

The whole village gathered around the fire and
watched the boys as they cooked and ate; they were
of a far superior class to any the boys had yet seen,
due, perhaps, to the efforts of the priests from the
not far distant mission, who labored constantly to
teach and help all within their reach. Nearly all
had brought valuable furs with them and the trading
was quickly concluded, for Clay frowned down
all of Ike’s attempts to drive long, close bargains
and their customers departed well pleased at having
received for their furs much more than they had
intended to demand.

While the village was yet asleep the boys struck
camp next morning and headed back for the *Rambler*,
for they knew Case would worry until they returned.
They reached the boat shortly after midday
to find Case sitting in the cabin gloomily playing
solitaire. He greeted them with joy, and, as they
had not stopped for dinner on the trail, he flew
around and got them a hasty lunch while he listened
to the story of their trip. The first time he could
do so unnoticed by Alex and Abe and Ike, he gave
Clay a signal that he wanted to see him alone. Clay,
quick to note the anxiety in his partner’s face, quickly
finished his dinner and turned to the others.

“Will you two clean up and pack away the furs
when you get through?” he inquired. “Case and
I want to take a hunt and see if we can not get a
few squirrels or something else fresh to eat.”

The two were quick to agree. Their feet and legs
were aching from their long, hard run and they were
thinking longingly, of a nice long rest in their bunks
after the simple tasks were performed.

Taking the rifle and shot gun with them, Clay and
Case made their way out on the ice.

“What’s the matter, old chap?” Clay asked as
soon as they were beyond the hearing of those on
board the *Rambler*.

“First, I want you to keep your eye on that mountain,”
Case replied. “It’s due to come at any minute
now. I noted the time it came yesterday by my
watch, and it is nearly it now.”

Mystified, Clay gazed up at the lofty mountain.
Being so early in the winter and still in the midst of
the windy season, the mountain was free from snow,
save where it nestled in the pockets and crevices, and
the main part of it lay naked and exposed to the eye.
It was like a huge cake packed layer after layer, each
layer getting smalled and smaller until the apex was
hidden in eternal snows. Each layer was made of
a different strata of which the mountain was composed.
Here was a dull-red streak indicating the
presence of iron ore, above it the dull grey of granite,
and below that a curious blend of green. As
Clay stood looking up, the miracle happened. The
low slanting sun lingered on the mountain’s face for
a minute and it became as a thing transformed, all
its varying hues stood out blended softly together by
the sun’s lingering rays. Pink, red, lavender and
green blended for a moment in one harmonious
whole, then the sun’s rays passed on and—the vision
of beauty was gone.

Clay drew in a breath of keenest pleasure. “Glorious,”
he exclaimed.

“Don’t it suggest anything to you?” questioned
Case.

“A great big, beautiful rainbow seen close to, of
course,” Clay replied promptly.

“Nothing more?” Case suggested.

Clay thought for a moment. “I’ve got it,” he
suddenly exclaimed. “That mountain marks the
bend in the river, and that rainbow furnishes the
rest. It’s Rainbow Bend, the place Ike’s uncle lives.
He must have a camp in the next cove. Funny that
we should be neighbors so long and never know it.”

“I wouldn’t say anything to Ike about it, not just
now at any rate,” Clay said slowly. “I—well, I
did a little exploring myself after I saw that rainbow
yesterday and I found a little cabin of logs in
that next cove. The door was open a bit and the
cabin was partly full of snow, but in one corner,
back behind the door, was a sight that made me
hustle out into the open air with my legs shaking
a bit, I guess, Clay,” and the lad’s voice lowered.
“It was the skeleton of a man, a big man with bent
shoulders. His skull was smashed to pieces and an
axe lay close by with some grayish hairs sticking to
it.”

Clay turned back for the *Rambler*. “Let’s be
getting back,” he said quietly, “we will slip away tomorrow
and bury the body and say nothing to the
boys until winter is over. This country is no place
to brood in over anything.”

“But I haven’t told you the worst yet, Clay,” Case
blurted out. “Our potatoes are all gone, and part
of our provisions also.”

Clay stopped in his tracks, his face paling. This
was the last straw. “When did it happen. Who
did it?” he said, bewilderedly.

“Goodness knows,” Case said despairingly. “It
may have happened a week ago. You see we have
been light on the potatoes because we did not have
more than enough to last until spring anyway. We
have kept a supply in the kitchen locker so as not to
have to burrow around in the hold for them every
time we wanted a mess. I guess I was the last one
to fill the locker, about a week ago. I went to fill
it again yesterday but could only find a handful scattered
in the hold. Part of our flour, beans and bacon
is gone too.”

“It must have been done when we were getting in
that week of practice work with the snow shoes and
team,” said Clay, thoughtfully. “There were hours
at a time when all of us would be out of sight of the
*Rambler*. It strikes me something like this,” he
continued, after another pause. “It looks like the work
of those two wretches. Bill and Jud, from beginning
to end. They knew Ike’s uncle well enough so that
he trusted them to carry a letter to Ike. He may have
let out a hint to them that he had found something
of value. Likely they demanded to have a share in
it. A quarrel arose over it and the old man was
killed without their learning his secret. But they
had the letter to Ike. They opened it but apparently
could not make out its meaning. They tore off a
corner of it, however, so that Ike could not make out
its meaning either, without their help. Then they
came to the States and delivered it to Ike. We all
know how they pestered Ike all winter and in the
end how they tried to kill or rob him. When we
get up here, we find them here ahead of us and ready
to do us harm at the first opportunity. They know
of Rainbow Bend. They likely reasoned that Ike
knew its whereabouts too and would land here sooner
or later and they proposed to be not far off when
he came. We know from what the Kid said that
they are up the river somewhere. I believe that it
is they who have stolen our stuff. I believe that
their main plan is to get Ike and torture him until
he reveals the secret in his uncle’s letter. Well,
there is a lot of theory in what I’ve been saying,
but it fits in nicely with the facts.”

“What are we going to do?” asked Case hopelessly.

“Do,” said Clay, straightening up. “We are going
to face it like men. Trust in the Lord, and do
our best.”

.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE MYSTERY`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XXI

.. class:: center medium

   THE MYSTERY

.. vspace:: 2

Alex and Ike had to be told of the loss of food
and also that Bill and Jud were likely lurking in the
neighborhood. No mention was made to them,
however, of the discoveries Case had made.

It was a gloomy little group after Clay had finished
his tale. A winter in the Arctic was to be
dreaded at its best, but with little food on hand and
no potatoes, it was a horrible thing to meet. It was
Clay who tried to enthuse a little cheerfulness into
the grim situation. “We’ve got to face it, boys,”
he said, “and it’s going to be hard to do, but we are
going to make bad matters worse if we just sit and
brood on it. I believe that we are going to come
out of this all right. The main thing to do is to
keep cheerful and keep busy. Let’s go on with our
trading just as if nothing had happened, except that
we will not only buy furs, but also meat whenever
we get the chance. Perhaps we may be able to get
a few potatoes at the Catholic Mission. They may
have laid enough in to spare us a few. Alex, you
and Ike had better, in the morning, overhaul all the
stores and see just what we have left and how best
to portion it off so as to make it last. Case and I
have a little job on of our own to attend to. We
will tell you about it later on. Now let’s turn in and
go to sleep, each one determining that he is never
going to worry over anything until it actually happens
to him. Half the time the things we fear never
happen. Long brooding over fears makes a coward
and I believe even the Lord himself despises a coward.
Good night, you fellows. I’m going to sleep.”

He and Case were early astir in the morning and
stole out of the cabin softly so as not to awaken the
sleepers. It was still dark, but the stars were shining
like glimmering lanterns hung far above their
heads and the black mass of the towering mountain
rose dimly from its white carpeted base to serve them
as a mighty guide post pointing out their way. By
the time the two boys rounded the mountain’s base
and entered the cove beyond, the dim twilight had
driven the darkness to flight and they easily found
the little cabin nestling up against the mountain side.
Theirs was a gruesome task and they went to work
at it with reluctant hands. The ground was too firmly
frozen to dig a grave so they did the best they
could. They carried the gruesome object up to the
foot of a big wide-spread spruce and laid it down.
Then they covered it with a thick layer of fragrant
spruce boughs; upon this mound they leaned up
some loose planks and around the whole built up a
mound of stones to protect the one beneath from
hunger-maddened wolves. This task done they
skirted the edge of the cove, looking for any trace
of other human habitation along its shore. Both
had felt that their enemies might be camped in this
very cove but their search pretty well convinced them
that this was not so likely. “There’s no telling where
they may be now,” Case said. “To look for them in
this great, desolate frozen country would be like
looking for a needle in a hay stack. They may be
camped within a mile of us, or, again, they may be
hundreds of miles away by now. Our trouble is
that we do not know just when the stuff was taken
and we can find no tracks that tell which way the
thieves went. Better give it up. We have got a lot
to do before the real winter sets in. We ought to
start in tomorrow and begin our trading in earnest.
We want a lot more furs and most of all we need
meat, all we can get of it. It will keep all winter.
We may not be fit to work later on,” he concluded
significantly.

“You’re right,” Clay agreed reluctantly. “We will
start out tomorrow for the next village. But all
the same,” he added, “I have a feeling that those
fellows are near us now just waiting for a good
chance to get at Ike. One of us two must always stay
behind. Two are enough to go with the team anyway.
The other two, with Captain Joe on watch,
had ought to take care of themselves and the boat
all right. Well, we can do nothing more here. We
had better get back to the *Rambler* before the boys
get too curious and come hunting us up.”

They found a hot breakfast awaiting them and
the boys finished the computing of the *Rambler’s*
stores, a process which Ike with pencil and paper
in hand, was enjoying hugely.

“This committee finds,” he announced, “that if
we all eats like Alex here there is plenty of food for
two months yet. If we eats only enough to live
on there be food for four months, maybe. If we
feed the dogs Indian fashion, just a little at a time,
you understand, there will be quite a lot of salmon
left for us. That is all, I think, gentlemen, except
the dogs. But Alex here says he will shoot any one
who touches Buck and I do the same for Captain
Joe, for he helps save my life one time, you understand.”

Clay laughed. “Why, we are not near so bad off
as I expected,” he said, brightly. “Almost anything
can happen in two months. I’ve got a hunch boys,
that everything is going to turn out all right. Let’s
keep on full rations for two weeks more, then we
can cut down gradually if we see we need to. We
had better give the dogs their double rations while
they are working and cut it down to the usual feed
when they are idle. Now let’s put the stores back
where they belong and wash up the dishes and then
go out and cut up firewood. This fine weather is
not going to last forever. There are going to be
days when no one will hanker to go out in the cold
and chop wood. Better get up a good pile now when
we have the time.” The boys knocked off work at
sunset, and after they had finished their evening
meal, Clay brought out from his locker a pack of
cards, a checker board, and a chess board with its
queens and pawns. “Lucky I thought to bring
these,” he said. “They will help to pass the time.
Let’s have a game and then turn in, for Case and Ike
will have to get an early start in the morning.” The
boys made merry over the game that followed, but
deep down in each young heart was the creeping
dread of that scourge of the Northland, scurvy. Clay
expressed it when he said, thoughtlessly, “We had
ought to save those few potatoes for Christmas. We
want to have a special feast Christmas day.”

Case and Ike were gone for three days, but they
came back with a pack of fine furs and over a half
of a frozen moose.

The next trip, made by Clay and Alex, was more
daring. They were gone ten days and brought back
all the meat the sled could carry. But their faces
were grave. At Holy Cross there was not a potato—which
had been their real object in making the
trip. Forty were helpless with the disease and more
coming down every day with it. Indians who had
come down from Dawson lately, reported that their
weight in gold dust was being offered for potatoes
with no takers. From St. Michael’s came like reports.
At Nome there were plenty, but no one could
cross the heaving seas of ice floes that separate it
from St. Michael’s.

That was the team’s last trip. For news of the
boy traders, who paid so liberally for what they
bought, spread from village to village and they did
not have to seek trade. It came to them. Hardly
a day passed without seeing at the *Rambler’s* door a
sled load of meat or furs. The boys erected a scaffolding
near the *Rambler* up above the reach of the
dogs and it was soon full of frozen meat, while the
packs of furs in the *Rambler* were fast filling up
the cabin to the point of inconvenience. All the
traders brought stories of the ravages of the scurvy in
the villages they had come from the secret dread
in the boys’ hearts grew.

One morning, after two days of steady snow, they
awoke to find the earth deeply covered with white.
Their thermometer hung outside, registering sixty
degrees below zero, while over river and land was
the quietness of death.

The Great White Silence, about which they had
heard so much, had come. It seemed almost evil to
speak aloud in the breathlessness of this death-like
quietness. As the days passed, it bore down on the
lads’ souls until they sat silent for hours at a time.
But deeper than the fear of the White Silence was
that deeper menace hanging over them and daily
growing closer.

“What’s the use of our trying to hide it?” Case
demanded one morning. “We have all got it, I
guess, and each one is trying to keep it from the
others. Open up your mouth, Clay,” Clay silently
obeyed. His gums, palate, and tongue were black
and swollen. “Humph,” got it hard,” Case grunted.
“Abe, you next.” The lad obeyed, and showed
a mouth pink and clean as a baby’s. “You’re all
right,” Case announced. “Now for you, Alex.”
“Worse than Clay’s,” Case said, frankly. “Ike, step
up and let me see your tongue. Why, you have only
got the first symptoms,” he said, “just a touch of
white on your gums and palate.” His own condition
he did not need to state. His blackened, swollen
lips told the tale. By some whim of nature, the
disease had chosen the strongest for its first victims,
and, having chosen, it proceeded with hideous rapidity.
Within a week Clay, Alex and Case were helpless
in their bunks. Ike was also breaking down,
not from the disease, which seemed to take but slight
hold of him, but from the groans and sufferings of
his chums which he was powerless to relieve. Weary
and sick at heart, one morning he left Abe in charge
of the sufferers and skirting the edge of the ice with
aimless steps, rounded the base of the mountain.
Here he stopped with a look of interest. A curl of
smoke was filtering up from a thick clump of cottonwoods.
He stared at it thoughtfully for a minute,
then wheeling suddenly, hastened back to the boat
from which, presently, emerged Abe clothed in
parka and snow shoes and bearing something white,
tightly clenched in one small hand, as he skimmed
over the crusted snow.

.. vspace:: 2

Black night had fallen when the Yukon Kid
caught sight of the *Rambler’s* lights glimmering in
the cove. They meant warmth, light, food and a
bed for the night for him, and he spurred his weary
dogs on to a fresh burst of speed which soon landed
them in the lee of the *Rambler*. Hastily unhitching,
he flung a fish from his pack to each of the hungry
animals. Then clambering aboard, he flung open
the cabin door with boisterous words of greeting on
his lips, but they died unspoken as his keen eyes
swept the little room, taking in everything in one
glance, the three muttering boys in their bunks, and
the little Esquimau busy making up raw potatoes
into juicy pulp. The lad’s face was marked by
tears as he looked at the Kid.

“Plenty sick?” asked the Kid, pointing to the
muttering lads.

“Yes. Heap scurvy.”

The Kid glanced at the vacant bunk.

“Fadder dead?”

“No dead,” said the boy. “Get potatoes this afternoon.
Big men come. He and fadder trade. Fadder gets potatoes.
Big man get fadder. All in
paper there,” pointing to a folded note beside the
heap of potatoes.

The Kid grabbed it up and opening it with ruthless
hands, read:

“Dear boys:—I hope these potatoes help you all
to get well quick. I gets them off them two loafers,
Jud and Bill. I sent Abe as messenger to them this
morning and Bill he comes over and talks it over
with me, and we trade. A bushel of potatoes for me.
I think he’s a robber, you understand. I don’t think
he brings more than three pecks of the potatoes. I
goes back with him. I expect I no see you any
more, so good-bye boys. I’m sorry I make you so
much trouble. With love, Ike.”

“I wants my share of the furs to go to Rebecca,
you understand. Abe, he shall have the news stand.
Tell him lots of love from fadder. Ike.”

“If you don’t let them dealers in Seattle rob you,
you should get $10,000 at least for them furs. Ike.”

The Kid’s eyes raced over this farewell will and
testament.

“You know where they take fadder?” he demanded
of the mourning lad.

Abe nodded.

“Then get on your snow shoes and come with me,”
the Kid commanded.

In a minute they were on the trail, the little Esquimau
lad leading. A scant half mile of rapid
traveling carried them into the cove and in sight
of the gleaming light of the fire amongst the cottonwoods.
Now they advanced more cautiously, trying to
stop the creak of their snow shoes on the
sugar-like snow. Luckily those around the campfire
were too busy with their own affairs to notice the
stealthy approach. Close to the fire lay Ike tightly
bound while beside him knelt the evil-faced Bill applying
a smoking iron to the lad’s bare feet. A sickening odor
of burnt skin was filling the air, while the
torturer was snarling: “Tell, you brat, or I’ll burn
you to the bone.”

The Yukon Kid raised his heavy revolver and
took steady aim, but something was quicker than
he. A giant form leaped out from the cottonwoods
upon the kneeling man. He was lifted up like a
feather and dashed with the snap of breaking bones
against a near-by tree.

“The b’ar. He’s killed Bill,” roared Jud’s mighty
voice, as he leaped forward with drawn knife. The
bear met him half-way with extended arms. Once
the upraised knife was buried in the bear’s white
side, then man and beast, locked in a mighty struggling
embrace. The Kid watched them, fascinated,
as they struggled back and forth. Only a minute
the struggle lasted, then something in the man
snapped sickeningly and he hung limply in the bear’s
embrace, then swaying from side to side, the bear
let go his burden to the ground and slipped slowly
down beside it, his paws plucking feebly at the knife
sticking in his side. When the Kid reached the two,
both bear and man were dead.

Bill lay where he had been flung, his evil heart
stilled forever. Ike, still lying by the fire, was in a
dead faint.

Silently the Kid picked up the lad and turned back
for the *Rambler*.

.. vspace:: 4

.. __:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XXII

.. class:: center medium

   SOLVING THE MYSTERY

.. vspace:: 2

The Kid sat up all night with the sufferers at
short intervals administering to each a small portion
of potato juice. Ike had recovered consciousness
before they reached the cabin. He was but little injured.
One foot had been burned a little, that was all.
It had been the long strain and the sudden startling
appearance of the bear that had caused the plucky
lad to faint. A couple of cups of hot coffee put him
into fair shape, but his astonishment at finding himself
safe and in the warm cabin was great and his
surprise at seeing the Kid greater. “Have I been
dreaming and just woke up, Mr. Kid?” he demanded.

The Kid told him of what had happened, softening
the horrible details as much as possible.

“It was Teddy Bear,” Ike declared. “I got one
look a him before everything goes black.”

“Maybe, the Kid admitted. “I thought there was
something familiar about him, but it was too dark
to tell much.”

“Those fellows tell me this place where the mountain
is, is Rainbow Bend.”

“It is, I bet,” exclaimed the Kid. “I’ve been wondering
for a month what it was the name suggested
to me. I was sure there was no place along the river
named that, but still, it suggested something familiar
to me, and now it’s all come back to me. I’ve passed
it a couple of times when the sun hit it just right
and made the mountain appear like a great big rainbow.
It’s a wonder I didn’t guess the place when
you asked me before. A bend in the river with a
rainbow mountain on the point of the bend. Why,
no other name could just describe it so well as Rainbow Bend.”

“Then that settles it,” said the little Jew, with tears
in his eyes. “Them fellows, I guess, wasn’t lying
all the time. They said it was Rainbow Bend and
that uncle used to live there in a little log cabin
against the side of the mountain. They told me
uncle was dead now and they took me to the cabin
to see his bones, but they were not there. They
looked so frightened when they found them gone
that I felt sure uncle had died there and someone
had found his body and carried it away or buried it.
Maybe it was the boys and they keep quiet so as not
to let me worry too much. I think maybe that be it.
I feel so bad over uncle, you understand, that I do
not care much what them fellows do to me.”

“Lay down boy, and get a bit of sleep if you can,”
interrupted the Kid, kindly. “Save your yarn till
the boys are able to hear it. It will save a second
telling of it. Just try to go to sleep now. You’ll
have to take my place tomorrow.”

“Do you think the boys will get well?” Ike asked,
anxiously.

“Sure,” replied the Kid, cheerfully. “They will be
up and around in a few days, but it’s going to take
some time for all marks of the disease to disappear.”

Ike rolled over in his bunk and with a sigh of relief
closed his eyes and was soon sound asleep, forgetting
his troubles and sorrows and the short, anxious
days and long, weary nights he had spent waiting
on his stricken companions.

The Kid stood for a moment looking tenderly
down on the pinched, tired, little face. “You poor,
tuckered-out, little devil,” he muttered. “Hanged
if I don’t believe you are the pluckiest one of the
bunch, and that’s saying a whole lot.”

At the first hint of dawn, the Kid awoke Abe and
set him to cooking breakfast. Ike he let sleep on
until the meal was ready. As soon as it was finished,
he gave instructions about administering the potato
juice, and hitching up the boys’ team, as his own
was sadly in need of rest, he skirted the mountain’s
base and rounded into the cove beyond. His errand
was much the same as that undertaken by Clay and
Case upon another occasion. Common humanity demanded
that the two men, bad though they were,
should not lie exposed to the wolves. He soon
reached the scene of the previous night’s encounter,
where the three bodies lay as he had left them. He
buried the two men in much the same way as Clay
and Case had buried the murdered miner. This done,
he turned his attention to the bear. It was Teddy
alright, but not such a Teddy as had run away
from his masters. This Teddy was thin and gaunt
and it was evident from the ferociousness of his face
that he had completely lapsed back again into the
savagery of his brutal ancestors.

“Hum,” mused the Kid as he looked down at the
savage face. “Just mad, hungry, and desperate
enough to want to kill anything you met up against,
wasn’t you, Teddy? You were just running amuck
ready to kill anything and these two chaps happened
to be the first you stumbled upon. Well, I reckon
those boys on the *Rambler* will want to think of you
as a hero rushing to the rescue at the last moment,
and I reckon that it would be sorter mean to rob
them of their faith and pride in you. But that look
on your face would give you dead away, so I guess
I’ll cover you up a bit. Anyway, you’re better deserving
of a grave than that fellow Bill was, so here
goes.”

Teddy Bear at last buried like a Christian, the
Kid explored the clump of cottonwood, and as he
had expected, came upon a snug log cabin with a
big stone fire place. In one corner of it he came
upon the stores stolen from the *Rambler*. These he
loaded on the sled and turned his dogs back for the
boat.

He was delighted with the improved appearance
of his patients, who already were beginning to show
signs of a speedy recovery. As soon as he ate the
hearty dinner Ike had kept warm for him, he spread
out his roll of blankets near the stove and stretched
out. “Call me at dark if I don’t wake up before,”
he directed Ike. “I am pretty well tuckered out.
I’ve been thirty-six hours on my feet and my legs are
beginning to get toothache.”

Dark came, but the Kid was sleeping so soundly
that Ike would not awaken him until he had prepared
the evening meal, fed the dogs, and brought
in the night’s supply of wood for the Yukon stove.
Even then it was difficult to awaken him from his
slumbers.

“Gee,” he exclaimed, as he rubbed the sleep from
his eyes. “I thought I had only just got asleep, and
here it is after dark. How are the sick boys coming
on?”

“Fine,” said Ike, happily. “Clay and Alex are
not crazy in the head any more, and they try to talk
some. Case, he’s much better too.”

“Good,” said the Kid. “Now I’ll take a wash in
the snow outside and by the time I’ve tucked away
some of that good supper I smell, I’ll be fit as a
fiddle.”

As soon as supper was over and things cleaned up,
the Kid ordered Ike and Abe to bed and took upon
himself again the duties of nurse for the night. They
were the same as the night before, excepting that the
boys often awoke and tried to ply him with questions
as to what had happened. But on such occasions
the Kid forced upon them bowls of hot milk
and firm commands to keep still, and they soon
dropped off again into sound slumber unbroken by
tossing or mutterings.

When Ike awoke, he found the boys all sleeping
soundly and the Kid nodding in a chair beside the
fire. “They’ll be in pretty fair shape when they wake
up,” the Kid declared. “Of course they’ll be too
weak to get out of their beds for a couple of days,
but you can let them talk all they want to. Let them
sleep as long as they will, though. I am going to
catch a cat nap now, but you can call me for breakfast,
for I’m hungry as a wolf.”

It was not until the Kid had been aroused and
breakfast had been eaten, that Alex awoke and his
clattering tongue soon aroused the other two.

It was a joyful morning in the *Rambler’s* cozy
cabin and many were the exclamations of wonder
over Ike’s story of the things that happened during
their long illness. “Did any of you boys take my
uncle out of the cabin and bury him?” he demanded
as he ended his tale.

Clay and Case glanced at each other. “We did,”
Clay confessed. “We hated to tell you then for we
thought it was no use making things harder for you
during the long, gloomy winter ahead.”

“Thank you, boys,” said the little Jew simply, his
eyes filling slowly with tears. “Well, uncle is dead
and I am free to tell about that letter now. It ain’t
much to tell but what I told you already, Clay, and
I guess you told the other boys. My uncle tells me in
it that he has found a great treasure, enough to make
us rich like princes and able to do a great deal for the
poor. He wants me, he says in the letter, to come
and bring all the cash I got, and tells me to be sure
and not tell anyone about it till we gets together, you
understand. He says I’ll find him at Rainbow Bend.
The rest of the letter was torn off by that Jud or Bill,
but I think maybe it tells how to find this Rainbow
Bend, I don’t know. Well, boys, uncle is dead, and
that wicked Bill and his poor brother dead too, so
I guess we never find out about the treasure.”

The Kid, who had been an interested listener to
Ike’s story, fumbled in his pocket and produced a
small match safe snugly done up in oiled silk.

“I found this when I was looking through Bill’s
pockets, hunting for the name of his folks or someone
else to notify of his and Jud’s death,” he remarked.
“I looked at it but couldn’t make head or
tail of it. It looks like a piece off a letter, but I
reckon it’s a kind of cipher from the queer marks
scattered over it. Maybe it might be the piece tom
off your letter, Ike?”

“Hold on a minute,” said Clay, as Ike took the
torn scrap of paper. “If those men opened and read
your uncle’s letter, they had no need to go clear to
Chicago to try to make you tell them what was in it,
and then follow you clear up here again on the same
errand when they already knew all you knew of the
letter’s contents—more, in fact, for they had the
piece they had torn off which you had never seen.”

“Put like a lawyer’s question,” exclaimed the Kid,
admiringly.

“Very cute question, Clay,” agreed Ike, “but
easy to answer. My uncle does not live in America
long enough to learn to read and write English. He
writes to me in Hebrew. Them fellows think the
same as Mr. Kid, that the letter’s a kind of cipher
and that I’ve got the key to it. That’s why they keep
after me all the time and try to make so much trouble.
This piece, Mr. Kid finds, just tells how to find
Rainbow Bend. Well, boys, that’s all I know, and
now I think I go out for a little walk and get some
fresh air.”

“That clears up some of the mystery,” said Clay,
thoughtfully, “but there are two things unexplained
yet. Who put that strange notice of our expecting
to take this Yukon trip in the Chicago paper?”

“I think, perhaps,” said Case, musingly, “that Bill
did that himself. He had been listening to our talking
about the trip, and he thought that notice would
make a good excuse for Jud to call on us and try
to arrange passage for the two of them.”

“That’s as good a guess as any,” Clay agreed.
“The other mystery is, what is the treasure, where
is it, and how are we to find it? What do you think
about it, Mr. Yukon Kid?”

“I think the old man just dreamed it,” said the
Kid, bluntly. “Likely the lonely life and the long
darkness weakened him in his head and he got to
imagining things. There’s not enough gold around
here to gild a baby’s tooth. It isn’t likely gold ground
at the best. On top of that, about every man who has
gone up the Yukon has prospected here. If the
snow was off the ground you could see more prospect
holes than you would care to count in these two
coves. There’s iron and coal in that mountain, no
doubt, and, maybe, the old man got his idea of a
treasure from them. But they are valueless until
we get railroads into this country. The only treasure
around here is these furs here in the *Rambler*. You’ve
got reason to be satisfied with them.”

.. vspace:: 4

.. __:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XXIII

.. class:: center medium

   SOLVING THE MYSTERY

.. vspace:: 2

Ike did not return until dinner was nearly over.
He wore a brave front, but his eyes and lids were
very red and the boys knew as well as if he had
told them that he had found his uncle’s grave and
had been grieving over the gentle old man beneath
the mound of stones, but the little lad bore up under
his burden of sorrow with a surface of cheerfulness
that the boys marveled at.

“Well, Mr. Kid,” he said, as he took his place at
the table. “How did you leave Mr. and Mrs. Morton
and the Bonnie Annie Laurie?”

The red mounted to the Kid’s face as he answered
enthusiastically: “Fine and dandy. Those three innocents
hit the right idea after all. There was plenty
of eating places in Dawson but they didn’t set
out the kind of grub that mother used to make, and
that’s where the old lady shined. Then the old gentleman
was a pretty shrewd buyer and he laid in his
supplies before prices reached clean up to the sky,
although he had to pay a pretty stiff price at that.

The old lady’s cooking, and the reasonable prices,
and the very sight of that little girl tripping in and
out amongst the tables, caught the crowd. The chekakos
went pretty nigh broke buying grub that
tasted like home, and many an old sour-dough is in
a fair way of getting gout after all his years of eating
just pork and beans. When the scurvy broke out
they had about all the potatoes in town. They could
have got anywhere from $1.00 to $10.00 apiece for
them, but the old lady wouldn’t listen to anything
like that. ‘They only cost us 10c apiece,’ she argued,
‘and it ain’t Christian-like to ask more in the time
of sickness and suffering, and the poor can have ’em
for nothing.’ So the old-timers formed a sort of
bread line, as you might call it, and every day every
man, woman and child in Dawson was free to march
down that line and get his or her bit of potato whether
they had ten cents or not. I reckon, pretty near the
whole of Dawson would have been wiped out by the
scurvy this winter but for the Mortons—and Dawson
knows it. Those old people will make a fortune
if they keep at the business.” The Kid paused and
the red again mounted into his face. “I might as
well tell you now, because you little cusses will pry it
out of me sooner or later,” he said, in happy
embarrassment. “That little girl and I are going to be
married as soon as I make my stake, and I’ve got
a hunch that that time is not far off.”

Clay grinned. “Why, we knew that long ago,”
he said.

They congratulated the Kid until his face shone
with happiness.

“I’ve got a favor to ask of you,” he said, when at
last they were through. “It’s comin’ on cold tonight
or I’m no judge of Alaska weather. There’s no
special reason for my getting down to St. Michael’s
before the first steamer comes in, and it’s a long trail
back to Dawson, so, if you boys don’t mind, I’ll camp
with you until it’s time to start for St. Michael’s.”

The boys greeted this announcement with shouts
of delight, for they could think of no more welcome
visitor than the Yukon Kid.

It was as the Kid had prophesied, the morning
showed the thermometer at 70 degrees below zero,
where it hung steadily for a full week, before the end
of which time the Kid had difficulty in keeping the
now active invalids indoors. They wanted to be out
in the open air after their long, close confinement,
and with their growing strength, came the desire for
activity.

“Don’t try it outside yet,” he advised. “If you
do you’ll regret it. Seventy degrees below zero isn’t
to be fooled with even by old timers. With kids
weak as you are yet, it would mean death. That
degree of cold would frost your lungs in ten minutes.
Why, even the Indians rarely travel when it
gets below 40 degrees. Be patient, boys, this cold
weather is not going to last forever. It will get
milder soon. In fact, boys, it’s not going to be long
before spring comes. I’ll bet you boys have lost all
track of the days.”

“I guess we have,” agreed Clay. “I can’t be sure
of what month it is even. We kept so busy before
we were taken sick that we kept no account of days,
and then we have been sick a long, long time.”

“Well, it’s the middle of March,” the Kid enlightened
him. The worst of the winter is over
now. Along the last of April the ice should begin
to go out.”

“And as soon as it goes out, we will be bound for
home,” said Alex, happily.

“And all the fun and excitement of the city,”
sighed Clay, blissfully.

“And the news stand for me and Abe,” Ike declared.
“Maybe, when Abe picks up the business
good, I set him up in a little stand for himself.”

As for Abe, he had nothing to say. He was content
to follow fadder. Never in his whole young
life had he ever been so kindly treated as since when
fadder had bought him from his uncle.

At last the long cold spell broke and they awoke
one morning to find the thermometer at twenty degrees
below—warm weather for the Yukon.

With the break of the cold spell, the days flew
past with flying footsteps, for there was always
something to pass the time out in the bracing cold of the
gradually lengthening days. There were snow shoe
races and even dog racing, in which the Yukon Kid’s
team was always beaten, much to Kid’s disgust. But
most entertaining of all was the search for the
treasure which the boys all firmly believed in, though the
Kid only smiled at their fruitless efforts. “Go to it,”
he advised them. “It keeps you busy and makes the
time pass quicker,” and go to it they did with all
their youthful ardor. First they cleaned out the
snow heaps in the lonely cabin, but found nothing
to reward their search but a few pitiful battered
cooking utensils and a scanty store of food. But
they built a fire in the cabin and with shovels heated
over it, dug up the frozen ground inside in search
of concealed riches. In the center of the shore of the
cove, they sank a prospect hole, keeping a fire going
all the time, except when they raked it to one side
to remove the thawed-out earth. In time they
reached bed rock and tested thoroughly the pile of
dirt they had accumulated, only to find that not a
trace of color appeared in the pans.

While they had worked a change had slowly been
taking place around them. The air had been growing
sensibly warmer and the heat of the sun was
gradually making itself felt. The snow was slowly melting
from the knolls and forming tiny rivulets that
trickled their way down to the river. Spring was at
hand.

It was after the failure of the prospect hole they
had sunk, that they all gathered together on the
*Rambler’s* deck one noon for a little after dinner
chat.

“Well, I expect we might as well give up looking
for the treasure,” said Alex, disconsolately. “We
have done all we can.”

“Yes,” agreed the Yukon Kid, “there’s nothing to
it but the excitement of looking and finding nothing.
Well, boys, I’ve spent a good time with you, but I’ve
got to be going soon. Just step out here and listen.”
He led the way out on the ice and motioned for them
to be silent. Faintly there came to their ears the soft
murmur of running water under their feet. “That’s
Father Yukon waking up from his long sleep,” said
the Kid, gravely. “It means that I must be on my
way or I will not reach St. Michael’s before the ice
breaks up. I guess you’ll get there not many days
after me for when the ice goes out in the Yukon it
goes out in a hurry.”

“Mr. Kid,” said Ike, who had been chosen spokesman
for the boys in what was to follow. “Mr. Kid,
you have been very good to us and more than once
you have saved the life, maybe, of some of us, and
so we want to give you a little gift, not to repay you
for the good things you have done for us, you understand,
but just a little gift to show that we don’t
forget them good deeds. We want you to kindly
accept Buck and his family. We want to feel that we
have left Buck with a good, kind master too. That
Buck is a good dog, almost as good as Captain Joe.”

The Kid’s eyes shone with delight at the thought
of being possessor of such a glorious team, but he
protested earnestly. “I have not done anything to
merit such a gift. Maybe I helped you out a mite
that first day at Nome, but it wasn’t any trouble to
me. Sizes up to me that each of you has done his
part nobly and loyally just like links in a chain. You
or the most of you, would have pulled through all
right even if I hadn’t happened to come across you
when I did.” He hastened a second before he went
on. “It seems to me if there’s any link that shows up
a little larger than the rest, it’s this little chap here,”
patting Ike’s shoulder. “He was willing to give
himself up to torture that the rest of you might live.
I reckon, though, that any one of you would have
done the same in his place.”

Alex was twisting and shuffling in embarrassment
over this display of sentiment.

“There’s one thing we must do before we leave,”
he interrupted. “We must climb that mountain. We
haven’t climbed a mountain on this whole trip. I’ll
dare the lot of you to climb it clear to the top with
me.

Clay looked up at the great mountain wet and
slippery from the melting snows of its summit.
“None of it in mine,” he said decidedly.

Ike regarded the monster thoughtfully. “I’m a
family man,” he declared. “What would become of
Abe if he loses his fadder?”

“It’s all right to take risks when one has to,”
growled Case, “but it’s blamed foolishness to do so
just on a dare.”

“All right, you babies,” jeered Alex. “If you’re
’fraid to come. I’ll climb up alone.”

“I’ll go with you,” shouted the Yukon Kid, “just
wait a minute will you?” for Alex was already moving
for the mountain’s base. “He won’t get up fifty
feet,” he confided to the others. “I will take a
rope from the sled here and try to keep him from a
nasty fall.”

“He can climb like a monkey,” said Clay, doubtfully,
“and for all he acts so reckless sometimes he’s
got a pretty cool head when he really gets into a
tight place. If you don’t want a long climb, don’t try
to follow him, for he will not stop at a hundred feet
unless that mountain’s so slippery that a fly can’t
cling to the side of it.”

“Then he’ll find me right beside him,” said the Kid
confidently, as he wound the rope around his waist
and hastened after Alex, who was already at the
mountain’s base.

Alex was going about his undertaking cautiously,
for he knew he would be subjected to ridicule by his
companions if he failed at the very start. He skirted
the mountain’s base watching for a likely place to
make a start, but finding only bare, smooth, almost
perpendicular walls extending upward some fifty
or seventy-five feet. Up beyond this smooth base he
could see many knobs and little ledges sticking out
which promised fair climbing once the intervening
space was overcome. It was not until he had nearly
reached the little cabin in the cove, that he came upon
that for which he was searching, a place where
the smooth wall had crumbled down into the sea,
leaving in its wake an incline that seemed to offer
a chance to reach the easier climbing above. Up the
slight incline Alex scrambled like a monkey with the
Kid close at his heels. When about five hundred feet
up he stopped and sat down to blow and rest a bit.

“Say, don’t this look like queer mountain climbing
to you?” he demanded of the Kid, resting beside
him.

“How so, in what way?” the Kid inquired.

“It’s just like going upstairs,” explained Alex.
“There’s holes just in the very spots where you want
to put your hands or feet. Funny, isn’t it?”

The Kid stood up on the ledge and peered up at
the holes above him. “Whew,” he whistled. “They
haven’t just happened there; why, boy, most of them
have been made by a pick axe.”

“I know it,” said Alex, his face aglow. “Kid, I
believe we’re on the trail of that treasure.”

.. vspace:: 4

.. _`GOOD-BYE`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XXIV

.. class:: center medium

   GOOD-BYE

.. vspace:: 2

There was no more thought of resting for the excited
two. Up they climbed for another seven hundred
feet to where the pick holes suddenly ended
and they stood upon a ledge of rock which seemed
to extend clear across the front of the mountain.
The two looked about them with some disappointment.
They did not know just what they had expected
to find, but here there was nothing in sight but
the ledge and the mountain towering above their
heads.

“This is what I took for grass from the ground,”
said Alex, pointing to the green belt that girdled the
mountain side close to where they stood.

“Don’t look as pretty and fresh as it did from
below,” commented the Kid. “Let’s mark the spot
here where we came up so that we will not miss the
place when we go down. Then let’s mosey along
this ledge and see what we can find. Surely no man
would be crazy enough to cut all those holes for
nothing.”

They piled up a loose heap of stones where they
had ascended, then they followed up the ledge,
closely examining the mountain’s face and the rocks and
quartz at their feet.

“Great cats,” cried the Kid suddenly. He had
stopped in front of some curious markings on the
green-hued mountain wall, and stood staring at
them with amazement on his face.

“What is it?” demanded Alex, excitedly.

“Location notices of mining claims on the face of
a mountain,” said the Kid, bewildered. “Two of
them.” Reckon Ike’s uncle took up one of the claims
for Ike and the other for himself. The old gentleman
sure was queer in the head just as I thought
Why, he could have claimed the whole mountain if
he had wanted to. I don’t believe any one would
have objected. “Well, let’s scratch our names up to
just keep the old man’s company.” He dug into
the rock with his sheaf knife and a bit came off in
his hands. The Kid gazed on it with frank amazement.
He moved along further and pried out another
chunk. He repeated this operation a dozen
times, heedless of Alex’s questions, the look of
amazement on his face constantly growing. The last
lump he picked out was as big as a man’s fist and
he held it up silently for Alex to see. Under its
outside coating of green it showed a dull reddish
brown.

“What is it?” Alex demanded, impressed by his
companion’s manner.

“Son,” said the Kid solemnly. “Just cast your eye
along that broad green belt and you’ll see something
unknown in the whole history of mining—an outcrop
of copper, pure copper, millions upon millions of
dollars’ worth of it standing out in plain sight. I have
got to think it over. Let’s mark up a claim for each
of our party and get back to camp. I’ve got to get
alone for a while and think this over.”

In a few minutes the claims were marked and the
two clambered down the mountain to find their
companions getting anxious over their long absence.

While Alex was telling his excited chums of the
wonderful discovery, the Kid walked off by himself
buried in thought, nor did he return until dark. Over
the supper table he laid his conclusion before them.

“It’s big—the biggest thing that has ever happened
on the Yukon. It’s too big for us to handle.
It needs wharfs, staging, elevators, ships and a whole
lot of other things. Likely a million dollars will
have to be spent before the first load of copper can
be got out of that mountain. Now our claims will
not cover one-tenth of that copper belt, and my plan
would be to get down to Nome as quick as I could
and file our claims on the records. Then, pick out
a few old timers I could trust and have them file
claims on the balance of the belt, and then all combine
to sell out to some big concern that has got the
money to get out the goods. I’m sorry,” he said,
regretfully, “but you boys will not get your money at
once. You can take up a claim at eighteen years of
age but you can’t sell until you’re twenty-one. If
you care to trust me, however, I’ll see that your
assessment work is kept up and your claims fully
protected. Three years is not a long time to wait and
you’ll all be rich men before you know it.”

It was a little disappointing to the boys to find
that they were not to get the money for their claims
immediately, but Clay’s reply gave them food for
thought.

“I like that idea of not getting our money until
we are twenty-one,” he said. “We are too young
yet for wealth. It would likely turn our heads and
make fools of us.”

Next morning the Yukon Kid started before day,
with the two teams of dogs, for Nome, and a week
later the river, clear of ice, the *Rambler* drove down
to St. Michael’s to be hoisted aboard the self-same
vessel the boys had come upon.

Did they get back home all right? Of course they
did; *Rambler*, Captain Joe, Abe and all the rest.

And say, wasn’t it fine that Ike sold that cargo of
furs in Seattle for $12,000, $2,000 more than they
hoped to get, you’ll remember.

I believe, boys, if you could just stroll out on
the little pier in the South Branch some evening and
listen softly at the *Rambler’s* window, you’d hear
those boys—yes, those self-same boys—planning another
long trip.

We hope they won’t forget to send us an account
of the trip if they so decide. Until that time arrives
we will say good-bye.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: center

   THE END

.. pgfooter::