The Men of Forty Mile
When Big Jim Belden ventured theapparently innocuous proposition that mush-ice was 'ratherpecooliar,' he little dreamed of what it would lead to.Neither did Lon McFane, when he affirmed that anchor-ice was evenmore so; nor did Bettles, as he instantly disagreed, declaringthe very existence of such a form to be a bugaboo.'An' ye'd be tellin' me this,' cried Lon, 'after the years ye'vespint in the land! An' we atin' out the same pot this many's theday!' 'But the thing's agin reasin,' insisted Bettles.'Look you, water's warmer than ice-' 'An' little the difference,once ye break through.''Still it's warmer, because it ain't froze. An' you say itfreezes on the bottom?' 'Only the anchor-ice, David, only theanchor-ice. An' have ye niver drifted along, the water clear asglass, whin suddin, belike a cloud over the sun, the mushy-icecomes bubblin' up an' up till from bank to bank an' bind to bindit's drapin' the river like a first snowfall?' 'Unh, hunh! more'nonce when I took a doze at the steering-oar. But it allus comeout the nighest side-channel, an' not bubblin' up an' up.' 'Butwith niver a wink at the helm?''No; nor you. It's agin reason. I'll leave it to any man!'Bettles appealed to the circle about the stove, but the fight wason between himself and Lon McFane.'Reason or no reason, it's the truth I'm tellin' ye. Last fall, ayear gone, 'twas Sitka Charley and meself saw the sight, droppin'down the riffle ye'll remember below Fort Reliance. An' regularfall weather it was--the glint o' the sun on the golden larch an'the quakin' aspens; an' the glister of light on ivery ripple; an'beyand, the winter an' the blue haze of the North comin' downhand in hand. It's well ye know the same, with a fringe to theriver an' the ice formin' thick in the eddies--an' a snap an'sparkle to the air, an' ye a- feelin' it through all yer blood,atakin' new lease of life with ivery suck of it. 'Tis then, meboy, the world grows small an' the wandtherlust lays ye by theheels.'But it's meself as wandthers. As I was sayin', we a-paddlin',with niver a sign of ice, barrin' that by the eddies, when theInjun lifts his paddle an' sings out, "Lon McFane!Look ye below!" So have I heard, but niver thought to see! As yeknow, Sitka Charley, like meself, niver drew first breath in theland; so the sight was new. Then we drifted, with a head overayther side, peerin' down through the sparkly water. For theworld like the days I spint with the pearlers, watchin' the coralbanks a-growin' the same as so many gardens under the sea.There it was, the anchor-ice, clingin' an' clusterin' to iveryrock, after the manner of the white coral.'But the best of the sight was to come. Just after clearin' thetail of the riffle, the water turns quick the color of milk, an'the top of it in wee circles, as when the graylin' rise in thespring, or there's a splatter of wet from the sky. 'Twas theanchor-ice comin' up. To the right, to the lift, as far as iver aman cud see, the water was covered with the same.An' like so much porridge it was, slickin' along the bark of thecanoe, stickin' like glue to the paddles. It's many's the time Ishot the self-same riffle before, and it's many's the time after,but niver a wink of the same have I seen. 'Twas the sight of alifetime.' 'Do tell!' dryly commented Bettles. 'D'ye think I'db'lieve such a yarn? I'd ruther say the glister of light'd goneto your eyes, and the snap of the air to your tongue.' ''Twas meown eyes that beheld it, an' if Sitka Charley was here, he'd bethe lad to back me.' 'But facts is facts, an' they ain't nogettin' round 'em. It ain't in the nature of things for thewater furtherest away from the air to freeze first.' 'But me owneyes-' 'Don't git het up over it,' admonished Bettles, as thequick Celtic anger began to mount.'Then yer not after belavin' me?' 'Sence you're so blamedforehanded about it, no; I'd b'lieve nature first, and facts.''Is it the lie ye'd be givin' me?' threatened Lon. 'Ye'd betterbe askin' that Siwash wife of yours. I'll lave it to her, for thetruth I spake.' Bettles flared up in sudden wrath. The Irishmanhad unwittingly wounded him; for his wife was the half-breeddaughter of a Russian fur-trader, married to him in the GreekMission of Nulato, a thousand miles or so down the Yukon, thusbeing of much higher caste than the common Siwash, or native,wife. It was a mere Northland nuance, which none but theNorthland adventurer may understand.'I reckon you kin take it that way,' was his deliberateaffirmation.The next instant Lon McFane had stretched him on the floor, thecircle was broken up, and half a dozen men had stepped between.Bettles came to his feet, wiping the blood from his mouth. 'Ithain't new, this takin' and payin' of blows, and don't you neverthink but that this will be squared.' 'An' niver in me life did Itake the lie from mortal man,' was the retort courteous. 'An'it's an avil day I'll not be to hand, waitin' an' willin' to helpye lift yer debts, barrin' no manner of way.''Still got that 38-55?' Lon nodded.'But you'd better git a more likely caliber. Mine'll rip holesthrough you the size of walnuts.''Niver fear; it's me own slugs smell their way with soft noses,an' they'll spread like flapjacks against the coming out beyand.An' when'll I have the pleasure of waitin' on ye? The waterhole'sa strikin' locality.' ''Tain't bad. Jest be there in an hour, andyou won't set long on my coming.' Both men mittened and left thePost, their ears closed to the remonstrances of their comrades.It was such a little thing; yet with such men, little things,nourished by quick tempers and stubborn natures, soon blossomedinto big things.Besides, the art of burning to bedrock still lay in the womb ofthe future, and the men of Forty-Mile, shut in by the long Arcticwinter, grew high-stomached with overeating and enforcedidleness, and became as irritable as do the bees in the fall ofthe year when the hives are overstocked with honey.There was no law in the land. The mounted police was also a thingof the future. Each man measured an offense, and meted out thepunishment inasmuch as it affected himself.Rarely had combined action been necessary, and never in all thedreary history of the camp had the eighth article of theDecalogue been violated.Big Jim Belden called an impromptu meeting. Scruff Mackenzie wasplaced as temporary chairman, and a messenger dispatched tosolicit Father Roubeau's good offices. Their position wasparadoxical, and they knew it. By the right of might could theyinterfere to prevent the duel; yet such action, while in directline with their wishes, went counter to their opinions. Whiletheir rough-hewn, obsolete ethics recognized the individualprerogative of wiping out blow with blow, they could not bear tothink of two good comrades, such as Bettles and McFane, meetingin deadly battle. Deeming the man who would not fight onprovocation a dastard, when brought to the test it seemed wrongthat he should fight.But a scurry of moccasins and loud cries, rounded off with apistol-shot, interrupted the discussion. Then the storm-doorsopened and Malemute Kid entered, a smoking Colt's in his hand,and a merry light in his eye.'I got him.' He replaced the empty shell, and added, 'Your dog,Scruff.' 'Yellow Fang?'Mackenzie asked.'No; the lop-eared one.' 'The devil! Nothing the matter withhim.' 'Come out and take a look.' 'That's all right after all.Buess he's got 'em, too. Yellow Fang came back this morning andtook a chunk out of him, and came near to making a widower of me.Made a rush for Zarinska, but she whisked her skirts in his faceand escaped with the loss of the same and a good roll in thesnow. Then he took to the woods again.Hope he don't come back. Lost any yourself?' 'One--the best oneof the pack--Shookum.Started amuck this morning, but didn't get very far. Ran foul ofSitka Charley's team, and they scattered him all over the street.And now two of them are loose, and raging mad; so you see he gothis work in. The dog census will be small in the spring if wedon't do something.''And the man census, too.' 'How's that? Who's in trouble now?''Oh, Bettles and Lon McFane had an argument, and they'll be downby the waterhole in a few minutes to settle it.' The incident wasrepeated for his benefit, and Malemute Kid, accustomed to anobedience which his fellow men never failed to render, tookcharge of the affair. His quickly formulated plan was explained,and they promised to follow his lead implicitly.'So you see,' he concluded, 'we do not actually take away theirprivilege of fighting; and yet I don't believe they'll fight whenthey see the beauty of the scheme. Life's a game and men thegamblers. They'll stake their whole pile on the one chance in athousand.Take away that one chance, and--they won't play.' He turned tothe man in charge of the Post. 'Storekeeper, weight out threefathoms of your best half-inch manila.'We'll establish a precedent which will last the men ofForty-Mile to the end of time,' he prophesied. Then he coiled therope about his arm and led his followers out of doors, just intime to meet the principals.'What danged right'd he to fetch my wife in?' thundered Bettlesto the soothing overtures of a friend. ''Twa'n't called for,' heconcluded decisively. ''Twa'n't called for,' he reiterated againand again, pacing up and down and waiting for Lon McFane.And Lon McFane--his face was hot and tongue rapid as he flauntedinsurrection in the face of the Church. 'Then, father,' he cried,'it's with an aisy heart I'll roll in me flamy blankets, thebroad of me back on a bed of coals. Niver shall it be said thatLon McFane took a lie 'twixt the teeth without iver liftin' ahand! An' I'll not ask a blessin'. The years have been wild, butit's the heart was in the right place.' 'But it's not the heart,Lon,'interposed Father Roubeau; 'It's pride that bids you forth toslay your fellow man.' 'Yer Frinch,' Lon replied. And then,turning to leave him, 'An' will ye say a mass if the luck isagainst me?' But the priest smiled, thrust his moccasined feet tothe fore, and went out upon the white breast of the silent river.A packed trail, the width of a sixteeninch sled, led out to thewaterhole. On either side lay the deep, soft snow. The men trodin single file, without conversation; and the black-stoled priestin their midst gave to the function the solemn aspect of afuneral. It was a warm winter's day for Forty-Mile--a day inwhich the sky, filled with heaviness, drew closer to the earth,and the mercury sought the unwonted level of twenty below. Butthere was no cheer in the warmth. There was little air in theupper strata, and the clouds hung motionless, giving sullenpromise of an early snowfall. And the earth, unresponsive, madeno preparation, content in its hibernation.When the waterhole was reached, Bettles, having evidentlyreviewed the quarrel during the silent walk, burst out in a final''Twa'n't called for,' while Lon McFane kept grim silence.Indignation so choked him that he could not speak.Yet deep down, whenever their own wrongs were not uppermost, bothmen wondered at their comrades. They had expected opposition, andthis tacit acquiescence hurt them. It seemed more was due themfrom the men they had been so close with, and they felt a vaguesense of wrong, rebelling at the thought of so many of theirbrothers coming out, as on a gala occasion, without one word ofprotest, to see them shoot each other down. It appeared theirworth had diminished in the eyes of the community. Theproceedings puzzled them.'Back to back, David. An' will it be fifty paces to the man, ordouble the quantity?''Fifty,' was the sanguinary reply, grunted out, yet sharply cut.But the new manila, not prominently displayed, but casuallycoiled about Malemute Kid's arm, caught the quick eye of theIrishman, and thrilled him with a suspicious fear.'An' what are ye doin' with the rope?' 'Hurry up!' Malemute Kidglanced at his watch.'I've a batch of bread in the cabin, and I don't want it to fall.Besides, my feet are getting cold.' The rest of the menmanifested their impatience in various suggestive ways.'But the rope, Kid' It's bran' new, an' sure yer bread's not thatheavy it needs raisin' with the like of that?' Bettles by thistime had faced around. Father Roubeau, the humor of the situationjust dawning on him, hid a smile behind his mittened hand.'No, Lon; this rope was made for a man.' Malemute Kid could bevery impressive on occasion.'What man?' Bettles was becoming aware of a personal interest.'The other man.' 'An' which is the one ye'd mane by that?''Listen, Lon--and you, too, Bettles! We've been talking thislittle trouble of yours over, and we've come to one conclusion.We know we have no right to stop your fighting-' 'True for ye, melad!' 'And we're not going to. But this much we can do, and shalldo--make this the only duel in the history of Forty-Mile, set anexample for every che-cha-qua that comes up or down the Yukon.The man who escapes killing shall be hanged to the nearest tree.Now, go ahead!'Lon smiled dubiously, then his face lighted up. 'Pace her off,David--fifty paces, wheel, an' niver a cease firin' till a lad'sdown for good. 'Tis their hearts'll niver let them do the deed,an' it's well ye should know it for a true Yankee bluff.'He started off with a pleased grin on his face, but Malemute Kidhalted him.'Lon! It's a long while since you first knew me?' 'Many's theday.' 'And you, Bettles?''Five year next June high water.' 'And have you once, in all thattime, known me to break my word' Or heard of me breaking it?'Both men shook their heads, striving to fathom what lay beyond.'Well, then, what do you think of a promise made by me?' 'As goodas your bond,' from Bettles.'The thing to safely sling yer hopes of heaven by,' promptlyendorsed Lon McFane.'Listen! I, Malemute Kid, give you my word--and you know whatthat meansthat the man who is not shot stretches rope within tenminutes after the shooting.' He stepped back as Pilate mighthave done after washing his hands.A pause and a silence came over the men of Forty-Mile. The skydrew still closer, sending down a crystal flight of frost--littlegeometric designs, perfect, evanescent as a breath, yet destinedto exist till the returning sun had covered half its northernjourney.Both men had led forlorn hopes in their time--led with a curse ora jest on their tongues, and in their souls an unswerving faithin the God of Chance. But that merciful deity had been shut outfrom the present deal. They studied the face of Malemute Kid, butthey studied as one might the Sphinx. As the quiet minutespassed, a feeling that speech was incumbent on them began togrow. At last the howl of a wolf-dog cracked the silence from thedirection of Forty-Mile. The weird sound swelled with all thepathos of a breaking heart, then died away in a long-drawn sob.'Well I be danged!' Bettles turned up the collar of his mackinawjacket and stared about him helplessly.'It's a gloryus game yer runnin', Kid,' cried Lon McFane. 'Allthe percentage of the house an' niver a bit to the man that'sbuckin'. The Devil himself'd niver tackle such a cinch--anddamned if I do.' There were chuckles, throttled in gurglingthroats, and winks brushed away with the frost which rimed theeyelashes, as the men climbed the ice- notched bank and startedacross the street to the Post. But the long howl had drawnnearer, invested with a new note of menace. A woman screamedround the corner. There was a cry of, 'Here he comes!' Then anIndian boy, at the head of half a dozen frightened dogs, racingwith death, dashed into the crowd. And behind came Yellow Fang, abristle of hair and a flash of gray. Everybody but the Yankeefled.The Indian boy had tripped and fallen. Bettles stopped longenough to grip him by the slack of his furs, then headed for apile of cordwood already occupied by a number of his comrades.Yellow Fang, doubling after one of the dogs, came leaping back.The fleeing animal, free of the rabies, but crazed with fright,whipped Bettles off his feet and flashed on up the street.Malemute Kid took a flying shot at Yellow Fang. The mad dogwhirled a half airspring, came down on his back, then, with asingle leap, covered half the distance between himself andBettles.But the fatal spring was intercepted. Lon McFane leaped from thewoodpile, countering him in midair. Over they rolled, Lon holdinghim by the throat at arm's length, blinking under the fetidslaver which sprayed his face. Then Bettles, revolver in hand andcoolly waiting a chance, settled the combat.''Twas a square game, Kid,' Lon remarked, rising to his feet andshaking the snow from out his sleeves; 'with a fair percentage tomeself that bucked it.' That night, while Lon McFane sought theforgiving arms of the Church in the direction of Father Roubeau'scabin, Malemute Kid talked long to little purpose.'But would you,' persisted Mackenzie, 'supposing they hadfought?' 'Have I ever broken my word?' 'No; but that isn't thepoint. Answer the question. Would you?' Malemute Kidstraightened up. 'Scruff, I've been asking myself that questionever since, and-''Well?' 'Well, as yet, I haven't found the answer.'
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