The Wife of a King
Once when the northland was very young, thesocial and civic virtues were remarkably alike for their paucityand their simplicity. When the burden of domestic duties grewgrievous, and the fireside mood expanded to a constant protestagainst its bleak loneliness, the adventurers from the Southland,in lieu of better, paid the stipulated prices and took untothemselves native wives. It was a foretaste of Paradise to thewomen, for it must be confessed that the white rovers gave farbetter care and treatment of them than did their Indiancopartners. Of course, the white men themselves were satisfiedwith such deals, as were also the Indian men for that matter.Having sold their daughters and sisters for cotton blankets andobsolete rifles and traded their warm furs for flimsy calico andbad whisky, the sons of the soil promptly and cheerfullysuccumbed to quick consumption and other swift diseasescorrelated with the blessings of a superior civilization.It was in these days of Arcadian simplicity that Cal Galbraithjourneyed through the land and fell sick on the Lower River. Itwas a refreshing advent in the lives of the good Sisters of theHoly Cross, who gave him shelter and medicine; though they littledreamed of the hot elixir infused into his veins by the touch oftheir soft hands and their gentle ministrations. Cal Galbraith,became troubled with strange thoughts which clamored forattention till he laid eyes on the Mission girl, Madeline. Yet hegave no sign, biding his time patiently. He strengthened with thecoming spring, and when the sun rode the heavens in a goldencircle, and the joy and throb of life was in all the land, hegathered his still weak body together and departed.Now, Madeline, the Mission girl, was an orphan. Her white fatherhad failed to give a bald-faced grizzly the trail one day, andhad died quickly. Then her Indian mother, having no man to fillthe winter cache, had tried the hazardous experiment of waitingtill the salmon-run on fifty pounds of flour and half as many ofbacon. After that, the baby, Chook-ra, went to live with the goodSisters, and to be thenceforth known by another name.But Madeline still had kinsfolk, the nearest being a dissoluteuncle who outraged his vitals with inordinate quantities of thewhite man's whisky. He strove daily to walk with the gods, andincidentally, his feet sought shorter trails to the grave. Whensober he suffered exquisite torture. He had no conscience. Tothis ancient vagabond Cal Galbraith duly presented himself, andthey consumed many words and much tobacco in the conversationthat followed. Promises were also made; and in the end the oldheathen took a few pounds of dried salmon and his birch-barkcanoe, and paddled away to the Mission of the Holy Cross.It is not given the world to know what promises he made and whatlies he toldthe Sisters never gossip; but when he returned, uponhis swarthy chest there was a brass crucifix, and in his canoehis niece Madeline. That night there was a grand wedding and apotlach; so that for two days to follow there was no fishing doneby the village. But in the morning Madeline shook the dust of theLower River from her moccasins, and with her husband, in apoling-boat, went to live on the Upper River in a place known asthe Lower Country. And in the years which followed she was a goodwife, sharing her husband's hardships and cooking his food. Andshe kept him in straight trails, till he learned to save his dustand to work mightily. In the end, he struck it rich and built acabin in Circle City; and his happiness was such that men whocame to visit him in his home-circle became restless at the sightof it and envied him greatly.But the Northland began to mature and social amenities to maketheir appearance.Hitherto, the Southland had sent forth its sons; but it nowbelched forth a new exodus- this time of its daughters. Sistersand wives they were not; but they did not fail to put new ideasin the heads of the men, and to elevate the tone of things inways peculiarly their own. No more did the squaws gather at thedances, go roaring down the center in the good, old Virginiareels, or make merry with jolly 'Dan Tucker.' They fell back ontheir natural stoicism and uncomplainingly watched the rule oftheir white sisters from their cabins.Then another exodus came over the mountains from the prolificSouthland.This time it was of women that became mighty in the land. Theirword was law; their law was steel. They frowned upon the Indianwives, while the other women became mild and walked humbly. Therewere cowards who became ashamed of their ancient covenants withthe daughters of the soil, who looked with a new distaste upontheir dark-skinned children; but there were also others--men--whoremained true and proud of their aboriginal vows. When it becamethe fashion to divorce the native wives. Cal Galbraith retainedhis manhood, and in so doing felt the heavy hand of the women whohad come last, knew least, but who ruled the land.One day, the Upper Country, which lies far above Circle City, waspronounced rich. Dog- teams carried the news to Salt Water;golden argosies freighted the lure across the North Pacific;wires and cables sang with the tidings; and the world heard forthe first time of the Klondike River and the Yukon Country. CalGalbraith had lived the years quietly. He had been a good husbandto Madeline, and she had blessed him. But somehow discontent fellupon him; he felt vague yearnings for his own kind, for the lifehe had been shut out from--a general sort of desire, which mensometimes feel, to break out and taste the prime of living.Besides, there drifted down the river wild rumors of thewonderful El Dorado, glowing descriptions of the city of logs andtents, and ludicrous accounts of the che-cha- quas who had rushedin and were stampeding the whole country.Circle City was dead. The world had moved on up river and becomea new and most marvelous world.Cal Galbraith grew restless on the edge of things, and wished tosee with his own eyes.So, after the wash-up, he weighed in a couple of hundred poundsof dust on the Company's big scales, and took a draft for thesame on Dawson. Then he put Tom Dixon in charge of his mines,kissed Madeline good-by, promised to be back before the firstmush-ice ran, and took passage on an up-river steamer.Madeline waited, waited through all the three months of daylight.She fed the dogs, gave much of her time to Young Cal, watched theshort summer fade away and the sun begin its long journey to thesouth. And she prayed much in the manner of the Sisters of theHoly Cross. The fall came, and with it there was mush-ice on theYukon, and Circle City kings returning to the winter's work attheir mines, but no Cal Galbraith. Tom Dixon received a letter,however, for his men sledded up her winter's supply of dry pine.The Company received a letter for its dogteams filled her cachewith their best provisions, and she was told that her credit waslimitless.Through all the ages man has been held the chief instigator ofthe woes of woman; but in this case the men held their tonguesand swore harshly at one of their number who was away, while thewomen failed utterly to emulate them. So, without needless delay,Madeline heard strange tales of Cal Galbraith's doings; also, ofa certain Greek dancer who played with men as children did withbubbles. Now Madeline was an Indian woman, and further, she hadno woman friend to whom to go for wise counsel. She prayed andplanned by turns, and that night, being quick of resolve andaction, she harnessed the dogs, and with Young Cal securelylashed to the sled, stole away.Though the Yukon still ran free, the eddy-ice was growing, andeach day saw the river dwindling to a slushy thread. Save him whohas done the like, no man may know what she endured in travelinga hundred miles on the rim-ice; nor may they understand the toiland hardship of breaking the two hundred miles of packed icewhich remained after the river froze for good. But Madeline wasan Indian woman, so she did these things, and one night therecame a knock at Malemute Kid's door. Thereat he fed a team ofstarving dogs, put a healthy youngster to bed, and turned hisattention to an exhausted woman. He removed her iceboundmoccasins while he listened to her tale, and stuck the point ofhis knife into her feet that he might see how far they werefrozen.Despite his tremendous virility, Malemute Kid was possessed of asofter, womanly element, which could win the confidence of asnarling wolf-dog or draw confessions from the most wintry heart.Nor did he seek them. Hearts opened to him as spontaneously asflowers to the sun. Even the priest, Father Roubeau, had beenknown to confess to him, while the men and women of the Northlandwere ever knocking at his door--a door from which thelatch-string hung always out. To Madeline, he could do no wrong,make no mistake. She had known him from the time she first casther lot among the people of her father's race; and to herhalf-barbaric mind it seemed that in him was centered the wisdomof the ages, that between his vision and the future there couldbe no intervening veil.There were false ideals in the land. The social strictures ofDawson were not synonymous with those of the previous era, andthe swift maturity of the Northland involved much wrong. MalemuteKid was aware of this, and he had Cal Galbraith's measureaccurately.He knew a hasty word was the father of much evil; besides, he wasminded to teach a great lesson and bring shame upon the man. SoStanley Prince, the young mining expert, was called into theconference the following night as was also Lucky Jack Harringtonand his violin. That same night, Bettles, who owed a great debtto Malemute Kid, harnessed up Cal Galbraith's dogs, lashed CalGalbraith, Junior, to the sled, and slipped away in the dark forStuart River.II 'So; one--two--three, one--two--three. Now reverse! No, no!Start up again, Jack. See--this way.' Prince executed themovement as one should who has led the cotillion.'Now; one--two--three, one--two--three. Reverse! Ah! that'sbetter. Try it again. I say, you know, you mustn't look at yourfeet. One--two--three, one--twothree. Shorter steps! You are nothanging to the gee-pole just now. Try it over.There! that's the way. One--two--three, one--two--three.' Roundand round went Prince and Madeline in an interminable waltz. Thetable and stools had been shoved over against the wall toincrease the room. Malemute Kid sat on the bunk, chin to knees,greatly interested. Jack Harrington sat beside him, scraping awayon his violin and following the dancers.It was a unique situation, the undertaking of these three menwith the woman.The most pathetic part, perhaps, was the businesslike way inwhich they went about it.No athlete was ever trained more rigidly for a coming contest,nor wolf-dog for the harness, than was she. But they had goodmaterial, for Madeline, unlike most women of her race, in herchildhood had escaped the carrying of heavy burdens and the toilof the trail. Besides, she was a clean-limbed, willowy creature,possessed of much grace which had not hitherto been realized. Itwas this grace which the men strove to bring out and knock intoshape.'Trouble with her she learned to dance all wrong,' Princeremarked to the bunk after having deposited his breathless pupilon the table. 'She's quick at picking up; yet I could do betterhad she never danced a step. But say, Kid, I can't understandthis.' Prince imitated a peculiar movement of the shoulders andhead--a weakness Madeline suffered from in walking.'Lucky for her she was raised in the Mission,' Malemute Kidanswered. 'Packing, you know,--the head-strap. Other Indian womenhave it bad, but she didn't do any packing till after shemarried, and then only at first. Saw hard lines with that husbandof hers. They went through the Forty-Mile famine together.' 'Butcan we break it?' 'Don't know.Perhaps long walks with her trainers will make the riffle.Anyway, they'll take it out some, won't they, Madeline?' The girlnodded assent. If Malemute Kid, who knew all things, said so, whyit was so. That was all there was about it.She had come over to them, anxious to begin again. Harringtonsurveyed her in quest of her points much in the same manner menusually do horses. It certainly was not disappointing, for heasked with sudden interest, 'What did that beggarly uncle ofyours get anyway?' 'One rifle, one blanket, twenty bottles ofhooch. Rifle broke.' She said this last scornfully, as thoughdisgusted at how low her maiden-value had been rated.She spoke fair English, with many peculiarities of her husband'sspeech, but there was still perceptible the Indian accent, thetraditional groping after strange gutturals. Even this herinstructors had taken in hand, and with no small success, too.At the next intermission, Prince discovered a new predicament.'I say, Kid,' he said, 'we're wrong, all wrong. She can't learnin moccasins.Put her feet into slippers, and then onto that waxedfloor--phew!' Madeline raised a foot and regarded her shapelesshouse-moccasins dubiously. In previous winters, both at CircleCity and Forty-Mile, she had danced many a night away withsimilar footgear, and there had been nothing the matter.But now--well, if there was anything wrong it was for MalemuteKid to know, not her.But Malemute Kid did know, and he had a good eye for measures; sohe put on his cap and mittens and went down the hill to pay Mrs.Eppingwell a call. Her husband, Clove Eppingwell, was prominentin the community as one of the great Government officials.The Kid had noted her slender little foot one night, at theGovernor's Ball. And as he also knew her to be as sensible as shewas pretty, it was no task to ask of her a certain small favor.On his return, Madeline withdrew for a moment to the inner room.When she reappeared Prince was startled.'By Jove!' he gasped. 'Who'd a' thought it! The little witch! Whymy sister-' 'Is an English girl,' interrupted Malemute Kid, 'withan English foot. This girl comes of a small-footed race.Moccasins just broadened her feet healthily, while she did notmisshape them by running with the dogs in her childhood.' Butthis explanation failed utterly to allay Prince's admiration.Harrington's commercial instinct was touched, and as he lookedupon the exquisitely turned foot and ankle, there ran through hismind the sordid list--'One rifle, one blanket, twenty bottles ofhooch.' Madeline was the wife of a king, a king whose yellowtreasure could buy outright a score of fashion's puppets; yet inall her life her feet had known no gear save red-tannedmoosehide. At first she had looked in awe at the tiny white-satinslippers; but she had quickly understood the admiration whichshone, manlike, in the eyes of the men. Her face flushed withpride. For the moment she was drunken with her woman'sloveliness; then she murmured, with increased scorn, 'And onerifle, broke!' So the training went on. Every day Malemute Kidled the girl out on long walks devoted to the correction of hercarriage and the shortening of her stride.There was little likelihood of her identity being discovered, forCal Galbraith and the rest of the Old-Timers were like lostchildren among the many strangers who had rushed into the land.Besides, the frost of the North has a bitter tongue, and thetender women of the South, to shield their cheeks from its bitingcaresses, were prone to the use of canvas masks. With facesobscured and bodies lost in squirrel-skin parkas, a mother anddaughter, meeting on trail, would pass as strangers.The coaching progressed rapidly. At first it had been slow, butlater a sudden acceleration had manifested itself. This beganfrom the moment Madeline tried on the white-satin slippers, andin so doing found herself. The pride of her renegade father,apart from any natural self-esteem she might possess, at thatinstant received its birth. Hitherto, she had deemed herself awoman of an alien breed, of inferior stock, purchased by herlord's favor. Her husband had seemed to her a god, who had liftedher, through no essential virtues on her part, to his own godlikelevel. But she had never forgotten, even when Young Cal was born,that she was not of his people. As he had been a god, so had hiswomenkind been goddesses. She might have contrasted herself withthem, but she had never compared.It might have been that familiarity bred contempt; however, bethat as it may, she had ultimately come to understand theseroving white men, and to weigh them.True, her mind was dark to deliberate analysis, but she yetpossessed her woman's clarity of vision in such matters. On thenight of the slippers she had measured the bold, open admirationof her three man-friends; and for the first time comparison hadsuggested itself. It was only a foot and an ankle, but--butcomparison could not, in the nature of things, cease at thatpoint. She judged herself by their standards till the divinity ofher white sisters was shattered. After all, they were only women,and why should she not exalt herself to their midst? In doingthese things she learned where she lacked and with the knowledgeof her weakness came her strength. And so mightily did she strivethat her three trainers often marveled late into the night overthe eternal mystery of woman.In this way Thanksgiving Night drew near. At irregular intervalsBettles sent word down from Stuart River regarding the welfare ofYoung Cal. The time of their return was approaching. More thanonce a casual caller, hearing dance-music and the rhythmic pulseof feet, entered, only to find Harrington scraping away and theother two beating time or arguing noisily over a mooted step.Madeline was never in evidence, having precipitately fled to theinner room.On one of these nights Cal Galbraith dropped in. Encouraging newshad just come down from Stuart River, and Madeline had surpassedherself--not in walk alone, and carriage and grace, but inwomanly roguishness. They had indulged in sharp repartee and shehad defended herself brilliantly; and then, yielding to theintoxication of the moment, and of her own power, she hadbullied, and mastered, and wheedled, and patronized them withmost astonishing success. And instinctively, involuntarily, theyhad bowed, not to her beauty, her wisdom, her wit, but to thatindefinable something in woman to which man yields yet cannotname.The room was dizzy with sheer delight as she and Prince whirledthrough the last dance of the evening. Harrington was throwing ininconceivable flourishes, while Malemute Kid, utterly abandoned,had seized the broom and was executing mad gyrations on his ownaccount.At this instant the door shook with a heavy rap-rap, and theirquick glances noted the lifting of the latch. But they hadsurvived similar situations before. Harrington never broke anote. Madeline shot through the waiting door to the inner room.The broom went hurtling under the bunk, and by the time CalGalbraith and Louis Savoy got their heads in, Malemute Kid andPrince were in each other's arms, wildly schottisching down theroom.As a rule, Indian women do not make a practice of fainting onprovocation, but Madeline came as near to it as she ever had inher life. For an hour she crouched on the floor, listening tothe heavy voices of the men rumbling up and down in mimicthunder. Like familiar chords of childhood melodies, everyintonation, every trick of her husband's voice swept in upon her,fluttering her heart and weakening her knees till she lay half-fainting against the door. It was well she could neither see norhear when he took his departure.'When do you expect to go back to Circle City?' Malemute Kidasked simply.'Haven't thought much about it,' he replied. 'Don't think tillafter the ice breaks.' 'And Madeline?'He flushed at the question, and there was a quick droop to hiseyes. Malemute Kid could have despised him for that, had he knownmen less. As it was, his gorge rose against the wives anddaughters who had come into the land, and not satisfied withusurping the place of the native women, had put unclean thoughtsin the heads of the men and made them ashamed.'I guess she's all right,' the Circle City King answered hastily,and in an apologetic manner. 'Tom Dixon's got charge of myinterests, you know, and he sees to it that she has everythingshe wants.' Malemute Kid laid hand upon his arm and hushed himsuddenly. They had stepped without. Overhead, the aurora, agorgeous wanton, flaunted miracles of color; beneath lay thesleeping town. Far below, a solitary dog gave tongue.The King again began to speak, but the Kid pressed his hand forsilence. The sound multiplied. Dog after dog took up the straintill the full-throated chorus swayed the night.To him who hears for the first time this weird song, is told thefirst and greatest secret of the Northland; to him who has heardit often, it is the solemn knell of lost endeavor. It is theplaint of tortured souls, for in it is invested the heritage ofthe North, the suffering of countless generations--the warningand the requiem to the world's estrays.Cal Galbraith shivered slightly as it died away in half-caughtsobs. The Kid read his thoughts openly, and wandered back withhim through all the weary days of famine and disease; and withhim was also the patient Madeline, sharing his pains and perils,never doubting, never complaining. His mind's retina vibrated toa score of pictures, stern, clear-cut, and the hand of the pastdrew back with heavy fingers on his heart. It was thepsychological moment. Malemute Kid was halftempted to play hisreserve card and win the game; but the lesson was too mild asyet, and he let it pass. The next instant they had gripped hands,and the King's beaded moccasins were drawing protests from theoutraged snow as he crunched down the hill.Madeline in collapse was another woman to the mischievouscreature of an hour before, whose laughter had been so infectiousand whose heightened color and flashing eyes had made herteachers for the while forget. Weak and nerveless, she sat in thechair just as she had been dropped there by Prince andHarrington.Malemute Kid frowned. This would never do. When the time ofmeeting her husband came to hand, she must carry things off withhigh-handed imperiousness. It was very necessary she should do itafter the manner of white women, else the victory would be novictory at all. So he talked to her, sternly, without mincing ofwords, and initiated her into the weaknesses of his own sex, tillshe came to understand what simpletons men were after all, andwhy the word of their women was law.A few days before Thanksgiving Night, Malemute Kid made anothercall on Mrs.Eppingwell. She promptly overhauled her feminine fripperies, paida protracted visit to the dry-goods department of the P. C.Company, and returned with the Kid to make Madeline'sacquaintance. After that came a period such as the cabin hadnever seen before, and what with cutting, and fitting, andbasting, and stitching, and numerous other wonderful andunknowable things, the male conspirators were more often banishedthe premises than not. At such times the Opera House opened itsdouble storm-doors to them.So often did they put their heads together, and so deeply didthey drink to curious toasts, that the loungers scented unknowncreeks of incalculable richness, and it is known that severalchecha-quas and at least one Old-Timer kept their stampedingpacks stored behind the bar, ready to hit the trail at a moment'snotice.Mrs. Eppingwell was a woman of capacity; so, when she turnedMadeline over to her trainers on Thanksgiving Night she was sotransformed that they were almost afraid of her. Prince wrapped aHudson Bay blanket about her with a mock reverence more real thanfeigned, while Malemute Kid, whose arm she had taken, found it asevere trial to resume his wonted mentorship. Harrington, withthe list of purchases still running through his head, draggedalong in the rear, nor opened his mouth once all the way downinto the town. When they came to the back door of the Opera Housethey took the blanket from Madeline's shoulders and spread it onthe snow. Slipping out of Prince's moccasins, she stepped upon itin new satin slippers. The masquerade was at its height. Shehesitated, but they jerked open the door and shoved her in. Thenthey ran around to come in by the front entrance.III 'Where is Freda?' the Old-Timers questioned, while theche-cha-quas were equally energetic in asking who Freda was. Theballroom buzzed with her name.It was on everybody's lips. Grizzled 'sour-dough boys,'day-laborers at the mines but proud of their degree, eitherpatronized the spruce-looking tenderfeet and lied eloquently- the'sour-dough boys' being specially created to toy with truth--orgave them savage looks of indignation because of their ignorance.Perhaps forty kings of the Upper and Lower Countries were on thefloor, each deeming himself hot on the trail and sturdily backinghis judgment with the yellow dust of the realm. An assistant wassent to the man at the scales, upon whom had fallen the burden ofweighing up the sacks, while several of the gamblers, with therules of chance at their finger-ends, made up alluring books onthe field and favorites.Which was Freda? Time and again the 'Greek Dancer' was thought tohave been discovered, but each discovery brought panic to thebetting ring and a frantic registering of new wagers by those whowished to hedge. Malemute Kid took an interest in the hunt, hisadvent being hailed uproariously by the revelers, who knew him toa man. The Kid had a good eye for the trick of a step, and earfor the lilt of a voice, and his private choice was a marvelouscreature who scintillated as the 'Aurora Borealis.' But the Greekdancer was too subtle for even his penetration. The majority ofthe gold-hunters seemed to have centered their verdict on the'Russian Princess,' who was the most graceful in the room, andhence could be no other than Freda Moloof.During a quadrille a roar of satisfaction went up. She wasdiscovered. At previous balls, in the figure, 'all hands round,'Freda had displayed an inimitable step and variation peculiarlyher own. As the figure was called, the 'Russian Princess' gavethe unique rhythm to limb and body. A chorus of I-told-you-so'sshook the squared roof-beams, when lo! it was noticed that'Aurora Borealis' and another masque, the 'Spirit of the Pole,'were performing the same trick equally well. And when two twin'Sun-Dogs' and a 'Frost Queen' followed suit, a second assistantwas dispatched to the aid of the man at the scales.Bettles came off trail in the midst of the excitement, descendingupon them in a hurricane of frost. His rimed brows turned tocataracts as he whirled about; his mustache, still frozen, seemedgemmed with diamonds and turned the light in varicolored rays;while the flying feet slipped on the chunks of ice which rattledfrom his moccasins and German socks. A Northland dance is quitean informal affair, the men of the creeks and trails having lostwhatever fastidiousness they might have at one time possessed;and only in the high official circles are conventions at allobserved. Here, caste carried no significance. Millionaires andpaupers, dog-drivers and mounted policemen joined hands with'ladies in the center,' and swept around the circle performingmost remarkable capers. Primitive in their pleasure, boisterousand rough, they displayed no rudeness, but rather a crudechivalry more genuine than the most polished courtesy.In his quest for the 'Greek Dancer,' Cal Galbraith managed to getinto the same set with the 'Russian Princess,' toward whompopular suspicion had turned.But by the time he had guided her through one dance, he waswilling not only to stake his millions that she was not Freda,but that he had had his arm about her waist before. When or wherehe could not tell, but the puzzling sense of familiarity sowrought upon him that he turned his attention to the discoveryof her identity. Malemute Kid might have aided him instead ofoccasionally taking the Princess for a few turns and talkingearnestly to her in low tones. But it was Jack Harrington whopaid the 'Russian Princess' the most assiduous court. Once hedrew Cal Galbraith aside and hazarded wild guesses as to who shewas, and explained to him that he was going in to win. Thatrankled the Circle City King, for man is not by nature monogamic,and he forgot both Madeline and Freda in the new quest.It was soon noised about that the 'Russian Princess' was notFreda Moloof. Interest deepened. Here was a fresh enigma. Theyknew Freda though they could not find her, but here was somebodythey had found and did not know. Even the women could not placeher, and they knew every good dancer in the camp. Many took herfor one of the official clique, indulging in a silly escapade.Not a few asserted she would disappear before the unmasking.Others were equally positive that she was the woman-reporter ofthe Kansas City Star, come to write them up at ninety dollars percolumn. And the men at the scales worked busily.At one o'clock every couple took to the floor. The unmaskingbegan amid laughter and delight, like that of carefree children.There was no end of Oh's and Ah's as mask after mask was lifted.The scintillating 'Aurora Borealis' became the brawny negresswhose income from washing the community's clothes ran at aboutfive hundred a month. The twin 'Sun-Dogs' discovered mustaches ontheir upper lips, and were recognized as brother Fraction-Kingsof El Dorado. In one of the most prominent sets, and the slowestin uncovering, was Cal Galbraith with the 'Spirit of the Pole.'Opposite him was Jack Harrington and the 'Russian Princess.' Therest had discovered themselves, yet the 'Greek Dancer' was stillmissing. All eyes were upon the group. Cal Galbraith, in responseto their cries, lifted his partner's mask. Freda's wonderful faceand brilliant eyes flashed out upon them. A roar went up, to besquelched suddenly in the new and absorbing mystery of the'Russian Princess.' Her face was still hidden, and JackHarrington was struggling with her. The dancers tittered on thetiptoes of expectancy. He crushed her dainty costume roughly, andthen--and then the revelers exploded. The joke was on them. Theyhad danced all night with a tabooed native woman.But those that knew, and they were many, ceased abruptly, and ahush fell upon the room.Cal Galbraith crossed over with great strides, angrily, and spoketo Madeline in polyglot Chinook. But she retained her composure,apparently oblivious to the fact that she was the cynosure of alleyes, and answered him in English. She showed neither fright noranger, and Malemute Kid chuckled at her well-bred equanimity. TheKing felt baffled, defeated; his common Siwash wife had passedbeyond him.'Come!' he said finally. 'Come on home.' 'I beg pardon,' shereplied; 'I have agreed to go to supper with Mr. Harrington.Besides, there's no end of dances promised.'Harrington extended his arm to lead her away. He evinced not theslightest disinclination toward showing his back, but MalemuteKid had by this time edged in closer. The Circle City King wasstunned. Twice his hand dropped to his belt, and twice the Kidgathered himself to spring; but the retreating couple passedthrough the supper-room door where canned oysters were spread atfive dollars the plate.The crowd sighed audibly, broke up into couples, and followedthem. Freda pouted and went in with Cal Galbraith; but she had agood heart and a sure tongue, and she spoiled his oysters forhim. What she said is of no importance, but his face went red andwhite at intervals, and he swore repeatedly and savagely athimself.The supper-room was filled with a pandemonium of voices, whichceased suddenly as Cal Galbraith stepped over to his wife'stable. Since the unmasking considerable weights of dust had beenplaced as to the outcome. Everybody watched with breathlessinterest.Harrington's blue eyes were steady, but under the overhangingtablecloth a Smith & Wesson balanced on his knee. Madeline lookedup, casually, with little interest.'May--may I have the next round dance with you?' the Kingstuttered.The wife of the King glanced at her card and inclined her head.
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