To the Man on the Trail
'Dump it in!.' 'But I say, Kid, isn'tthat going it a little too strong' Whisky and alcohol's badenough; but when it comes to brandy and pepper sauce and-' 'Dumpit in. Who's making this punch, anyway?' And Malemute Kid smiledbenignantly through the clouds of steam. 'By the time you've beenin this country as long as I have, my son, and lived on rabbittracks and salmon belly, you'll learn that Christmas comes onlyonce per annum.And a Christmas without punch is sinking a hole to bedrock withnary a pay streak.''Stack up on that fer a high cyard,' approved Big Jim Belden, whohad come down from his claim on Mazy May to spend Christmas, andwho, as everyone knew, had been living the two months past onstraight moose meat. 'Hain't fergot the hooch we-uns made on theTanana, hey yeh?' 'Well, I guess yes. Boys, it would have doneyour hearts good to see that whole tribe fighting drunk--and allbecause of a glorious ferment of sugar and sour dough. That wasbefore your time,' Malemute Kid said as he turned to StanleyPrince, a young mining expert who had been in two years. 'Nowhite women in the country then, and Mason wanted to get married.Ruth's father was chief of the Tananas, and objected, like therest of the tribe. Stiff? Why, I used my last pound of sugar;finest work in that line I ever did in my life. You should haveseen the chase, down the river and across the portage.' 'But thesquaw?' asked Louis Savoy, the tall French Canadian, becominginterested; for he had heard of this wild deed when at Forty Milethe preceding winter.Then Malemute Kid, who was a born raconteur, told the unvarnishedtale of the Northland Lochinvar. More than one rough adventurerof the North felt his heartstrings draw closer and experiencedvague yearnings for the sunnier pastures of the Southland, wherelife promised something more than a barren struggle with cold anddeath.'We struck the Yukon just behind the first ice run,' heconcluded, 'and the tribe only a quarter of an hour behind. Butthat saved us; for the second run broke the jam above and shutthem out. When they finally got into Nuklukyeto, the whole postwas ready for them.And as to the forgathering, ask Father Roubeau here: he performedthe ceremony.' The Jesuit took the pipe from his lips but couldonly express his gratification with patriarchal smiles, whileProtestant and Catholic vigorously applauded.'By gar!' ejaculated Louis Savoy, who seemed overcome by theromance of it. 'La petite squaw: mon Mason brav. By gar!' Then,as the first tin cups of punch went round, Bettles theUnquenchable sprang to his feet and struck up his favoritedrinking song: 'There's Henry Ward Beecher And Sunday-schoolteachers, All drink of the sassafras root; But you bet all thesame, If it had its right name, It's the juice of the forbiddenfruit.''Oh, the juice of the forbidden fruit,' roared out thebacchanalian chorus, 'Oh, the juice of the forbidden fruit; Butyou bet all the same, If it had its right name, It's the juice ofthe forbidden fruit.'Malemute Kid's frightful concoction did its work; the men of thecamps and trails unbent in its genial glow, and jest and song andtales of past adventure went round the board.Aliens from a dozen lands, they toasted each and all. It was theEnglishman, Prince, who pledged 'Uncle Sam, the precocious infantof the New World'; the Yankee, Bettles, who drank to 'The Queen,God bless her'; and together, Savoy and Meyers, the Germantrader, clanged their cups to Alsace and Lorraine.Then Malemute Kid arose, cup in hand, and glanced at thegreased-paper window, where the frost stood full three inchesthick. 'A health to the man on trail this night; may his grubhold out; may his dogs keep their legs; may his matches nevermiss fire.' Crack!Crack! heard the familiar music of the dog whip, the whining howlof the Malemutes, and the crunch of a sled as it drew up to thecabin. Conversation languished while they waited the issue.'An old-timer; cares for his dogs and then himself,' whisperedMalemute Kid to Prince as they listened to the snapping jaws andthe wolfish snarls and yelps of pain which proclaimed to theirpracticed ears that the stranger was beating back their dogswhile he fed his own.Then came the expected knock, sharp and confident, and thestranger entered.Dazzled by the light, he hesitated a moment at the door, givingto all a chance for scrutiny. He was a striking personage, and amost picturesque one, in his Arctic dress of wool and fur.Standing six foot two or three, with proportionate breadth ofshoulders and depth of chest, his smooth-shaven face nipped bythe cold to a gleaming pink, his long lashes and eyebrows whitewith ice, and the ear and neck flaps of his great wolfskin caploosely raised, he seemed, of a verity, the Frost King, juststepped in out of the night.Clasped outside his Mackinaw jacket, a beaded belt held two largeColt's revolvers and a hunting knife, while he carried, inaddition to the inevitable dog whip, a smokeless rifle of thelargest bore and latest pattern. As he came forward, for all hisstep was firm and elastic, they could see that fatigue boreheavily upon him.An awkward silence had fallen, but his hearty 'What cheer, mylads?' put them quickly at ease, and the next instant MalemuteKid and he had gripped hands. Though they had never met, each hadheard of the other, and the recognition was mutual. A sweepingintroduction and a mug of punch were forced upon him before hecould explain his errand.How long since that basket sled, with three men and eight dogs,passed?' he asked.'An even two days ahead. Are you after them?' 'Yes; my team. Runthem off under my very nose, the cusses. I've gained two days onthem already--pick them up on the next run.' 'Reckon they'll showspunk?' asked Belden, in order to keep up the conversation, forMalemute Kid already had the coffeepot on and was busily fryingbacon and moose meat.The stranger significantly tapped his revolvers.'When'd yeh leave Dawson?' 'Twelve o'clock.' 'Last night?'--as amatter of course.'Today.' A murmur of surprise passed round the circle. And wellit might; for it was just midnight, and seventy-five miles ofrough river trail was not to be sneered at for a twelve hours'run.The talk soon became impersonal, however, harking back to thetrails of childhood. As the young stranger ate of the rude fareMalemute Kid attentively studied his face. Nor was he long indeciding that it was fair, honest, and open, and that he likedit. Still youthful, the lines had been firmly traced by toil andhardship.Though genial in conversation, and mild when at rest, the blueeyes gave promise of the hard steel-glitter which comes whencalled into action, especially against odds. The heavy jaw andsquare-cut chin demonstrated rugged pertinacity andindomitability. Nor, though the attributes of the lion werethere, was there wanting the certain softness, the hint ofwomanliness, which bespoke the emotional nature.'So thet's how me an' the ol' woman got spliced,' said Belden,concluding the exciting tale of his courtship. '"Here we be,Dad," sez she. "An' may yeh be damned," sez he to her, an' thento me, ''Jim, yeh-yeh git outen them good duds o' yourn; I want aright peart slice o' thet forty acre plowed 'fore dinner." An'then he sort o' sniffled an' kissed her. An' I was thethappy--but he seen me an' roars out, ''Yeh, Jim!' An' yeh bet Idusted fer the barn.' 'Any kids waiting for you back in theStates?' asked the stranger.'Nope; Sal died 'fore any come. Thet's why I'm here.' Beldenabstractedly began to light his pipe, which had failed to go out,and then brightened up with, 'How 'bout yerself,stranger--married man?' For reply, he opened his watch, slippedit from the thong which served for a chain, and passed it over.Belden picked up the slush lamp, surveyed the inside of the casecritically, and, swearing admiringly to himself, handed it overto Louis Savoy. With numerous 'By gars!' he finally surrenderedit to Prince, and they noticed that his hands trembled and hiseyes took on a peculiar softness. And so it passed from hornyhand to horny hand--the pasted photograph of a woman, theclinging kind that such men fancy, with a babe at the breast.Those who had not yet seen the wonder were keen with curiosity;those who had became silent and retrospective. They could facethe pinch of famine, the grip of scurvy, or the quick death byfield or flood; but the pictured semblance of a stranger womanand child made women and children of them all.'Never have seen the youngster yet--he's a boy, she says, and twoyears old,' said the stranger as he received the treasure back. Alingering moment he gazed upon it, then snapped the case andturned away, but not quick enough to hide the restrained rush oftears. Malemute Kid led him to a bunk and bade him turn in.'Call me at four sharp. Don't fail me,' were his last words, anda moment later he was breathing in the heaviness of exhaustedsleep.'By Jove! He's a plucky chap,' commented Prince. 'Three hours'sleep after seventy-five miles with the dogs, and then the trailagain. Who is he, Kid?' 'Jack Westondale. Been in going on threeyears, with nothing but the name of working like a horse, and anyamount of bad luck to his credit. I never knew him, but SitkaCharley told me about him.' 'It seems hard that a man with asweet young wife like his should be putting in his years in thisGodforsaken hole, where every year counts two on the outside.''The trouble with him is clean grit and stubbornness. He'scleaned up twice with a stake, but lost it both times.' Here theconversation was broken off by an uproar from Bettles, for theeffect had begun to wear away. And soon the bleak years ofmonotonous grub and deadening toil were being forgotten in roughmerriment. Malemute Kid alone seemed unable to lose himself, andcast many an anxious look at his watch. Once he put on hismittens and beaver-skin cap, and, leaving the cabin, fell torummaging about in the cache.Nor could he wait the hour designated; for he was fifteen minutesahead of time in rousing his guest. The young giant had stiffenedbadly, and brisk rubbing was necessary to bring him to his feet.He tottered painfully out of the cabin, to find his dogsharnessed and everything ready for the start. The company wishedhim good luck and a short chase, while Father Roubeau, hurriedlyblessing him, led the stampede for the cabin; and small wonder,for it is not good to face seventy-four degrees below zero withnaked ears and hands.Malemute Kid saw him to the main trail, and there, gripping hishand heartily, gave him advice.'You'll find a hundred pounds of salmon eggs on the sled,' hesaid. 'The dogs will go as far on that as with one hundred andfifty of fish, and you can't get dog food at Pelly, as youprobably expected.' The stranger started, and his eyes flashed,but he did not interrupt. 'You can't get an ounce of food for dogor man till you reach Five Fingers, and that's a stiff twohundred miles. Watch out for open water on the Thirty Mile River,and be sure you take the big cutoff above Le Barge.' 'How did youknow it? Surely the news can't be ahead of me already?' 'I don'tknow it; and what's more, I don't want to know it.But you never owned that team you're chasing. Sitka Charley soldit to them last spring.But he sized you up to me as square once, and I believe him. I'veseen your face; I like it.And I've seen--why, damn you, hit the high places for salt waterand that wife of yours, and-' Here the Kid unmittened and jerkedout his sack.'No; I don't need it,' and the tears froze on his cheeks as heconvulsively gripped Malemute Kid's hand.'Then don't spare the dogs; cut them out of the traces as fast asthey drop; buy them, and think they're cheap at ten dollars apound. You can get them at Five Fingers, Little Salmon, andHootalinqua. And watch out for wet feet,' was his parting advice.'Keep a- traveling up to twenty-five, but if it gets below that,build a fire and change your socks.'Fifteen minutes had barely elapsed when the jingle of bellsannounced new arrivals. The door opened, and a mounted policemanof the Northwest Territory entered, followed by two half-breeddog drivers. Like Westondale, they were heavily armed and showedsigns of fatigue. The half-breeds had been borne to the trail andbore it easily; but the young policeman was badly exhausted.Still, the dogged obstinacy of his race held him to the pace hehad set, and would hold him till he dropped in his tracks.'When did Westondale pull out?' he asked. 'He stopped here,didn't he?' This was supererogatory, for the tracks told theirown tale too well.Malemute Kid had caught Belden's eye, and he, scenting the wind,replied evasively, 'A right peart while back.' 'Come, my man;speak up,' the policeman admonished.'Yeh seem to want him right smart. Hez he ben gittin'cantankerous down Dawson way?''Held up Harry McFarland's for forty thousand; exchanged it atthe P.C. store for a check on Seattle; and who's to stop thecashing of it if we don't overtake him? When did he pull out?'Every eye suppressed its excitement, for Malemute Kid had giventhe cue, and the young officer encountered wooden faces on everyhand.Striding over to Prince, he put the question to him. Though ithurt him, gazing into the frank, earnest face. of his fellowcountryman, he replied inconsequentially on the state of thetrail.Then he espied Father Roubeau, who could not lie. 'A quarter ofan hour ago,' the priest answered; 'but he had four hours' restfor himself and dogs.' 'Fifteen minutes' start, and he's fresh!My God!' The poor fellow staggered back, half fainting fromexhaustion and disappointment, murmuring something about the runfrom Dawson in ten hours and the dogs being played out.Malemute Kid forced a mug of punch upon him; then he turned forthe door, ordering the dog drivers to follow. But the warmth andpromise of rest were too tempting, and they objected strenuously.The Kid was conversant with their French patois, and followed itanxiously.They swore that the dogs were gone up; that Siwash and Babettewould have to be shot before the first mile was covered; that therest were almost as bad; and that it would be better for allhands to rest up.'Lend me five dogs?' he asked, turning to Malemute Kid.But the Kid shook his head.'I'll sign a check on Captain Constantine for fivethousand--here's my papersI'm authorized to draw at my owndiscretion.'Again the silent refusal.'Then I'll requisition them in the name of the Queen.' Smilingincredulously, the Kid glanced at his well-stocked arsenal, andthe Englishman, realizing his impotency, turned for the door. Butthe dog drivers still objecting, he whirled upon them fiercely,calling them women and curs. The swart face of the olderhalf-breed flushed angrily as he drew himself up and promised ingood, round terms that he would travel his leader off his legs,and would then be delighted to plant him in the snow.The young officer--and it required his whole will--walkedsteadily to the door, exhibiting a freshness he did not possess.But they all knew and appreciated his proud effort; nor could heveil the twinges of agony that shot across his face. Covered withfrost, the dogs were curled up in the snow, and it was almostimpossible to get them to their feet. The poor brutes whinedunder the stinging lash, for the dog drivers were angry andcruel; nor till Babette, the leader, was cut from the traces,could they break out the sled and get under way.'A dirty scoundrel and a liar!' 'By gar! Him no good!' 'A thief!''Worse than an Indian!'It was evident that they were angry--first at the way they hadbeen deceived; and second at the outraged ethics of theNorthland, where honesty, above all, was man's prime jewel.'An' we gave the cuss a hand, after knowin' what he'd did.' Alleyes turned accusingly upon Malemute Kid, who rose from thecorner where he had been making Babette comfortable, and silentlyemptied the bowl for a final round of punch.'It's a cold night, boys--a bitter cold night,' was theirrelevant commencement of his defense. 'You've all traveledtrail, and know what that stands for. Don't jump a dog when he'sdown. You've only heard one side. A whiter man than JackWestondale never ate from the same pot nor stretched blanket withyou or me.Last fall he gave his whole clean-up, forty thousand, to JoeCastrell, to buy in on Dominion. Today he'd be a millionaire.But, while he stayed behind at Circle City, taking care of hispartner with the scurvy, what does Castell do? Goes intoMcFarland's, jumps the limit, and drops the whole sack. Found himdead in the snow the next day. And poor Jack laying his plans togo out this winter to his wife and the boy he's never seen.You'll notice he took exactly what his partner lostfortythousand. Well, he's gone out; and what are you going to do aboutit?' The Kid glanced round the circle of his judges, noted thesoftening of their faces, then raised his mug aloft. 'So a healthto the man on trail this night; may his grub hold out; may hisdogs keep their legs; may his matches never miss fire.God prosper him; good luck go with him; and --' 'Confusion to theMounted Police!'cried Bettles, to the crash of the empty cups.
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