CHAPTER XXI
MISTER SQUIGG
It was a jovial gathering that crowded the little cabin on the Kandikwhere the men of the North feasted until far into the night, and toldtales, and listened to wondrous adventures in the gold country. But mosteagerly they listened to Connie Morgan and Waseche Bill, with theirmarvellous tales of the Lillimuit--and Carlson's cans of gold.
"We've a yarn worth the tellin' ourself!" exclaimed the man calledJoe--the man who tried to dissuade Waseche Bill and prevent ConnieMorgan from venturing into the unknown. "Ye sh'd o' seen 'em come! Flaton his belly a-top the sled--an' the dogs runnin' low an' true! A bunchof us was watchin' the trail f'r Black Jack Demaree an' the Ragged Fallsmail: 'Here he comes!' someone yells, an' way down the river we seen aspeck--a speck that grow'd until it was a dog team an' a man._Jeerushelam_, but he was a-comin'! 'Twornt no time till he was clostenough to see 'twornt Black Jack. A cold day, it was--reg'lar bitin',nippin' cold--with the wind, an' the sweep o' the river. An' here comethe team on the high lope, an' a-whippin' along behind 'em, the lightestloaded outfit man ever seen hauled--jest a man, an' a blanket, an' twotomater cans. Flat, he laid--low to the sweep o' the wind, one armaround the cans, an' the other a-holdin' onto the sled f'r all he wasworth. The man was O'Brien, yonder; an' up the bank he shot, fairburnin' the snow, whirled amongst us, an' piled the outfit up ag'in' BigJim's stockade. The nex' we know'd was a yell from Fiddle Face, here:
"'It's McDougall's dogs!' An' before the Irishman c'd get onto his feet,Fiddle Face was a-top him with a hand at his throat. 'Where's the kid?'he howls in O'Brien's ear, 'Where's Sam Morgan's boy?' Fiddle Face'svoice ain't no gentle murmur--when he yells. But the rest of us didn'thear it--us that was ontanglin' the dogs. F'r, in the mix-up, the coverhad come off one of them tomater cans, an' there on the snow was nuggetso' _gold_--jest a-layin' there dull an' yaller, in a heap on the top o'the snow." Joe paused, held a sputtering sulphur match to the bowl ofhis pipe, and, after a few deep puffs, continued: "Ye know how the sighto' raw gold, that-a-way, gets _to_ ye--when ye've put in the best an'the hardest years o' yer life a-grubbin' an' a-gougin' f'r it? Ye knowthe feelin' that comes all to onct about yer belt line, an' how yer headfeels sort o' light, an' yer face burns, an' ye want to holler, an'laugh, an' cry all to onct? Well, that was us, a-standin' there by thestockade--all but Fiddle Face. Him an' O'Brien was a-wallerin'grip-locked in the snow, an' Fiddle Face was a-hollerin' over an' overag'in: 'Where's that kid? Where's that kid?' an' all the while a-chokin'of O'Brien so's he couldn't answer. Presen'ly we noticed 'em an' drug'em apart. An' right then every man jack o' us forgot the gold. F'r, ona sudden, we remembered that little kid--the gameness of him--an' howhe'd give us the slip an' took off alone into a country we didn't noneo' us dast to go to--way long in the fore part o' the winter. We jerkedO'Brien to his feet an' hustled him into the _ho_tel, an' by that timehe'd got back his wind, an' he was a-tellin', an' a-beggin' us not tolose no time, but to pack a outfit an' hit f'r a little cabin on theKandik. 'He's there!' he hollers. 'An' his pardner, too! They'restarvin'. I've got the gold to pay f'r the grub--take it! Take it all!Only git back to 'em! I know'd we all couldn't make it, travellin' heavyan' slow with the outfit an' a crippled man to boot.'
"Big Jim Sontag goes out an' scoops up the gold where it laid_forgot_--an' then he comes back into the room an' walks straight overto where O'Brien was a-standin': 'We'll go!' says Jim, _'an' you'll go,too_! An', if there's a cabin, like you say, an' they're there, why_you_ can't spend no gold in Eagle!' Jim steps closter--so clost thathis nose stops within two inches of O'Brien's, an' his eyes a-borin'clean through to the back of O'Brien's head: 'But if they _ain't_there,' he says, low an' quiet like, '_then you don't spend no gold inEagle, neither--see?_' An' then Jim turns to us: 'Who'll go 'long?' hehollers. 'That there boy is Sam Morgan's boy--we all know'd Sam Morgan!'We sure did--an' we like to tore Jim's roof off a-signifyin'. Then, weslung our outfits together an' hit the trail. An' now, boys," Joe roseto his feet and crossed to the bunk where the Irishman sat betweenConnie and Waseche Bill, "it's up to us to signify onct more." And, forthe first time in his life, O'Brien, whose lot in the world had alwaysbeen an obscure and a lowly one, came to know something of what it meantto have earned the regard of _men_!
The journey down the Kandik was uneventful, and four days later thereinforced outfit camped at the junction of the lesser river with themighty Yukon. Late that night the men of the North sat about the campfire and their talk was of rich strikes, and stampedes, and the unsungdeeds of men.
Connie Morgan listened with bated breath to tales of his father. WasecheBill learned from the lips of the men of Eagle of the boy's escape fromthe hotel, and of his dash for the Lillimuit that ended, so far as themen who followed were concerned, at the foot of the snow-piled Tatondukdivide. And the men of Eagle learned of the Lillimuit, and the whiteIndians, and of the death of Carlson, and lastly, of the Ignatook, thesteaming creek with its floor of gold.
"An' we-all ah goin' back theah, sometime," concluded Waseche. "Me an'the kid, heah, an' O'Brien, if he'll go--" To their surprise, O'Brienleaped to his feet:
"Ye c'n count me in!" he cried. "Foive days agone no power on earth c'dav dhrug me back into that land av th' cheerless cowld. But, now, 'tisdif'runt, an' if th' sun shoines war-rum enough f'r th' loikes avye--an' th' b'y, here--phy, ut shoines war-rum enough f'r PathrickO'Brien--av ut river shoines at all."
"That's what I call a man!" yelled Fiddle Face, and subsided instantly,for Waseche Bill was speaking.
"As I was goin' on to say: with us will be some of the boys from TenBow--McDougall, an' Dutch Henery, an' Dick Colton, an' ScottyMcCollough, an' Black Jack Demaree from Ragged Falls, an'--well, howabout it, boys? The gold is theah, an' me an' the kid, we aim to let ouhfrien's in on this heah strike. We'll sho' be proud to have yo'-all jineus." With a loud cheer, the men accepted Waseche's invitation--they hadseen O'Brien's gold.
"Jes' keep it undeh yo' hats till the time comes," cautioned Waseche."We-all will slip yo'-all the wehd, an' we don't want no tinhawns, noah_chechakos_, noah pikehs along, 'cause the Ignatook stampede is goin' tobe a stampede of _tillicums_!"
In the morning the partners, accompanied by O'Brien, said good-bye tothe men of Eagle and headed down the great river for the mouth of theTen Bow. On the third day, only a short distance above the place wherethe Ten Bow trail swerved from the Yukon between two high bluffs, theycame upon the camp of an Indian. The red man was travelling light. Hehad just come out of the hills, and with him were Waseche Bill'sdogs--the _malamutes_ whose sudden stampede had led the lost wayfarersthrough the narrow pass to the crest of the Kandik divide, and--Alaska!
"Wheah'd yo' get them dawgs?" asked Waseche, pointing to the_malamutes_. The Indian waved his arm in the direction of the hills, andWaseche nodded:
"Them's _my_ dawgs--_nika komooks_."
The Indian scowled and shook his head.
"Dem Pete Mateese dog," he grunted surlily.
"Pete Mateese!" cried Connie. "Do you know Pete Mateese? Who is he? Whereis he? We want to find him."
The Indian glowered sullenly.
"W'at y'u wan' Pete Mateese?" he asked.
"We want to find him. We've got good news for him. He's rich--plentygold." At the words the Indian laughed--not a mirthful laugh, but asneering, sardonic laugh of unbelief.
"White man beeg liar--all. Pete Mateese, she Injun--breed. White man notell Injun 'bout gol'. Me'be so white man steal Injun gol'."
With Irish impetuosity, O'Brien leaped forward.
"Take thot back, ye rid shpalpeen!" he cried, shaking a huge fist underthe Indian's nose. "Av ye say wan more wor-rd ag'in' th' b'y, Oi'llchoke th' gizzard out av ye befoor ye say ut!"
Waseche Bill held up a restraining hand.
"Take it easy, O'Brien, don't le's nobody huht anybody. Le's get thestraight of this heah. Primary an' fo'most, we-all want to find out ifPete Mateese _pulled out_ on Carlson, oah, did he aim to go back." Atthe mention of Carlson's name th
e Indian turned quickly toward Waseche.
"Y'u know Carlson?" he asked. Waseche Bill nodded.
"Yeh, I did know him."
"Wher' Carlson?"
"Dead." As Waseche pronounced the word the Indian shook his head sadly.
"Carlson good white man. All good white man dead. Sam Morgan, she dead,too."
"Sam Morgan!" exclaimed Connie. "What do you know of Sam Morgan?"
"Sam Morgan good to Injun. Me--mos' die, once--fi', seex winter 'go, inde beeg snow. Sam Morgan com' 'long. Hav' one small piece bacon--onesmall lump suet--eighteen mile--Hesitation. Me--I got no grub. Fi', seexday I ain' got no grub. Seek lak leetle baby. Sam Morgan, she mak' meeat--sam' lak heem. Den she peek me oop an' car' me--all night--all day.Nex' night, me'be so we no mak'. See de light in leetle cabin, an' denwe com' Hesitation. Bot' of us, we pret' near die. An' Sam Morgan, shelaugh." The old Indian paused and regarded the boy curiously: "Y'u knowSam Morgan?" he asked. The boy's eyes were very bright, and he clearedhis throat huskily.
"Sam Morgan was my father," he said, in a low, unsteady tone. The Indianstalked to the boy and, pausing directly before him, lifted the smallchin and gazed long and searchingly into the upturned grey eyes.
"Uh-huh," he grunted, "y'u Sam Morgan boy. Me hear 'bout y'u in TenBow."
"Where is Pete Mateese?" persisted Connie. The Indian no longerhesitated.
"Pete Mateese, she Ten Bow. Work hard for de money to buy grub an' tak'back to Carlson--way back, pas' de divide, in de lan' of Niju Tah--delan' of de bad man, dead. But, she don' git no money. Meestaire Squeeg,she cheat Pete Mateese."
"Who is Misteh Squigg?" asked Waseche Bill.
"Meestaire Squeeg she leetle man. Got de nose lak de fox, an' de bad eyelak' de snake. All tam he mak' Pete Mateese work ver' mooch. Tell heem,he mak' plent' money. But she no giv' heem no money--always Pete Mateesegot it comin'--she got to wait. Som' day Meestaire Squeeg she pullout--den Pete Mateese got nut'in."
"Yo' say he's a li'l slit-eyed runt--rat-faced--with a squeaky voice?"Waseche mimicked Mr. Squigg's tone. The Indian nodded emphatically, andfor a long time Waseche was silent--thinking.
"An' yo' say these heah is Pete Mateese's dawgs?" Again the Indiannodded, and Waseche Bill's eyes narrowed: "An' yo' say they ah in TenBow--Pete Mateese an' this heah Misteh Squigg?"
"Ten Bow," repeated the Indian. "Meestaire Squeeg, she tak' de gol' an'buy de claim." Waseche Bill turned to the others:
"Come on, we'll hit the trail!" And then, to the Indian, "Yo' come, too,an' fetch them dawgs." Connie noticed that his big partner's voice wasvery low, and once, turning quickly, he surprised the cold, hard gleamin the grey eyes.
"He must be the same man that tried to make me give up my claim, thetime I beat out the Ten Bow stampede," confided the boy, as he mushedbeside Waseche's sled.
"Oh, he did--did he?" asked the man, in the same low, hard tone. "We'lljest count that in, too."
"What do you mean? Do you know Mr. Squigg?"
"No. But I _will_," drawled Waseche. "Yo' see, kid, he's the man Ibought them dawgs off of last fall in Eagle. Come along, now, le's mush.I'm gettin' plumb anxious to meet up with this heah Misteh Squigg."
CHAPTER XXII
THE MAN WHO DIDN'T FIT
The return of Connie Morgan and Waseche Bill to Ten Bow, and the eventsthat followed, are told to this day on the trails.
McDougall paused for a chat with Dutch Henry beside the long black dumpof the German's claim.
"It's most time for the break-up, Mac," said the owner of the dump."We'll sluice out big, this spring."
"Yes, mon, we will," agreed McDougall, as his eyes roved to the smallsnow-covered dump across the creek. "But, it's sore I've hated to seeyon claim idle the winter--an' the laddie gaen--an' Waseche Bill--heavenknaws wheer. D'ye mind what the mon fr' Eagle told, how the lad c'd nabe stopped, but trailed on after Waseche--on to the Lillimuit?They'll na com' back." Dutch Henry nodded.
"Sure, Mac, but whad' ye 'spect from the breed of Sam Morgan? 'Memberhow he beat us all to these here diggin's, with ondly them three olddogs. I'd give my claim to have 'em safe back. An' I'm sorry you lostyour ten-team, too, Mac."
"Losh! Mon! 'Tis na'thing at a'--the dogs! The laddie tuk 'em--an'welcome. Ye sh'd o' seed the luk i' his e'e, the mornin' he com' bustin'into my cabin wi' the news that Waseche was gaen! 'I'll fetch him back,'he says, 'if I have to beat him up'--an' him na bigger'n a pint o'cider. They've gaen to the Lillimuit, Dutch, an' 'taint in reasonthey'll com' back. But, sometimes, when I think o' the luk i' theladdie's e'e, d'ye knaw, it comes to me that, me'be--" The man's voicetrailed into silence as his gaze became fixed upon the moving blackspecks that appeared far down the Yukon trail. Dutch Henry's gazefollowed the big Scotchman's.
"Look, Mac! Look!" he cried excitedly. "Them dogs!" And, almost at thesame instant, with a roar like the bellow of a bull, McDougall sprangdown the trail between the straggling cabins of Ten Bow, with DutchHenry pounding along in his wake. Before the two had covered half thelength of the camp other men joined them, running and yelling--thoughthey knew not why they ran. Cabins and shafts were deserted and all TenBow strung out on the trail to meet the rapidly approaching dog teams.And when they did meet, a half-mile beyond the camp, Connie was rushedfrom his feet by the wildly yelling crowd and carried triumphantly intoTen Bow upon the broad shoulders of the big men of the North. For, asMcDougall had said, word had come down from Eagle, and now, not becausehe was Sam Morgan's boy, but for his own grit and pluck and courage,Connie Morgan had won his place among the sourdoughs of the silent land.
"Know a man name of Misteh Squigg?" asked Waseche Bill of McDougall, ashalf a dozen men sat late that night about the stove in the littlecabin that had lain deserted all through the winter.
"Yes, I ken the mon--an' na gude o' him, neither, wi' his leetle shiftye'en. I've mistrusted um fr' the time I furst seed um. D'ye ken, laddie,t'was him tried to drive ye fr' yer claim wi' his lawyer's drivvle,whilst Waseche was down to Hesitation?" Connie nodded, and McDougallcontinued: "I sent him about his business i' jig time, an' na more washe seed i' Ten Bow till a matter o' three or four months agane up hepops wi' a half-breed that's workin' f'r um. He bought Dave Crampton'sclaim an' has be'n workin' ut since. Why d'ye ask?" For answer Wasechemotioned to the Indian who sat upon his blanket spread upon the floor:
"Kobuk, go fetch Pete Mateese. An' don't let Misteh Squigg know yo'fetchin' him." The Indian arose and passed noiselessly out into thenight. A quarter of an hour later he returned, closely followed by ahuge half-breed with mild, ox-like eyes, who smiled broadly upon theassembly.
"Heem Pete Mateese," grunted the Indian, and sank again to his blanket.Waseche Bill regarded the big, simple-minded half-breed intently, andthen flashed the question:
"Wheah is Carlson?" Instantly the smile faded from the man's face and alook of deep sorrow darkened his eyes.
"Lillimuit," he answered, sadly. "On Ignatook he dig for de gol'." Thehalf-breed looked about him upon the faces of the men who wondered whatit was all about.
"Go on," encouraged Waseche, "tell more."
"De Ignatook, she don' freeze--she wa'm. De white Injun, she don' godare--she 'fraid. We go dare, me an' Carlson, she ma pardner, an' shesay de gol' ees here. Bimby, de grub git low an' Carlson sen' me formore. Dat two winter ago. I tak' de gol' een one can an' I mak' eett'rough to Eagle by Tatonduk divide. Den I see Meestaire Squeeg. He sayhe tak' de gol' an' buy de grub so I not git cheat. Den she los' degol'. She ver' sorry, an' she say y'u com' work for me, fi' dollaire aday an' grub, an' pret' soon y'u mak' 'nough to go back to y'u pardner.Meestaire Squeeg, she buy my dog--feefty dollaire apiece--four hunder'dollaire--an' she say she keep de money so I no los'--I no git cheat.An' she say de money she hav' eentrees', ten p'cent. So me, I go 'longan' work for heem an' we clean oop good on Turtle Creek. Den we com' TenBow an' Meestaire Squeeg, she buy de claim, an' I say I lak de moneynow, I got 'nough. I tak' de grub to Carlson. But Meestaire Squeeg shesay, no, y'u ain't got no money--de een
trees' she eat dat money all oop.She count oop fas', ten p'cent, she say. So I work som' more, but all detam de eentrees' she eat me oop. Eef eet ain't for de eentrees' I mak''nough to tak' de grub to Carlson."
The big men and the one small boy in the little cabin listened intentlyto the half-breed's simply told tale. When he finished Waseche Billcleared his throat and glanced from one to the other of the silentlisteners.
"Between them walked a little, rat-faced man. The man wasMr. Squigg."]
"Boys," he said, "Carlson is dead. He died alone--way out yondeh in theLillimuit. He died huntin' fo' Pete Mateese, his pahdneh that didn'tcome back. Befo' he died he found the gold he know'd was theah. We seenthe gold, an' it's _cached_ theah yet, jest wheah he done left it.Carlson was a _man_. If Pete Mateese had went back, he'd of be'n livin'now. An' Pete Mateese would of went back if he'd of be'n let alone." Heceased speaking and, without a word, Big McDougall and Dick Colton rosefrom their chairs and passed out into the night. The little clock tickedmonotonously while the others waited. Presently the two returned, andbetween them walked a little, rat-faced man. The man was Mr. Squigg, andas he entered, his slit-like eyes blinked rapidly in the lamp-light, andshot nervous, venomous glances upon the faces of the occupants of thecabin. At sight of Pete Mateese his face flushed, then paled, and histhin lips curled backward from his teeth.
"What you doin' here?" he rasped.
"He was sent fo', Misteh Squigg, same as yo' was," drawled Waseche Bill.
"This is an outrage!" squeaked the man. "Who are you? And what righthave you got to bring folks here against their will?"
"Who, me? Oh, I'm Waseche Bill. I jest wanted fo' to meet up withyo'--that's all. Yo' name fits yo' like a new glove, don't it, MistehSquigg? An', Misteh Squigg, this heah's my pahdneh, Connie Mo'gan. Ijest heahd how yo' tried fo' to beat him out of this heah claim, backwhen he beat out the stampede."
"He's a minor, an' he can't hold no claim," whimpered the man; "I'm alawyer, an' I know. But that was a long while ago. I'll let that pass."
"Sho' now, Misteh Squigg," Waseche drawled, "it's good of yo' to letthat pass. We was feared yo' mout of laid it up against yo'self. Buttheah's anotheh li'l matteh we-all would like to cleah up befo' theevenin's oveh. Yo' rec'lect I'm the pahty that bought them dawgs off yo'in Eagle--but we'll come to that lateh. This heah Pete Mateese, now,the's sev'el li'l items we-all want the straight of. Fust off, wheah'sthe can of gold Pete Mateese give yo' to buy grub with in Eagle?"
"It's none of your business!" shrilled the man. "Besides, it's a lie! Ididn't see no gold. Let me out of here! You ain't got no right to holdme."
"Ain't we? Well, Misteh Squigg, yo' might's well know yo' ah undeharrest, an' we-all aim to give yo' a faih an' speedy trial."
"You _can't_ arrest me!" squealed the man.
"But, we _done_ it--didn't we? If yo' don't b'lieve it, jest yo' try towalk out that do'."
"You ain't got no authority! It ain't accordin' to law!"
"This heah ain't exactly a co'te of law--it's a co'te of justice. They'squite a con'sid'ble dif'ence--mostly," answered Waseche, and turning toConnie, he said.
"Jest get out yo' pen, kid, an' set down the figgehs so we c'n getthings faih an' squah. One can of gold, nine thousand dollahs. Now, themdawgs--they was eight dawgs at fifty dollahs a head, that's fo' hund'eddollahs mo'."
"I object!" piped Mr. Squigg, "I'm a lawyer, an' I know----"
"Yo' mout be a lawyeh, Misteh Squigg, but yo' ain't in no shape to'bject--not none serious. Now, them wages owin' to Pete Mateese, neah'swe c'n calc'late, it's fo'teen months at five dollahs a day. Figgeh itup, kid, an' set it down." Connie busied himself over his paper.
"That comes to twenty-one hundred dollars," he announced.
"It ain't true! I didn't agree to pay him! You can't prove it! I denyeverything!"
"Yo' ain't b'lieved," calmly drawled Waseche. "How much yo got downaltogetheh, son?"
"Eleven thousand five hundred dollars."
"Now, theah's this heah int'rest. Ten peh cent, wornt it, MistehSquigg?" But Mr. Squigg only growled.
"Twelve thousand six hundred and fifty, all told," computed Connie.Waseche turned to the infuriated Mr. Squigg.
"That's what's owin' to Pete Mateese. C'n yo' pay it--_now_?"
"No, I can't! An' I never will! Yo' can't enforce no such high-handedproceedin's! It ain't accordin' to law!"
"It's accordin' to Ten Bow, though," answered Waseche, shortly. "An'seein' yo ain' got the cash oah the dust, we-all'll jest trouble yo' tomake oveh yo' claim to Pete Mateese. An' bein' yo' only give tenthousan' fo' it, yo' c'n give yo' note fo' the balance. Give him thepen, son."
"I won't do it! This is an outrage!" whined the man.
"Sho', now, Misteh Squigg, co'se yo'll do it." Waseche Bill turned tothe others. "We-all will give Misteh Squigg five minutes to think itoveh. Then some of yo' boys jest amble out an' tell it around camp--thestory of Carlson, the man that died 'cause his pahdneh couldn't go back.The boys'll be right int'rested, 'cause a lot of 'em know'd Carlson, an'they liked him. Mos' likely they'll call a meetin' an'----"
"Gi' me the pen! Gi' me the pen!" shrieked Mr. Squigg, whose face hadgone pasty white. And the men saw that the hand that held the pentrembled violently.
"Now, Misteh Squigg," announced Waseche, when the other had finished,"_yo' git_! An' if yo' know what's good fo' yo', yo'll keep on_gittin'_! Alaska don't need such men as yo'. _Yo' don't fit!_ Thisheah's a _big_ country, Misteh Squigg. It's broad, an' long, an' clean.An' the men that live in it ah rough men, but theah heahts is as big asthe country. An' they ah men that stand fo'-squah with each otheh, an'with the wo'ld. In Alaska a man c'n count on faih play, an' it don'tmake no dif'ence if his hide is white, oah red, oah yallah, oah black.'Cause he ain't measu'ed acco'din' to colah noah heft, noah by the goldin his poke, neitheh. It's what a man _does_ that counts. The li'leveh-day acts an' deeds that shows wheah his heaht is--an' what's inhim. An', now, Misteh Squigg, yondeh's the do'. An' beyond, the trailstretches away--an' fah away. Eveh mile yo' put between yo'self an TenBow is a friend of yo'n. Me'be somewheahs theah's a place li'l enoughfo' a man with a heaht as small, an' hahd, an' black as a double B shot.If they is, an' yo' c'n find it, yo'll be _home_. But don't stop to huntfo' it in Alaska--it ain't heah." As Waseche Bill finished, the dooropened and, without a word, Mr. Squigg slunk into the star-litnight--the softly radiant night that brushed caressingly the white snowsof Aurora Land.
"Squigg slunk into the star-lit night."]
* * * * *
Late the men of Ten Bow talked about the little stove. At last, whenthey arose to go, Big McDougall stepped close to Connie's side.
"Laddie," he said, "wad ye do a favour f'r an auld mon--jest the aintime?"
"What!" exclaimed the boy, and his eyes shone, "do a favour for _you_!For the man that lent me the best dog-team in all Alaska! Why, if ithadn't been for your dogs, Mac, I could never have found Waseche. Justname it, and you'll see!"
"Weel spoken, lad! Spoken like a mon!" The Scot's eyes twinkled. "An'I'll hold ye to yer word. The favour is this: that ye'll accept theten-team o' _malamutes_ that's carried ye so far acrost unmapped miles,as a present fr' an auld mon whose heart thinks more o' ye than hisrough auld tongue c'n tell." The boy stared speechless at the big,smiling man. And when, at length, he found his voice, the words chokedin his throat:
"But--you said--it was a favour, Mac--I----"
"Wheest, laddie, an' a favour it is. For McDougall's growin' auld f'rthe trails. Theer's gude years ahead o' yon dogs, but I've na mind togi' 'em the wark they need to keep 'em in fettle. An' dogs is oncommonlike men--'gin they loaf aboot the streets o' town a spell they get lazyan' no 'count. But, wi' yersel' to put 'em ower the trail noo an' again,they'll be a team o' pleasure an' profit to ye. F'r they're braw dogsaltogether an' t'would be shamefu' they should dwindle to the commonherd o' scavage dogs."
And so, Connie, gracefully as he could in his confusion, grantedMcDougall's
favour. But in doing so the small boy could not foresee--norcould any man in the cabin foresee--the chain of adventures into whichthe possession of the ten-team would lead him. For, had he not owned theten-team, he would not have happened, just at the right moment, upon BigDan McKeever, sergeant of the Royal North-West Mounted Police, at a timewhen the sergeant, with white, set face, battled against odds of athousand to one, while fifty men looked helplessly out across themile-wide field of heaving, crashing river ice when the spring break-uphit the mighty Yukon. And, if Sergeant McKeever--but all that has nopart in this story.
In the little cabin on Ten Bow the hour was late, and the bearded menhad arisen to go. As each passed through the door to seek his own cabin,he gripped hard the hand of Pete Mateese, and O'Brien, and WasecheBill--and _both_ hands of Connie Morgan--the boy who was a _tillicum_.
As they wended their way homeward in the midnight the little starswinked and glittered radiantly upon these big men of the North. Whilefar away on the long bleak trail, the same little stars gleamed cold andhard upon a swiftly moving black speck where, with white face andterror-gripped heart, Mr. Squigg added friendly miles to the distancethat separated Ten Bow from _The Man Who Didn't Fit_.
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Transcriber's Notes:
Maintained original spelling and punctuation of the dialect.
Obvious printer errors have been corrected.
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