The Son of the Wolf Read online

  The Men of Forty Mile

  When Big Jim Belden ventured the apparently innocuous proposition thatmush-ice was 'rather pecooliar,' he little dreamed of what it wouldlead to.

  Neither did Lon McFane, when he affirmed that anchor-ice was even moreso; nor did Bettles, as he instantly disagreed, declaring the veryexistence of such a form to be a bugaboo.

  'An' ye'd be tellin' me this,' cried Lon, 'after the years ye've spintin the land! An' we atin' out the same pot this many's the day!' 'Butthe thing's agin reasin,' insisted Bettles.

  'Look you, water's warmer than ice--' 'An' little the difference, onceye break through.'

  'Still it's warmer, because it ain't froze. An' you say it freezes onthe bottom?' 'Only the anchor-ice, David, only the anchor-ice. An' haveye niver drifted along, the water clear as glass, whin suddin, belike acloud over the sun, the mushy-ice comes bubblin' up an' up till frombank to bank an' bind to bind it's drapin' the river like a firstsnowfall?' 'Unh, hunh! more'n once when I took a doze at thesteering-oar. But it allus come out the nighest side-channel, an' notbubblin' up an' up.' 'But with niver a wink at the helm?'

  'No; nor you. It's agin reason. I'll leave it to any man!' Bettlesappealed to the circle about the stove, but the fight was on betweenhimself and Lon McFane.

  'Reason or no reason, it's the truth I'm tellin' ye. Last fall, a yeargone, 'twas Sitka Charley and meself saw the sight, droppin' down theriffle ye'll remember below Fort Reliance. An' regular fall weather itwas--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' down hand in hand. It's well ye knowthe same, with a fringe to the river an' the ice formin' thick in theeddies--an' a snap an' sparkle to the air, an' ye a-feelin' it throughall yer blood, a-takin' new lease of life with ivery suck of it. 'Tisthen, me boy, the world grows small an' the wandtherlust lays ye by theheels.

  'But it's meself as wandthers. As I was sayin', we a-paddlin', withniver a sign of ice, barrin' that by the eddies, when the Injun liftshis paddle an' sings out, "Lon McFane! Look ye below!" So have I heard,but niver thought to see! As ye know, Sitka Charley, like meself, niverdrew first breath in the land; so the sight was new. Then we drifted,with a head over ayther side, peerin' down through the sparkly water.For the world like the days I spint with the pearlers, watchin' thecoral banks a-growin' the same as so many gardens under the sea. Thereit was, the anchor-ice, clingin' an' clusterin' to ivery rock, afterthe manner of the white coral.

  'But the best of the sight was to come. Just after clearin' the tail ofthe riffle, the water turns quick the color of milk, an' the top of itin wee circles, as when the graylin' rise in the spring, or there's asplatter of wet from the sky. 'Twas the anchor-ice comin' up. To theright, to the lift, as far as iver a man cud see, the water was coveredwith the same.

  An' like so much porridge it was, slickin' along the bark of the canoe,stickin' like glue to the paddles. It's many's the time I shot theself-same riffle before, and it's many's the time after, but niver awink of the same have I seen. 'Twas the sight of a lifetime.' 'Dotell!' dryly commented Bettles. 'D'ye think I'd b'lieve such a yarn?I'd ruther say the glister of light'd gone to your eyes, and the snapof the air to your tongue.' ''Twas me own eyes that beheld it, an' ifSitka Charley was here, he'd be the lad to back me.' 'But facts isfacts, an' they ain't no gettin' round 'em. It ain't in the nature ofthings for the water furtherest away from the air to freeze first.''But me own eyes-' 'Don't git het up over it,' admonished Bettles, asthe quick Celtic anger began to mount.

  'Then yer not after belavin' me?' 'Sence you're so blamed forehandedabout it, no; I'd b'lieve nature first, and facts.'

  'Is it the lie ye'd be givin' me?' threatened Lon. 'Ye'd better beaskin' that Siwash wife of yours. I'll lave it to her, for the truth Ispake.' Bettles flared up in sudden wrath. The Irishman had unwittinglywounded him; for his wife was the half-breed daughter of a Russianfur-trader, married to him in the Greek Mission of Nulato, a thousandmiles or so down the Yukon, thus being of much higher caste than thecommon Siwash, or native, wife. It was a mere Northland nuance, whichnone but the Northland adventurer may understand.

  'I reckon you kin take it that way,' was his deliberate affirmation.

  The next instant Lon McFane had stretched him on the floor, the circlewas broken up, and half a dozen men had stepped between.

  Bettles came to his feet, wiping the blood from his mouth. 'It hain'tnew, this takin' and payin' of blows, and don't you never think butthat this will be squared.' 'An' niver in me life did I take the liefrom mortal man,' was the retort courteous. 'An' it's an avil day I'llnot be to hand, waitin' an' willin' to help ye 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 holes throughyou 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's astrikin' locality.' ''Tain't bad. Jest be there in an hour, and youwon't set long on my coming.' Both men mittened and left the Post,their ears closed to the remonstrances of their comrades. It was such alittle thing; yet with such men, little things, nourished by quicktempers and stubborn natures, soon blossomed into big things.

  Besides, the art of burning to bedrock still lay in the womb of thefuture, and the men of Forty-Mile, shut in by the long Arctic winter,grew high-stomached with overeating and enforced idleness, and becameas irritable as do the bees in the fall of the year when the hives areoverstocked with honey.

  There was no law in the land. The mounted police was also a thing ofthe future. Each man measured an offense, and meted out the punishmentinasmuch as it affected himself.

  Rarely had combined action been necessary, and never in all the drearyhistory of the camp had the eighth article of the Decalogue beenviolated.

  Big Jim Belden called an impromptu meeting. Scruff Mackenzie was placedas temporary chairman, and a messenger dispatched to solicit FatherRoubeau's good offices. Their position was paradoxical, and they knewit. By the right of might could they interfere to prevent the duel; yetsuch action, while in direct line with their wishes, went counter totheir opinions. While their rough-hewn, obsolete ethics recognized theindividual prerogative of wiping out blow with blow, they could notbear to think of two good comrades, such as Bettles and McFane, meetingin deadly battle. Deeming the man who would not fight on provocation adastard, when brought to the test it seemed wrong that he should fight.

  But a scurry of moccasins and loud cries, rounded off with apistol-shot, interrupted the discussion. Then the storm-doors openedand Malemute Kid entered, a smoking Colt's in his hand, and a merrylight 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 with him.''Come out and take a look.' 'That's all right after all. Buess he's got'em, too. Yellow Fang came back this morning and took a chunk out ofhim, and came near to making a widower of me. Made a rush for Zarinska,but she whisked her skirts in his face and escaped with the loss of thesame and a good roll in the snow. Then he took to the woods again. Hopehe don't come back. Lost any yourself?' 'One--the best one of thepack--Shookum. Started amuck this morning, but didn't get very far. Ranfoul of Sitka Charley's team, and they scattered him all over thestreet. And now two of them are loose, and raging mad; so you see hegot his work in. The dog census will be small in the spring if we don'tdo 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 down by thewaterhole in a few minutes to settle it.' The incident was repeated forhis benefit, and Malemute Kid, accustomed to an obedience which hisfellow men never failed to render, took charge of the affair. Hisquickly formulated plan was explained, and they promis
ed to follow hislead implicitly.

  'So you see,' he concluded, 'we do not actually take away theirprivilege of fighting; and yet I don't believe they'll fight when theysee the beauty of the scheme. Life's a game and men the gamblers.They'll stake their whole pile on the one chance in a thousand.

  'Take away that one chance, and--they won't play.' He turned to the manin charge of the Post. 'Storekeeper, weight out three fathoms of yourbest half-inch manila.

  'We'll establish a precedent which will last the men of Forty-Mile tothe end of time,' he prophesied. Then he coiled the rope about his armand led his followers out of doors, just in time to meet the principals.

  'What danged right'd he to fetch my wife in?' thundered Bettles to thesoothing overtures of a friend. ''Twa'n't called for,' he concludeddecisively. ''Twa'n't called for,' he reiterated again and 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'swith an aisy heart I'll roll in me flamy blankets, the broad of me backon a bed of coals. Niver shall it be said that Lon McFane took a lie'twixt the teeth without iver liftin' a hand! An' I'll not ask ablessin'. The years have been wild, but it's the heart was in the rightplace.' 'But it's not the heart, Lon,' interposed Father Roubeau; 'It'spride that bids you forth to slay your fellow man.' 'Yer Frinch,' Lonreplied. And then, turning to leave him, 'An' will ye say a mass if theluck is against me?' But the priest smiled, thrust his moccasined feetto the fore, and went out upon the white breast of the silent river. Apacked trail, the width of a sixteen-inch sled, led out to thewaterhole. On either side lay the deep, soft snow. The men trod insingle file, without conversation; and the black-stoled priest in theirmidst gave to the function the solemn aspect of a funeral. It was awarm winter's day for Forty-Mile--a day in which the sky, filled withheaviness, drew closer to the earth, and the mercury sought theunwonted level of twenty below. But there was no cheer in the warmth.There was little air in the upper strata, and the clouds hungmotionless, giving sullen promise of an early snowfall. And the earth,unresponsive, made no preparation, content in its hibernation.

  When the waterhole was reached, Bettles, having evidently reviewed thequarrel during the silent walk, burst out in a final ''Twa'n't calledfor,' while Lon McFane kept grim silence. Indignation so choked himthat he could not speak.

  Yet deep down, whenever their own wrongs were not uppermost, both menwondered at their comrades. They had expected opposition, and thistacit acquiescence hurt them. It seemed more was due them from the menthey had been so close with, and they felt a vague sense of wrong,rebelling at the thought of so many of their brothers coming out, as ona gala occasion, without one word of protest, to see them shoot eachother down. It appeared their worth had diminished in the eyes of thecommunity. The proceedings puzzled them.

  'Back to back, David. An' will it be fifty paces to the man, or doublethe quantity?'

  'Fifty,' was the sanguinary reply, grunted out, yet sharply cut.

  But the new manila, not prominently displayed, but casually coiledabout Malemute Kid's arm, caught the quick eye of the Irishman, andthrilled him with a suspicious fear.

  'An' what are ye doin' with the rope?' 'Hurry up!' Malemute Kid glancedat 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 men manifestedtheir impatience in various suggestive ways.

  'But the rope, Kid' It's bran' new, an' sure yer bread's not that heavyit needs raisin' with the like of that?' Bettles by this time had facedaround. Father Roubeau, the humor of the situation just dawning on him,hid a smile behind his mittened hand.

  'No, Lon; this rope was made for a man.' Malemute Kid could be veryimpressive 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 this little trouble ofyours over, and we've come to one conclusion. We know we have no rightto stop your fighting-' 'True for ye, me lad!' 'And we're not going to.But this much we can do, and shall do--make this the only duel in thehistory of Forty-Mile, set an example for every che-cha-qua that comesup or down the Yukon. The man who escapes killing shall be hanged tothe 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's downfor good. 'Tis their hearts'll niver let them do the deed, an' it'swell ye should know it for a true Yankee bluff.'

  He started off with a pleased grin on his face, but Malemute Kid haltedhim.

  'Lon! It's a long while since you first knew me?' 'Many's the day.''And you, Bettles?'

  'Five year next June high water.' 'And have you once, in all that time,known me to break my word' Or heard of me breaking it?' Both men shooktheir heads, striving to fathom what lay beyond.

  'Well, then, what do you think of a promise made by me?' 'As good asyour bond,' from Bettles.

  'The thing to safely sling yer hopes of heaven by,' promptly endorsedLon McFane.

  'Listen! I, Malemute Kid, give you my word--and you know what thatmeans that the man who is not shot stretches rope within ten minutesafter the shooting.' He stepped back as Pilate might have done afterwashing his hands.

  A pause and a silence came over the men of Forty-Mile. The sky drewstill closer, sending down a crystal flight of frost--little geometricdesigns, perfect, evanescent as a breath, yet destined to exist tillthe returning sun had covered half its northern journey.

  Both men had led forlorn hopes in their time--led with a curse or ajest on their tongues, and in their souls an unswerving faith in theGod of Chance. But that merciful deity had been shut out from thepresent deal. They studied the face of Malemute Kid, but they studiedas one might the Sphinx. As the quiet minutes passed, a feeling thatspeech was incumbent on them began to grow. At last the howl of awolf-dog cracked the silence from the direction of Forty-Mile. Theweird sound swelled with all the pathos of a breaking heart, then diedaway in a long-drawn sob.

  'Well I be danged!' Bettles turned up the collar of his mackinaw jacketand stared about him helplessly.

  'It's a gloryus game yer runnin', Kid,' cried Lon McFane. 'All thepercentage of the house an' niver a bit to the man that's buckin'. TheDevil himself'd niver tackle such a cinch--and damned if I do.' Therewere chuckles, throttled in gurgling throats, and winks brushed awaywith the frost which rimed the eyelashes, as the men climbed theice-notched bank and started across the street to the Post. But thelong howl had drawn nearer, invested with a new note of menace. A womanscreamed round the corner. There was a cry of, 'Here he comes!' Then anIndian boy, at the head of half a dozen frightened dogs, racing withdeath, dashed into the crowd. And behind came Yellow Fang, a bristle ofhair and a flash of gray. Everybody but the Yankee fled.

  The Indian boy had tripped and fallen. Bettles stopped long enough togrip him by the slack of his furs, then headed for a pile of cordwoodalready occupied by a number of his comrades. Yellow Fang, doublingafter one of the dogs, came leaping back. The fleeing animal, free ofthe rabies, but crazed with fright, whipped Bettles off his feet andflashed on up the street. Malemute Kid took a flying shot at YellowFang. The mad dog whirled a half airspring, came down on his back,then, with a single 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 holding himby the throat at arm's length, blinking under the fetid slaver whichsprayed his face. Then Bettles, revolver in hand and coolly waiting achance, 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.
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br />   'But would you,' persisted Mackenzie, 'supposing they had fought?''Have I ever broken my word?' 'No; but that isn't the point. Answer thequestion. Would you?' Malemute Kid straightened up. 'Scruff, I've beenasking myself that question ever since, and--'

  'Well?'

  'Well, as yet, I haven't found the answer.'