A Daughter of the Snows Page 6

  CHAPTER VI

  "So I think, captain, you will agree that we must exaggerate theseriousness of the situation." Jacob Welse helped his visitor into hisfur great-coat and went on. "Not that it is not serious, but that itmay not become more serious. Both you and I have handled faminesbefore. We must frighten them, and frighten them now, before it is toolate. Take five thousand men out of Dawson and there will be grub tolast. Let those five thousand carry their tale of famine to Dyea andSkaguay, and they will prevent five thousand more coming in over theice."

  "Quite right! And you may count on the hearty co-operation of thepolice, Mr. Welse." The speaker, a strong-faced, grizzled man,heavy-set and of military bearing, pulled up his collar and rested hishand on the door-knob. "I see already, thanks to you, the newcomersare beginning to sell their outfits and buy dogs. Lord! won't there bea stampede out over the ice as soon as the river closes down! And eachthat sells a thousand pounds of grub and goes lessens the propositionby one empty stomach and fills another that remains. When does theLaura start?"

  "This morning, with three hundred grubless men aboard. Would that theywere three thousand!"

  Amen to that! And by the way, when does your daughter arrive?"

  "'Most any day, now." Jacob Welse's eyes warmed. "And I want you todinner when she does, and bring along a bunch of your young bucks fromthe Barracks. I don't know all their names, but just the same extendthe invitation as though from me personally. I haven't cultivated thesocial side much,--no time, but see to it that the girl enjoys herself.Fresh from the States and London, and she's liable to feel lonesome.You understand."

  Jacob Welse closed the door, tilted his chair back, and cocked his feeton the guard-rail of the stove. For one half-minute a girlish visionwavered in the shimmering air above the stove, then merged into a womanof fair Saxon type.

  The door opened. "Mr. Welse, Mr. Foster sent me to find out if he isto go on filling signed warehouse orders?"

  "Certainly, Mr. Smith. But tell him to scale them down by half. If aman holds an order for a thousand pounds, give him five hundred."

  He lighted a cigar and tilted back again in his chair.

  "Captain McGregor wants to see you, sir."

  "Send him in."

  Captain McGregor strode in and remained standing before his employer.The rough hand of the New World had been laid upon the Scotsman fromhis boyhood; but sterling honesty was written in every line of hisbitter-seamed face, while a prognathous jaw proclaimed to the onlookerthat honesty was the best policy,--for the onlooker at any rate, shouldhe wish to do business with the owner of the jaw. This warning wasbacked up by the nose, side-twisted and broken, and by a long scarwhich ran up the forehead and disappeared in the gray-grizzled hair.

  "We throw off the lines in an hour, sir; so I've come for the lastword."

  "Good." Jacob Welse whirled his chair about. "Captain McGregor."

  "Ay."

  "I had other work cut out for you this winter; but I have changed mymind and chosen you to go down with the Laura. Can you guess why?"

  Captain McGregor swayed his weight from one leg to the other, and ashrewd chuckle of a smile wrinkled the corners of his eyes. "Going tobe trouble," he grunted.

  "And I couldn't have picked a better man. Mr. Bally will give youdetailed instructions as you go aboard. But let me say this: If wecan't scare enough men out of the country, there'll be need for everypound of grub at Fort Yukon. Understand?"

  "Ay."

  "So no extravagance. You are taking three hundred men down with you.The chances are that twice as many more will go down as soon as theriver freezes. You'll have a thousand to feed through the winter. Putthem on rations,--working rations,--and see that they work. Cordwood,six dollars per cord, and piled on the bank where steamers can make alanding. No work, no rations. Understand?"

  "Ay."

  "A thousand men can get ugly, if they are idle. They can get uglyanyway. Watch out they don't rush the caches. If they do,--do yourduty."

  The other nodded grimly. His hands gripped unconsciously, while thescar on his forehead took on a livid hue.

  "There are five steamers in the ice. Make them safe against the springbreak-up. But first transfer all their cargoes to one big cache. Youcan defend it better, and make the cache impregnable. Send a messengerdown to Fort Burr, asking Mr. Carter for three of his men. He doesn'tneed them. Nothing much is doing at Circle City. Stop in on the waydown and take half of Mr. Burdwell's men. You'll need them. There'llbe gun-fighters in plenty to deal with. Be stiff. Keep things incheck from the start. Remember, the man who shoots first comes offwith the whole hide. And keep a constant eye on the grub."

  "And on the forty-five-nineties," Captain McGregor rumbled back as hepassed out the door.

  "John Melton--Mr. Melton, sir. Can he see you?"

  "See here, Welse, what's this mean?" John Melton followed wrathfullyon the heels of the clerk, and he almost walked over him as heflourished a paper before the head of the company. "Read that! What'sit stand for?"

  Jacob Welse glanced over it and looked up coolly. "One thousand poundsof grub."

  "That's what I say, but that fellow you've got in the warehouse saysno,--five hundred's all it's good for."

  "He spoke the truth."

  "But--"

  "It stands for one thousand pounds, but in the warehouse it is onlygood for five hundred."

  "That your signature?" thrusting the receipt again into the other'sline of vision.

  "Yes."

  "Then what are you going to do about it?"

  "Give you five hundred. What are you going to do about it?"

  "Refuse to take it."

  "Very good. There is no further discussion."

  "Yes there is. I propose to have no further dealings with you. I'mrich enough to freight my own stuff in over the Passes, and I will nextyear. Our business stops right now and for all time."

  "I cannot object to that. You have three hundred thousand dollars indust deposited with me. Go to Mr. Atsheler and draw it at once."

  The man fumed impotently up and down. "Can't I get that other fivehundred? Great God, man! I've paid for it! You don't intend me tostarve?"

  "Look here, Melton." Jacob Welse paused to knock the ash from hiscigar. "At this very moment what are you working for? What are youtrying to get?"

  "A thousand pounds of grub."

  "For your own stomach?"

  The Bonanzo king nodded his head.

  "Just so." The lines showed more sharply on Jacob Welse's forehead."You are working for your own stomach. I am working for the stomachsof twenty thousand."

  "But you filled Tim McReady's thousand pounds yesterday all right."

  "The scale-down did not go into effect until to-day."

  "But why am I the one to get it in the neck hard?"

  "Why didn't you come yesterday, and Tim McReady to-day?"

  Melton's face went blank, and Jacob Welse answered his own questionwith shrugging shoulders.

  "That's the way it stands, Melton. No favoritism. If you hold meresponsible for Tim McReady, I shall hold you responsible for notcoming yesterday. Better we both throw it upon Providence. You wentthrough the Forty Mile Famine. You are a white man. A Bonanzoproperty, or a block of Bonanzo properties, does not entitle you to apound more than the oldest penniless 'sour-dough' or the newest babyborn. Trust me. As long as I have a pound of grub you shall notstarve. Stiffen up. Shake hands. Get a smile on your face and makethe best of it."

  Still savage of spirit, though rapidly toning down, the king shookhands and flung out of the room. Before the door could close on hisheels, a loose-jointed Yankee shambled in, thrust a moccasined foot tothe side and hooked a chair under him, and sat down.

  "Say," he opened up, confidentially, "people's gittin' scairt over thegrub proposition, I guess some."

  "Hello, Dave. That you?"

  "S'pose so. But ez I was saying there'll be a lively st
ampede fer theOutside soon as the river freezes."

  "Think so?"

  "Unh huh."

  "Then I'm glad to hear it. It's what the country needs. Going to jointhem?"

  "Not in a thousand years." Dave Harney threw his head back with smugcomplacency. "Freighted my truck up to the mine yesterday. Wa'n't abit too soon about it, either. But say . . . Suthin' happened to thesugar. Had it all on the last sled, an' jest where the trail turns offthe Klondike into Bonanzo, what does that sled do but break through theice! I never seen the beat of it--the last sled of all, an' all thesugar! So I jest thought I'd drop in to-day an' git a hundred poundsor so. White or brown, I ain't pertickler."

  Jacob Welse shook his head and smiled, but Harney hitched his chaircloser.

  "The clerk of yourn said he didn't know, an' ez there wa'n't no call topester him, I said I'd jest drop round an' see you. I don't care whatit's wuth. Make it a hundred even; that'll do me handy.

  "Say," he went on easily, noting the decidedly negative poise of theother's head. "I've got a tolerable sweet tooth, I have. Recollectthe taffy I made over on Preacher Creek that time? I declare! how timedoes fly! That was all of six years ago if it's a day. More'n that,surely. Seven, by the Jimcracky! But ez I was sayin', I'd ruther dowithout my plug of 'Star' than sugar. An' about that sugar? Got mydogs outside. Better go round to the warehouse an' git it, eh? Prettygood idea."

  But he saw the "No" shaping on Jacob Welse's lips, and hurried onbefore it could be uttered.

  "Now, I don't want to hog it. Wouldn't do that fer the world. So ifyer short, I can put up with seventy-five--" (he studied the other'sface), "an' I might do with fifty. I 'preciate your position, an' Iain't low-down critter enough to pester--"

  "What's the good of spilling words, Dave? We haven't a pound of sugarto spare--"

  "Ez I was sayin', I ain't no hog; an' seein' 's it's you, Welse, I'llmake to scrimp along on twenty-five--"

  "Not an ounce!"

  "Not the least leetle mite? Well, well, don't git het up. We'll jestfergit I ast you fer any, an' I'll drop round some likelier time. Solong. Say!" He threw his jaw to one side and seemed to stiffen themuscles of his ear as he listened intently. "That's the Laura'swhistle. She's startin' soon. Goin' to see her off? Come along."

  Jacob Welse pulled on his bearskin coat and mittens, and they passedthrough the outer offices into the main store. So large was it, thatthe tenscore purchasers before the counters made no apparent crowd.Many were serious-faced, and more than one looked darkly at the head ofthe company as he passed. The clerks were selling everything exceptgrub, and it was grub that was in demand. "Holding it for a rise.Famine prices," a red-whiskered miner sneered. Jacob Welse heard it,but took no notice. He expected to hear it many times and moreunpleasantly ere the scare was over.

  On the sidewalk he stopped to glance over the public bulletins postedagainst the side of the building. Dogs lost, found, and for saleoccupied some space, but the rest was devoted to notices of sales ofoutfits. The timid were already growing frightened. Outfits of fivehundred pounds were offering at a dollar a pound, without flour;others, with flour, at a dollar and a half. Jacob Welse saw Meltontalking with an anxious-faced newcomer, and the satisfaction displayedby the Bonanzo king told that he had succeeded in filling his winter'scache.

  "Why don't you smell out the sugar, Dave?" Jacob Welse asked, pointingto the bulletins.

  Dave Harney looked his reproach. "Mebbe you think I ain't bensmellin'. I've clean wore my dogs out chasin' round from Klondike Cityto the Hospital. Can't git yer fingers on it fer love or money."

  They walked down the block-long sidewalk, past the warehouse doors andthe long teams of waiting huskies curled up in wolfish comfort in thesnow. It was for this snow, the first permanent one of the fall, thatthe miners up-creek had waited to begin their freighting.

  "Curious, ain't it?" Dave hazarded suggestively, as they crossed themain street to the river bank. "Mighty curious--me ownin' twofive-hundred-foot Eldorado claims an' a fraction, wuth five millions ifI'm wuth a cent, an' no sweetenin' fer my coffee or mush! Why,gosh-dang-it! this country kin go to blazes! I'll sell out! I'll quitit cold! I'll--I'll--go back to the States!"

  "Oh, no, you won't," Jacob Welse answered. "I've heard you talkbefore. You put in a year up Stuart River on straight meat, if Ihaven't forgotten. And you ate salmon-belly and dogs up the Tanana, tosay nothing of going through two famines; and you haven't turned yourback on the country yet. And you never will. And you'll die here assure as that's the Laura's spring being hauled aboard. And I lookforward confidently to the day when I shall ship you out in alead-lined box and burden the San Francisco end with the trouble ofwinding up your estate. You are a fixture, and you know it."

  As he talked he constantly acknowledged greetings from the passers-by.Those who knew him were mainly old-timers and he knew them all by name,though there was scarcely a newcomer to whom his face was not familiar.

  "I'll jest bet I'll be in Paris in 1900," the Eldorado king protestedfeebly.

  But Jacob Welse did not hear. There was a jangling of gongs asMcGregor saluted him from the pilot-house and the Laura slipped outfrom the bank. The men on the shore filled the air with good-luckfarewells and last advice, but the three hundred grubless ones, turningtheir backs on the golden dream, were moody and dispirited, and madesmall response. The Laura backed out through a channel cut in theshore-ice, swung about in the current, and with a final blast put onfull steam ahead.

  The crowd thinned away and went about its business, leaving Jacob Welsethe centre of a group of a dozen or so. The talk was of the famine,but it was the talk of men. Even Dave Harney forgot to curse thecountry for its sugar shortage, and waxed facetious over thenewcomers,--_chechaquos_, he called them, having recourse to the Siwashtongue. In the midst of his remarks his quick eye lighted on a blackspeck floating down with the mush-ice of the river. "Jest look atthat!" he cried. "A Peterborough canoe runnin' the ice!"

  Twisting and turning, now paddling, now shoving clear of the floatingcakes, the two men in the canoe worked in to the rim-ice, along theedge of which they drifted, waiting for an opening. Opposite thechannel cut out by the steamer, they drove their paddles deep anddarted into the calm dead water. The waiting group received them withopen arms, helping them up the bank and carrying their shell after them.

  In its bottom were two leather mail-pouches, a couple of blankets,coffee-pot and frying-pan, and a scant grub-sack. As for the men, sofrosted were they, and so numb with the cold, that they could hardlystand. Dave Harney proposed whiskey, and was for haling them away atonce; but one delayed long enough to shake stiff hands with Jacob Welse.

  "She's coming," he announced. "Passed her boat an hour back. It oughtto be round the bend any minute. I've got despatches for you, but I'llsee you later. Got to get something into me first." Turning to gowith Harney, he stopped suddenly and pointed up stream. "There she isnow. Just coming out past the bluff."

  "Run along, boys, an' git yer whiskey," Harney admonished him and hismate. "Tell 'm it's on me, double dose, an' jest excuse me notdrinkin' with you, fer I'm goin' to stay."

  The Klondike was throwing a thick flow of ice, partly mush and partlysolid, and swept the boat out towards the middle of the Yukon. Theycould see the struggle plainly from the bank,--four men standing up andpoling a way through the jarring cakes. A Yukon stove aboard wassending up a trailing pillar of blue smoke, and, as the boat drewcloser, they could see a woman in the stern working the longsteering-sweep. At sight of this there was a snap and sparkle in JacobWelse's eyes. It was the first omen, and it was good, he thought. Shewas still a Welse; a struggler and a fighter. The years of her culturehad not weakened her. Though tasting of the fruits of the first removefrom the soil, she was not afraid of the soil; she could return to itgleefully and naturally.

  So he mused till the boat drove in, ice-rimed and battered, against theedge of the rim-ice. The one white m
an aboard sprang: out, painter inhand, to slow it down and work into the channel. But the rim-ice wasformed of the night, and the front of it shelved off with him into thecurrent. The nose of the boat sheered out under the pressure of aheavy cake, so that he came up at the stern. The woman's arm flashedover the side to his collar, and at the same instant, sharp andauthoritative, her voice rang out to the Indian oarsmen to back water.Still holding the man's head above water, she threw her body againstthe sweep and guided the boat stern-foremost into the opening. A fewmore strokes and it grounded at the foot of the bank. She passed thecollar of the chattering man to Dave Harney, who dragged him out andstarted him off on the trail of the mail-carriers.

  Frona stood up, her cheeks glowing from the quick work. Jacob Welsehesitated. Though he stood within reach of the gunwale, a gulf ofthree years was between. The womanhood of twenty, added unto the girlof seventeen, made a sum more prodigious than he had imagined. He didnot know whether to bear-hug the radiant young creature or to take herhand and help her ashore. But there was no apparent hitch, for sheleaped beside him and was into his arms. Those above looked away to aman till the two came up the bank hand in hand.

  "Gentlemen, my daughter." There was a great pride in his face.

  Frona embraced them all with a comrade smile, and each man felt thatfor an instant her eyes had looked straight into his.