THE RIVER MOTOR BOAT BOYS ON THE YUKON (continued 2)

“Look here, you fellows,” he called, his eyes flashing through his tears. “That’s my bear and I want you to leave him alone. Don’t give him another drink; why, he’s getting as drunk as some of these men and he hasn’t got much more sense than they have when he’s this way. He would not be in here if you hadn’t coaxed him in with sugar and got him to boxing and drinking beer. Now stop it, cut it out and cut it out quick.”

“What are you going to do about it, my young bantam,” sneered the bartender.

“That’s simple,” said Alex, in steady tones. “I’m going to shatter that mirror. I’ve heard one was worth $2,500.00 up here. Then those rows of bottles on the shelves—I’ve seen you sell some at $10.00 per bottle—that I think will about pay for Teddy.”

“What do you think I’ll be doing all that time,” sneered the bartender.

“You’ll be smiling sweetly and holding up your hands as high as you can get them,” came the cool retort; “otherwise I might take you for an enlarged whiskey bottle and make a mistake in my shooting. Stop!” he cried, as the bartender reached under the bar.

“It’s time to interfere,” said the stranger by Clay’s side.

CHAPTER VIII

AN EXCITING TIME

The low ceilinged room was filled with roughly dressed miners and a few women gaudily attired. Alex’s voice had rang out so seriously and deadly that a wide lane had opened up between him and the bartender. Clay and Ike, with the stranger in the lead, pushed forward to where Teddy, a leering grin on his face, was waiting for another round of beer. The bartender was striving to secure his long-barreled pistol, which lay on a shelf underneath the bar, but Alex was on the watch and the pinging of the automatic sent a steel-nosed bullet crashing through the bar close to the bartender’s hands, which he promptly elevated on high. “Now for your insults and threats and the way you have abused Teddy,” Alex cried, anger taking full possession of him. He sent two bullets in the mirror which cracked it from top to bottom, then he began to shoot slowly and carefully, at the four tiers of bottles behind the bar. Each bullet brought forth the tinkling sound of splintered glass and the gushing forth of escaping liquor. The bartender’s face grew paler with each sound of breaking glass, for liquor was liquid gold at Nome.

But this state of things could not last. The shots brought the reserve force of bartenders and bouncers from other parts of the building, some pulling out their long-barreled revolvers as they ran to their chief’s assistance. The first appeared behind the bar just as the stranger, with the boys at his side, struggled into the open lane that ran from Alex to the bar. Alex had emptied his pistol and was calmly reloading it with deliberate care, although he could not but realize the peril in which he stood. His face brightened as he saw his two friends.

“Get out while you’ve got the chance,” he shouted.

But Clay only smiled as he whipped out his automatic and leveled it at the newcomer behind the bar, who was cocking a heavy 44 Colts.

“Hold on a minute, you gunmen,” rang out the stranger’s voice, cool and crisp. The constantly augmented group of bartenders and bouncers hesitated for a moment at the determined tones of authority, and Alex finished his reloading.

“I reckon you all know me,” went on the cool drawling voice, “if some of you don’t know me, I’m the Yukon Kid an’ you may have heard the name before.” A murmur swept over the crowd.

“I never thought much of Nome, with her gambling dens, dance halls and dives like this, but I never thought one of the places I have mentioned would descend so low as to hector and make desperate a boy, just a stripling, and a chekako (tenderfoot), at that.” His clear voice swept the assembled miners and the group of hesitating bartenders. His two heavy revolvers seemed to leap from their holsters. One steel muzzle described a rapidly slanting arc back and forth before the saloon men, while the other whirled rapidly in a circle with a finger pressed gently on the trigger, seemed to cover the whole crowd at once to their evident uneasiness.

“Boys, go and get your bear out in the street. Don’t be too hard on him,” said the Yukon Kid, with a grin. “Remember it’s his first offense and likely his last, for he’ll be a sick bear tomorrow.”

Alex came forward from his corner and Ike and Clay moved up to Teddy. “Come on, Teddy, and no foolishness about it,” Clay commanded. But Teddy, a maudlin insane glint in his eyes, squared off angrily to fight.

Clay snatched out his sheaf knife and made a downward sweep with it. Teddy’s eyes lost their look of insanity, and whining, he dropped on all fours and made for the door, followed by the boys. Once outside Teddy tried to arise to his hind feet but found his legs too weak and wabbly, so dropped back on all fours.

“Take him right down to the boat and tie him up to the snubbing block in the prow, Alex,” Clay ordered. “You go with him, Ike. I’m going to look for Case and Captain Joe. I am worried about them. Where did you see him last, Alex?”

“We got separated soon after we left the boat, I was trying to hunt him up when that brute gave me a shove down into one of those worked out mines and bolted. By the time I got out I was not thinking about anything but finding Teddy before he got into mischief. I don’t know what became of Case.”

“Stop a minute, Clay,” shouted Ike, as they were moving off. “Don’t forget if a man insists on our taking souvenirs, there’s eight of us in the crew, you understand.”

“But there are only six of us,” said Clay, puzzled.

“You forget the dog and bear,” replied Ike solemnly. “Don’t you think animals have some feelings and don’t like to be slighted? If they don’t want them we can take care of them for them.”

Clay turned back into the saloon with a smile on his face.

It was quite a different sight that met his eyes when he stepped inside. The Yukon Kid was the center of the crowd of miners, who, pressing around him, were loudly demanding news of the upper Yukon. Two bartenders were, with forced smiles on their faces, serving the crowd with drinks on the house. The others were mopping up the spilled liquor from the broken bottles.

The crowd was so dense that Clay could not force his way in so he stood on its edge striving to signal the Kid. “Great man, the Kid,” volunteered a miner next him. “Came into this country just a kid and hasn’t been outside since. Carries the mail back and forth as far as Dawson. Never misses a trip, and let me tell you that’s a trip but few dare to make in the middle of winter. Don’t reckon he’s so very rich—gives away too much. But, I reckon, he’s known better and trusted more than any man in the North. He’s a good man to tie to for he’s always reliable in peace or trouble.”

Clay studied the Kid’s face closely as the man talked. In spite of the roughness and scars placed there by Mother North, it was a young, comely, strong face, and set off with twinkling steel gray eyes. Their eyes met and the Kid pushed through the crowd to his side.

“Hello,” he said. “You back?”

“I wanted to thank you for what you have done for us,” Clay said gratefully.

“Bosh!” exclaimed the Kid, the red mounting to his face. “What little I did for you I’d do for any chekako who was staked up against odds,” he chuckled. “That’s a fire-eating little partner you’ve got. He’ll make a sour dough all right if he doesn’t get killed in the making.”

“I have got another partner just as gamey.” Clay said proudly. “He is not as quick tempered as Alex but he’s all right. I wanted to ask you if you had heard or seen anything of him. The two left the boat at the same time, but soon got separated. He had a big white bull dog with him. I am afraid something has happened to him.”

“No, I haven’t seen or heard anything of him, but wait a bit, some of this crowd may have heard of him. I’ll inquire.”

“He was gone but a moment then returned to Clay. “I’ve found out where he was an hour ago, but Lord only knows where he is now. Wait! I’ll go with you. You couldn’t find the place alone.” He moved up to the bar and called for drinks, taking a glass of root beer for himself. “My parting round, boys,” he said friendly. “Have something yourself, Charley,” to the white-clad bartender. “What I’m trying to figure out is who’s going to pay for that mirror and the wasted liquor—about $3,000, I calculate,” scoffed the bartender.

“It’s your own fault, Charley,” said the Kid, lightly. “You can’t collect it out of the boys—they are minors any way. Better charge it up as advertising.”

“Say,” he continued, as he noted the black frown on the other’s face. “I’ll take responsibility for that bill. Just send it up to my cabin, and then come up and try to collect it.”

The frown disappeared from the fellow’s face and he tried to force a grin.

“Guess I’d better charge it to advertising,” he said.

“Sure, advertising pays,” agreed the Kid cordially, and turning, he strode for the door where Clay was awaiting him. As they stepped outside, a strong wind smote their faces so as to almost prevent conversation. The Kid turned, his hand against his mouth. “Keep close to me,” he shouted “and no matter what trouble comes up, don’t pull your gun unless I give the word.”

Clay obeyed and kept close at the Kid’s heels. A half hour’s walk brought them to the fringe of the town, where they could see the Rambler dancing at her dock about a mile distant.

“We’re nearly there,” said the Kid, “and remember, you’re to let me handle this thing, in my own way. Just keep still and let me do the talking. He had reached a group of tents which were pitched in a kind of circle leaving a round plot of ground inclosed within. From this court yard came the sounds of laughter, hoots and cries. The Yukon Kid picked his way in between the ropes of two tents, Clay following. At this entrance they paused a minute to review the scene.

The courtyard was about one-fourth of an acre in extent. All around its sides were packed a dense crowd of men offering and taking big bets on the outcome of the battle that raged in the center.

Here, within another circle, a curious battle was going on. Ranged around in a silent circle, according to their usual code, were a dozen or more wolf-dogs, more wolf than dog, squatted on their haunches, their eyes eager, and their long white fangs dripping saliva, for to them belonged the spoils of the battle that was going on now within this inner circle. When one of the combatants died, it was their privilege to drag it outside of the circle and satisfy their hunger-warped souls on its flesh and bones. They cared not which died, only that he died quickly. Theirs was the sentiment of aching bellies.”

The Kid kicked a way through the circle of dogs and Clay followed him. Inside two men, seated on a log, were evidently refereeing the fight while on the other end of the log sat Case, tightly bound hand and foot, his face a picture of anger and helplessness.

The Kid took a seat on the log by the side of the one who appeared chief in authority and who shifted uneasily. He did not like the Yukon Kid. The Kid knew too much and had an uncanny way of learning hidden things.

“Having a good match, Major?” enquired the Kid pleasantly, as he glanced at the desperate battle for life Captain Joe was putting up against a gaunt, husky wolf dog that towered way above him. Both dogs were fighting desperately and silently as became their breed, the husky darting in and out, snapping viciously, and Captain Joe whirling to meet the attack on his short, stumpy legs with surprising quickness, always trying to reach the enemy’s throat.

“Yes, it’s some match,” agreed the other, cautiously. “A good many thousands of dollars of gold dust changed hands on the first match alone.”

“You don’t mean you’ve been fighting that bull dog against more than one husky?” the Kid cried in amazement.

“He’s killed two, this is the third one,” said the Major: “By jove! there goes the third.” Captain Joe had found his goal at last. The husky, eager to kill, had bent too low and Captain Joe’s teeth were buried in his throat in a death-like grip, which, rear and plunge as he might, the husky could not shake off. In a few moments it was all over and the dead husky was dragged away by his ravenous comrades, while Captain Joe painfully limped over to Case and Clay, his sides heaving and his white body bleeding from countless wounds. Clay picked him up and wiped his poor punctured body. “He’s fought like a hero without a whine,” Case said with dim eyes. “I tried to stop the first fight when it started, but a dozen of the crowd grabbed me and tied me up. All I’ve been able to do is to sit here and see them make him fight one husky after another. He’s got four more to fight before they’ll let him go. He can’t finish those four. He is getting too weak. I doubt if he can go through another round, he has lost so much blood.” The voice of the referee interrupted: “Captain Joe still alive and on his feet. Next match, Captain Joe against Birch Bark.”

At the other end of the log the Yukon Kid was talking sweetly and cooly to the man in authority.

CHAPTER IX

THE VISITORS

“Do you think it quite fair to make one little brute fight seven big huskies, worked until they are as hard as iron, Major?”

“He’s got to do it or die,” said the Major. The Kid, however, seemed to have lost all interest in the dog fight. “Remember that murder up on the Stewart when some one did up Old Joe and made off with the whole of the gold dust that the old man had cleared up? Remember it, Major?”

“I don’t exactly remember it,” said the Major, uneasily.

“’Course you remember it,” said the Kid softly. “I met you just south of the Stewart and you were driving as though the devil was after you. Queer, ain’t it?” he continued, “that the police could not find out who the murderer was, while I knew in less than a week. Strange tales from the Indians reached my ears and one of them brought me a lot of things he had found around the cabin before the mounted police came. There was a mitten, an empty 45-50 shell, and a handkerchief with a man’s name on it, and, well, there were a lot of other things. But what’s the use of bringing up old scores. Joe was so mean that the poison in his heart would have killed him pretty soon anyway. Look here,” he said abruptly. “I reckon this dog fight has gone about far enough. That white bull is dead game, but he can’t go another battle.”

“You want the fight called off?” the Major asked with head bent.

“I reckon that’s about it,” said the Kid cheerfully, “and you might as well untie that youngster’s hands and feet. It ain’t no ways comfortable for a boy to be trussed up that way.”

“All right,” said the Major listlessly, and he walked over to the referee and spoke a few words.

“All right,” the referee replied sullenly, “you’re the boss. Match declared off for personal reasons,” he shouted to the crowd outside. “All bets on this fight declared off.” There was an angry murmur from the crowd outside. The Kid slashed away Case’s bindings. “Bring your dog and keep close to me. There’s no telling how that crowd will act. There are some bad men amongst them.” A hundred men surrounded them with angry threats as they broke out of the circle. The Kid took Captain Joe and held him up to the view of the crowd. “Here’s a poor, little four-legged American citizen,” he said. “He’s game, if he is a chekako. He’s killed three of your trail-hardened huskies. That ought to be enough, but now you want him to tackle four more. Is that a square deal? Is that the American spirit of fair play?”

“You Americans are always boasting about what you do,” sneered an Englishman. “Why, that dog isn’t an American. It’s an English bull dog.”

“I will admit his ancestors came from England and that he has inherited his awful looking mug from them, but he isn’t to blame for that. He’s got the true American spirit.”

The Americans in the crowd laughed at the Kid’s retort, and one of them shouted: “Hurrah for the stars and stripes.”

“You blooming braggers,” shouted the Englishman. “You’ll never stand straight up and fight fair with odds even.”

“We, as a nation, never get the chance,” retorted the Kid. “We always have had to give odds of five to one at least. Remember the wars of 1776 and 1812?”

The cheering over the Englishman’s discomfiture rose uproariously until a big Swede stilled it by raising up his brawny arms above the crowd as a signal for silence.

“Ay tank day United States ban all right. Ay tank day American dog with the ugly face ban all right too. How you all like to fight four more mens after you already lick three? Ay tank we better let the dog and boys go.”

The air rang with applause from the now good-natured crowd. “Let ’em go,” shouted a hundred voices, and the two boys worked their way through the ropes into the open once more, followed by the Yukon Kid.

Once distant from the circle of tents, the Kid stopped. “I guess you can find the boat all right,” he said. “I’m going to take a short cut home. I’ve traveled fifty miles today and only eaten one meal. I’ll rest a bit and then get something to eat.”

“I wish you would take your rest and then come down to the boat and have supper with us,” Clay said earnestly. “We have got a lot of dainties, and we brought up loads of books and magazines.”

“I’ll go you,” said the Kid boyishly. “I have been living on bacon and beans all winter—and magazines and books! Have you really got them? I had almost forgotten that there were such things in the world. Why, I got hold of a New York paper last winter and I read it and read it until I wore it out. Sure, I’ll be down just as soon as I can catch a couple of hours’ rest. So long, boys, till supper.”

Clay and Case made their way down to the Rambler without any difficulty. The ancient mariner was still sitting on the post, watching, with delight, Ike and Alex pouring pail after pail of water on Teddy Bear, who, up in the prow in the sunshine, was snoring loudly. The only effect the water seemed to have upon him was to make him roll over on the other side and resume his loud snoring.

The veteran prospector beckoned to Clay to approach him. “Say,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “There’s been strange goings on in your boat since you left. I never expected to see anything like it around here. Just after you left, two men came down the dock and went aboard your boat. I didn’t take much notice of them, ’cause the latch string is always hangin’ out in the North and I could see that they were sour dough boys and reckoned they were some friends of yours. But they staid down in the cabin so long that I made up my mind that I’d step down and tell ’em that you-alls wouldn’t be back for a couple of hours. Soon as I peeked into the cabin, I saw what they was up to. There they was with all the lockers pulled out looking through your things and throwing your clothes out on the floor. One of them was just putting a battered silver watch in his pocket. I got a bead on him with my old 44 and let out a yell. He dropped the watch like it was red hot. I marched ’em out of the cabin and up on the dock. Then I says to ’em, ‘Hike for shore and don’t be long getting there, for my fingers are getting shaky with old age and might press the trigger too hard, any minute.’”

“Did they run?” questioned Clay, with a grin.

“I could not have caught them if I had been forty years younger, and, believe me, I used to be some runner,” said the old prospector with open admiration at the speed the two fugitives had displayed. “But the further they got the madder I got to thinking old sour doughs would act meaner than a chekako. One of them was marked with a red scar across one cheek, and, just as they made the shore, I decided I’d mark the other one so I’d be sure to know him the next time I saw him.”

“Did you hit him?” asked Clay, still grinning.

“I reckon I’m getting an old fellow. I aimed for the lobe of his ear and only just nicked it.”

“We’re mighty grateful to you for defending our property,” Clay said. “Stay and have supper with us,” he urged. “We are fixing to have quite a spread.”

“No, thankee,” refused the old man. “I’ve got a pot of bacon and beans cooked up down at my cabin. I’ve eaten them and pertatoes and now and then a piece of moose meat for forty years, and I’ve got so a meal don’t taste right without ’em.”

“We have got beans, plenty of them,” urged Clay.

“I know the kind,” said the man, scornfully. “Come in a can with a little slice of bacon on top that you can see through, it’s so thin, and the beans below ’em are so weak and pale that they always color ’em up with tomato juice to make ’em look healthy and deceive you. No, no such kind of beans for me; just the raw kind. Put ’em in a pot with at least a third of their bulk in sizable cubes of bacon. Then fill the pot plumb full of water and sit on the fire to simmer. When they are done you have got beans what is beans. Come right handy on the trail in winter, too. You can freeze them into sticks an’ pack ’em on your sled an’ when you want to cook dinner, just chop off as much as you want and thaw it out in the frying pan. Well, good-night. Reckon I’ll see you afore you leave.”

Clay turned back to his friends, a gentle smile on his lips, for the quaint, honest Old Timer. He found his three companions washing and doing up Captain Joe’s numerous wounds, while the dog licked their hands in dumb gratitude.

“It does not need all three of you to fix up Captain Joe,” he observed. “Someone got into our cabin while we were gone and messed up things a good bit, though I don’t believe they got away with anything. I should like Ike to put things back in their place. All I can see that he’s doing is to look at Captain Joe’s teeth to see if there are any gold fillings. When you get through with Joe, both of you come up and help me for we are going to have the biggest feast we ever have had in the Rambler, tonight. We are going to have a visitor to supper.”

“Who?” Alex asked, smearing ointment over one of Captain Joe’s wounds while Case applied a clean white bandage to another.

“The Yukon Kid,” said Clay. “I invited him down and he accepted.”

“Hurrah,” shouted all three boys, and Ike added thoughtfully: “That Kid, he knows a lot about the country; you understand, maybe he can tell us where there be more miners what like to give away souvenirs.”

Ike’s face went deathly pale when he caught sight of the scattered things that littered the cabin. He rushed to the pile near his bunk and pawed it out pantingly. The battered old silver watch lay near the pile and Ike pounced on it with delight. “I don’t care so much about the rest, but this my uncle gave me. I wish I had a good safe place to put it.”

“We fixed up a safe place to put our valuables while we had spare time this winter. Come here and I’ll show it to you.” Clay lifted up a square of flooring right behind the stove, disclosing a cavity about a foot square and the same in depth, the whole carefully lined with moisture-proof oil cloth. “That’s a mighty good place,” said Ike with satisfaction. “Soon’s I get time, you understand, I wraps up my watch, that nugget, and them bills I’ve got in the seat of my pants and put them here.” Clay replaced the bit of flooring. It fitted so carefully that the cracks could only be discovered with a close scrutiny. “We always put a couple of old sacks or an old piece of carpet over it and Captain Joe sleeps there most of the time, so you see there is but little chance of its being discovered. By the way, one of the chaps that raided the Rambler had a red scar on his face, and the other one had a face that would hang him without a trial.”

Ike’s face grew downcast. “Dem must have been them two low-lifes that tried to rob me in Chicago. I wonder how they gets here. They had no money.”

“I guess I know how they managed it,” said Clay, thoughtfully. “I’ll show you something when I get the time. We have talked too long now. Let’s get to work.”

Ike with deft fingers folded and replaced the scattered things in their lockers, while Clay started a fire in the stove and began preparations for the grand feast. He was soon joined by Case and Alex followed by Captain Joe. Alex was grinning. “You had ought to have seen Captain Joe,” he said, “the minute we turned him loose: he made for Teddy Bear, I guess, to tell him his trouble and gain a little sympathy. He looked puzzled when he found he could not rouse him. He walked all around him sniffing until he got to Teddy’s head, then he caught a good smell of Teddy’s breath. He turned away and came with us with such a comical look of disgust on his face, that it would have made you laugh.

Captain Joe lay down behind the stove on the secret hiding place, while Case and Alex hastened to Clay’s assistance. The boys had brought along with them a small stock of dainties with which to help celebrate on special days, and this they broke into with rude hands. Soon the table, covered with a white cloth, was laden with cream cheese, jars of preserves, jellies, a fruity fruit cake, jams, and even a jar of anchovy paste. A plate heaped with nuts, figs and raisins, stood in the middle, while at each individual plate was one each of their precious stock of oranges and apples.

Over the stove Clay labored, steaming sausages and frying canned beefsteak with onions, while big, mealy potatoes already cooked were placed on the back corner of the stove to keep warm.

“He’s coming now,” said Alex, as a light, vigorous step rang on the dock, and a moment later the Kid’s cheery face appeared in the cabin door. He looked more like a man who had slept fifty hours and traveled two miles, than like one who had just traveled fifty miles and slept two hours. His brief rest had removed all weariness from his face.

His keen eyes swept from the boys to the laden table. “Gee! boys,” he said, boyishly. “This isn’t a supper. It’s a banquet, and me here without my dress suit on.”

CHAPTER X

THE YUKON

The boys were delighted with the way their visitor ate. “I am ashamed of myself,” he said as he passed his plate a third time, “but everything tastes so good. Especially after a man has been eating his own poorly-cooked grub for a year. We do not do much cooking on the trail. One cannot carry great quantities of food on sleds and make much progress. It’s the curse of the North that one is always possessed of a gnawing hunger without the means of satisfying it. Men seem to thrive under it, though. Few of them carry an extra ounce of flesh on them, but they are as hard as iron. One of them can do as much hard labor in a day as three well-fed chekakos. And while I am talking, son,” addressing Alex, “let me warn you not to pull your gun in this region unless you mean to kill or be killed. Mere bluff does not go in this country without a bad reputation to back it, and sometimes not even then. You’re a pretty fair shot, boy, I noticed that today, but lad, there are old timers who can give a good hair cut at twenty paces without breaking the skin. Better not draw your gun unless you have to. Pluckiness is all right, but it’s suicide to try to stack up against too heavy odds. Don’t think I am trying to lecture,” he added apologetically. “It’s just good advice I got hammered into me when I first hit this country. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll take a look at that pile of magazines and books I see over there. They stack up like a heap of gold dust to me.”

The five of them clustered around, while the Kid handled the books with reverent fingers. He laid a few books and a couple of magazines one side. The boys looked at them with surprise. They consisted of a book on surgery and two law books, which belonged to Clay, whose private ambition was to be a lawyer. Clay glanced at the titles, “Chitty on Pleadings” and “Bishop on Contracts.”

“Gee!” he said. “You’ve chosen some heavy stuff. Why, it took me a year to get all of ‘Chitty on Pleadings’ through my head.”

“Light reading is all right for summer,” said the Kid, “but for winter give me the heavy books like these that keep your mind so busy that you do not think of the long darkness, the great silence, and the everlasting whiteness. Besides, I need that book on surgery. I meet so many injured men on the trail and there isn’t a doctor between Nome and Dawson. As to the law books, well, this is going to be a great country some day, I guess, and the man on the ground who knows the miners as well as the laws will stand a good chance of making good—anyway it will beat traveling the long trail, and I’m for it.”

Case brought out some cigars which they had brought along with them for just some like occasion.

“Take a handful,” he said, hospitably, but the Kid only took one. “I have sorter got used to my old pipe and cut plug,” he apologized. “Say, don’t none of you boys smoke?”

“No,” said Clay, but don’t stop for that. Light up.”

“No,” said the Kid decidedly. “I am not going to stink up this dainty little cabin of yours with stale tobacco fumes. Let’s go up on deck if you don’t mind. It’s the finest hour in the twenty-four, according to my notion.”

The five seated themselves on the edge of the cabin, silent for the moment. Twilight had set in and the day’s work was over. Outside the shanties small fires were blazing from which came the savory odor of frying bacon and boiling coffee. A keen, clear wind fanned their faces, while from the huddled settlement came to their ears, faintly, the weird, soul-stirring wail of the wolf dogs. But, because they were well fed, and happy, and young—above all, young—they began to sing. Clay first, by some hidden chord, had been touched by that soul-touching wail and dearly his fresh young voice rang out, softly at first, but gradually growing in volume.

“Back in the dear dead days beyond recall,

When on the earth the mists began to fall,

Out of the dreams that rose in happy throng,

Low to our hearts love sang an old sweet song.”

“Know any more of it?” asked the Kid, eagerly.

“Sure, a part of it,” Clay said with a glance at his companions. None of the boys had cultivated voices but they were clear and ringing and bore the thrilling note of youth. They had often sang together on their long trips and when Clay started again the other three joined in harmoniously.

“And in the even when fell the firelight gleam,

Slowly it wove itself into our dreams.”

A shanty door slammed, another and another until it seemed to Clay as if all Nome was banging doors. He stopped. “We’re going to be mobbed,” he said, “and it’s your fault, Ike. That golden note in your voice is starting a stampede.”

“Go on,” commanded the Kid, who was lying back on the cabin top, his face upturned to the stars.

Clay hurried to the end filled with apprehension at the sight of many dim forms filing out on the dock, but in spite of his fears he sang on to the end, the words ringing out sweetly over the water.

“And in the end when earth’s dim shadows fall.

Love will be found the sweetest song of all.”

Uproarious applause came from the now densely packed crowd on the dock.

Clay sat down in amazement. “An audience! and I thought it was a mob!” he gasped.

“You green, green chekako,” grinned the Kid. “Don’t you realize that most of these men have been up here for years without hearing any music but the tin pan din of the saloons and dance halls. Sing to them, boys, not cheap rag time, but some of the old, old songs they sang in the States years and years ago.

Clay grasped the cue and one after the other, followed by his companions, sang all the old familiar songs he could remember, the crowd on the dock occasionally joining in on some old time favorite. When they had finished, he sought in his mind for something that would appeal to them all. As he looked down for a moment upon the rough faces, marked with scurvy, frost bite and famine, there came to him a realization of what it was that drove these men to endure the cruelties of the Northland. It was not gold, alone, but shining above the brilliant metal, the face of some woman; wife, mother or sweetheart. He closed his eyes for a second and the vision was strong upon him of a slender girl in a white dress with a blue sash, seated at a piano, her soft white fingers wandering over the keys and her gentle voice singing—what was she singing forty years ago, what was she singing today? What did that girl in Chicago in the white dress and blue sash always sing to him when he called? He had it, but that first verse he never could remember, so he softly sang the second.

“Her brow is like the snow drift.

And her throat is like the swan’s.

Her face it is the fairest that

E’er th’ sun shon’ on.”

When the final—

“An’ for Bonnie Annie Laurie

I’d lay me down an’ dee”

died away the crowd stood quiet and silent for a minute.

“Now’s the best time to pass the hat, Clay, you understand,” whispered the commercial Ike. “That song was too sad-like—it sends them all home. You should have sung them something pretty, like the Hebrew Lovers’ Dream.”

“They’re dreaming enough about gold already,” retorted Clay, tartly, as he noted a man moving in and out amongst the crowd. He divined his intention. “Friend,” he called. “We don’t want a collection. If we have given a little diversion for a couple of hours, we are pleased and want no money,” but the crowd was not listening. They were now talking amongst themselves. “Can’t hear that song without thinking of my girl in Florida that’s waiting for me to make good. One of those slim little gals what wears white dresses with a blue sash and a bunch of orange blossoms stuck in it.” “Just like my wife,” assented a rough bearded miner, “only she lives in Connecticut, an’ we don’t have orange blossoms, but she’s always got something catchy pinned on her dress.”

“Case, for goodness sake, start some parting song,” whispered Clay. I can’t think of a thing, and that man keeps on taking up a collection.”

Case promptly stepped into the breach and his mellow tenor voice rang out the good old parting hymn:

“God be with us ’till we meet again,

By His counsel guide, uphold you,

With His sheep securely fold you,

God be with you ’till we meet again.”

“Hanged if I just like that,” grumbled a miner whose bowed legs told of a cow-boy life. “I don’t want to be folded up with no sheep. If it was cattle now I wouldn’t kick so much.”

The crowd departed slowly, and as silently as they had come, only one, a little, energetic man with a spade-like beard remained. He approached the boat slowly and the boys thought he was coming on board, but just as he came opposite the cabin, he flung some heavy object up on it and ran for shore like a rabbit.

“Look out,” cried Clay, as the Kid reached out to pick it up. “It may be a bomb.”

The Kid chuckled. “We ain’t civilized enough for bombs up here yet. I would be glad to stand up and let a man throw bombs like this at me all day long. Why, little chekako, this is a miner’s poke, and if I am any judge of gold dust weight, it must be worth $400.00. I reckon that Annie Laurie business got them in a soft spot. That little spade-bearded man is Cook, the richest man in Nome and mighty generous when his mean old cat of a wife isn’t around. Reckon he didn’t marry his Annie Laurie.”

“I guess we done better than if we had taken up a collection. I guess maybe you got a good business head on you after all, Clay,” said Ike happily.

“But we don’t want all that money for doing such a little thing,” Clay stormed. “Let’s give it back to them.”

“Don’t get excited, son, just keep it. It belongs to you. Everyone knew what he gave and could afford it too. Why, half the wealthy of Nome were here tonight. Well, I’m too short of dust tonight but maybe I can put you wise to a few things. I don’t generally give advice to chekakos for this is a country where every man has got to play his own game, but you all seem clean, gritty chaps and I like you, so I’m going to put you wise to a few things. I understand that you are going up the Yukon to trade for pelts with the Indians. The idea is all right, but you’ve come too late. All the furs got last summer were traded out during the winter and spring and there won’t be but a few to be got until just after the hunters come in from their big hunt just before the big cold.”

The boys’ faces were a picture of disappointment.

“We hate to go back now,” Case said gloomily. “We’ve put all the money we had in on this trip, and I, for one, hate to go back and to be laughed at too.”

“I am not advising you what to do. But I know what I would do myself in like case,” said the Kid slowly. “I wouldn’t give up. A thing not worth pushing through is not worth starting. I’d go on up as far as Dawson maybe, kinder going along easy and learning the ways of the Yukon and having as much sport as I could, and buying more supplies when I could get them cheap. As soon as it started to get cold at Dawson, I’d start down the river, stopping only at a few big settlements to trade. I would try to get close to the lower Yukon before the river froze up. I wouldn’t take any chances. As soon as floating ice began to form, I’d run my boat in some cozy cove, pull her out on shore, and make myself cozy for the winter. Then I’d find me a sled and dogs and hit for the nearest settlement. I’d be pretty liberal with my first buying and it wouldn’t be long before the Indians would be coming from hundreds of miles to exchange their pelts for tobacco, beads and trinkets. Tobacco tempts them most, tobacco and cheap watches. Did you bring any of those cheap watches?”

“We’ve got a case of the kind that is making the dollar infamous,” grinned Alex.

“Them’s the kind,” grinned back the Kid. “Just show them how to keep them wound up and ticking and they will fall for them all right. They think the ticking inside is a spirit and they back it up to keep the evil spirit of the Yukon from bothering them. But to go on, by spring I would have my boat loaded with valuable furs and when the ice went out, I would make Nome and hike back for the States with the satisfaction of knowing that I had cleaned up a few thousand dollars on the trip.”

“But a winter on the Yukon!” gasped Case.

“A winter on the Yukon is largely what a man makes of it, as in all things,” said the Kid gently. “If a man is strong of soul, he will thaw out with ice a still stronger man. If he’s a weakling, it’s just as well for him to find it out early in life. You boys are fixed comfortable for the winter and had ought to go through it all right. The main thing is to keep busy and cheerful. Remember, boys, I am not advising you boys to do this, for you might come to grief and I would always blame myself. I am merely telling you what I would do in your case.”

“Thanks for what you have told us,” said Clay, gravely. “We know that you know what you are talking about, but it knocks the wind out of us for the moment. We had built so on the plans made in our ignorance that, now they are all shattered, we don’t just know what to do until we have slept over it and talked it over. Now, I have got a question to ask you,” he said abruptly. “Do you know or have you ever seen two men that fit this description,” and he described Jud and Bill.

“I’ve crossed their trail many a time, and Jud is one of the most powerful men on the Yukon and a right gentle good man when you get him away from his partner, but Bill is as full of poison as a rattlesnake. Don’t know why Jud sticks to him, but he does. Bill seems to have some hold on him. You seldom see them apart. Don’t know as any serious crime could be proved against them, but the Injins have brought me some ugly stories and I believe they are true. Anyway, they are men I want nothing to do with.”

“Say, Mr. Kid,” Ike asked, eagerly. “How far up the Yukon is Rainbow Bend?”

“Don’t know of any such place,” replied the Kid, promptly. “And I know the Yukon like a book. Yet the name has a familiar sound. I’ll try and think it up. I will remember in time what it is, for I never really forget anything. Well, so long, boys. It’s time for all of us to go to bed. I expect to go up on the steamer tomorrow afternoon. I make my trip by water when the ice is out. If you start early, I reckon we’ll catch you at the mouth of the Yukon and you can keep in our wake as long as you can see us.

“What time does the steamer make?” inquired Case.

“Ten miles an hour against the current,” said the Kid, proudly.

“Then we’ll see you on the Yukon,” promised Case with a grin.

As soon as the Kid was gone, the tired boys sought their bunks and sleep.

CHAPTER XI

TRAPPED

“Gee, Case, what’s the matter?” and Alex reached over and flung a hard pillow at his sleeping companion. Through the little cabin window came the first grey light of dawn.

“What’s the matter?” inquired Case, sleepily.

“That’s just what I’m asking you,” snapped Alex, tartly. “Goodness, man, don’t you feel the boat wallowing in the trough of the sea? She wouldn’t do that if she was moored to the pier. She must have broken away. “Hey, rouse up, you, Clay and Ike,” he called. “The Rambler is adrift in a heavy sea.”

Eight feet struck the floor and the four boys began hustling into their clothes.

“I don’t understand how she broke loose,” Clay said, as he pulled on his shirt. “I looked at her moorings just before I turned in, but loose she certainly is. Otherwise she would be pitching fore and aft instead of rolling in this sickening way. Come up, I am going out now and see what’s the matter. He twisted on the knob of the cabin door and tried to open it, but it resisted his efforts. He turned sharply around. “Who came in last night, you, wasn’t it, Ike?”

“Yes, I sits up on deck a little while, thinking over things,” Ike confessed.

“Did you change the key and lock the cabin door?”

“I don’t remember it,” Ike confessed, miserably. “I was thinking hard of other things, you understand.”

“You’ll understand some things more in a few minutes,” Clay said crisply, as he snapped on the cabin lights. He pounced upon a small dark object by the stove behind which Captain Joe lay in a sort of stupor. “That’s why Captain Joe didn’t warn us. They threw him a piece of poisoned meat through the window. I guess he won’t die. He only bit off a small chunk and he spit most of that out. Wise old owl, Captain Joe.”

“Whew,” whistled Alex. “Look, they have taken the rifle and shot gun.”

Each boy darted to his bunk, for they all kept their automatics under their pillows at night. They found them all safe.

“I wonder who did it,” Alex said.

“Ike’s friends, Bill and Jud, of course,” said Case in a tone that caused the little Jew to wince wretchedly.

“The thing to think about is to get out of here,” Clay said. “I don’t believe those fellows can start the engine up. They are almost a new invention. Now, if the wind is blowing from the same direction as it was when we turned in, we are bound to hit the rocks somehow between Nome and Cape Nome. This sea will break her up in no time and will drown us like rats in a trap. I would rather put up a fight against any kind of odds than to die that way.”

“Hallo,” hailed a voice from the aft window. “We want to talk peaceable with one of you, no shooting.”

It was Jud’s voice and Case stepped forward before any of the others could act.

“What do you want?” he asked, as he threw open the window, disclosing Jud’s face.

“We want one of you to come up and start this darned motor,” he said. “We can’t make it go. ’Pears like we can’t do it. Reckon you boys must have almost filled up your tank with kerosene by mistake. The engine is fairly dripping with it.”

“If you want the engine started, unlock the door and let us all up,” Case said.

A low-toned conversation ensued between Jud and his companions, then Jud’s face reappeared at the window.

“Bill says it can’t be done,” he said dejectedly, “an’ Bill generally knows what’s right.”

“It’s all of us or none,” Case said, decidedly.

“Don’t say that,” begged Jud. “We’re driving on shore an’ it ain’t more than 500 yards away. You don’t want to be drowned like rats in a trap, do you?”

“What are you going to do if one of us does come up and fix the motor?” Case questioned.

“We will not harm you boys,” said the other earnestly. “All we want is that little Jew. He’s done us out of something that belongs to us. First thing is to get the boat off this shore, then we want you to steer straight for the mouth of the Yukon. We have got boats there. The one of you on deck can put us and the Jew on shore and then come back and free the rest an’ go on about your own business.”

“Nothing doing,” Case said decidedly. “We never desert a comrade. Might as well go back to your motor.”

The boys in the cabin had heard all the conversation and their faces were grave. In one corner sat Ike, a huddled heap of woe with something of the persecuted pathos of his race in his dark eyes.

“They lie,” he cried. “I have got nothing what belongs to them loafers. I am honest and steals nothing. But I am sorry I bring trouble on you boys. Do as that low-life says and save your lives while you can. I’m sorry I got you boys into trouble.”

“No, Ike,” Clay said firmly. “The Rambler boys always stick together in time of trouble. If something doesn’t happen pretty soon we’ll break down the door and make a fight for it.”

A light stole over Alex’s freckled face. “I’ve got an idea. It may work and it may not. Do you remember that hatchway up forward in the prow, Case?”

Case nodded quickly.

“Well,” went on Alex, hurriedly. “I believe we can work our way up over the cargo to the hatch. If Teddy Bear is sleeping on it we will not be able to lift it up. If not, we will crawl out. The men will likely be working on the motor and we stand a good chance of catching them napping. Two of us is enough. The other two had better stay in the cabin talking all the time. If the cabin got quiet all of a sudden, they might get suspicious and be on the watch.”

“All right, you and Ike stay here, and Clay and I will try it,” said Case.

“You will not, you big stiff,” declared Alex excitedly. “It’s my plan, and I’m going to run it. Anyhow, how could you big chaps wiggle through that small space between the deck and cargo. No, Ike’s going with me if he will.”

“Sure, I will,” said Ike delightedly, as he felt in his pockets to see that his automatic was safe. “I ain’t afraid of them loafers, you understand. Alex and I do the trick all right.”

Alex threw open the door at the front end of the cabin and the two wiggled into the inky void beyond.

“Well, they have gone,” said Case despondently. “The best thing we can do is to stand by the cabin door and break it down the second we hear trouble on the deck.”

“Yes,” Clay agreed, and they took up their positions. Case on one side ready to swing the axe while on the other side Clay held an automatic in either hand ready for action.

Alex and Ike pushed steadily if slowly forward. Their position was one of extreme peril. Their cargo had been well stowed but the violent rolling was shaking it loose and as they crawled, they were often hit by rolling casks and shifting boxes. This cargo was part of their trading outfit for which they had been unable to find room in the lockers. Every now and then the two boys received painful bruises from shifting boxes. It was easy to see that the cargo was fast breaking up and that they would not be able to return the way they came. At last, battered and bruised, they reached the hatch. Alex gave it a tentative push upward and it yielded easily. Evidently Teddy was not sleeping on it. He raised it to its full height and the two boys clambered up on deck. It was now broad daylight and only a glance was needed to show them their peril. The Rambler was wallowing in a heavy sea, dipping her decks under with every roll, but what was worse, not less than two hundred yards away to leeward, lay a rock-strewn shore dashed upon by the huge surges. The cabin hid the boys from the two men and Alex raising his head, shot a swift glance over its top.

It was as he expected, the two men were working over the motor, or, rather, Jud was working while Bill was cursing him volubly for not being able to make it go, to which Jud replied gently:

“Be patient, Bill. “I’ll get her going. I nearly got her that last time.”

Alex dropped down, an anxious look on his face. “It’s Teddy,” he whispered, “he’s crawling aft over the cabin top. I’m afraid they will see him and kill him. Why can’t that bear keep out of trouble?”

But it was not Teddy Bear’s intention to avoid trouble, rather he was seeking it.

The rolling of the boat had wakened him slowly to a realization of an aching head and foul taste in his mouth and a stomach that revolted at the thought even of sugar. A feeling of enmity to all men was strong within him. Dimly he recalled the drinks, the liquid which the man in the white jacket had sweetened with sugar. Clearly it was that liquid that had made him so sick. His uptilted nose caught a fain scent that reminded him of the odor of the unwashed bodies that had crowded around him the day before. Clearly they were some of his enemies who had made him so sick and had turned his blood to water. He clambered clumsily on to the cabin top just as the boys reached the hatch. His padded feet made too little noise to be heard above the sound of wind and water. He reached the other end of the cabin and dropped off on the deck below where he reared up on his hind feet. The first intimation the men had of his presence was the vision of a raising arm and a heavy smack on the side of the vicious looking Bill’s head, which sent that worthy ten feet over the stern.

Jud, with a cry of “My God, Bill can’t swim!” dived over the side to his partner’s assistance.

Alex and Ike came running aft just as the cabin door splintered under a lusty blow from Case.

“Stop,” shouted Alex. “The key is on the outside. I will let you out.”

The imprisoned boys sprang out as soon as the door yielded. Both took in the situation at a glance. Clay sprang for the motor, while Case ran forward to the wheel.

“Lower the anchor,” Clay shouted despairingly, a moment later. “Run the cable out until she is close to the breakers. These fools have flooded the engine and it is going to take some time before I can succeed in working it all out.”

The three boys rushed to the bow and heaved the heavy anchor over. Alex took a turn around the snubbing block, paying the cable out, rapidly at first, then slowly tightening up on it until the Rambler’s bow swung up into the wind. Instead of rolling and wallowing, she met the seas with a steady, easy pitching. Just keeping the cable taut enough to hold the boat up to the wind, Alex continued to pay it out slowly until the Rambler’s stern was within forty feet of the breakers. Then he fastened the big hempen rope tightly to the snubbing post. The three boys stood tense awaiting results. Slowly the Rambler drifted back, dragging the huge anchor with its long cable with it. “No holding bottom,” Alex shouted. “She’s going on the rocks. Get ready to jump.”

But when her stern swung within a dozen feet of the foaming breakers, the Rambler brought up with a jerk, that threw the boys to the deck. The anchor had caught on a hidden rock. Their first act on regaining their feet was to assure themselves of their own safety, then to look around for their late captors. At first they could see neither of them in the long rolling waves. It was Alex who spied them first. “Good heavens!” he cried, “look there. Did you ever see a man like that in your life?”

Following his pointing finger, his two companions caught a glimpse of a sight, startling but inspiring. Jud, with one hand was holding not only Bill’s head, but half of his body, above the high waves, while with the other hand he was keeping his own head above water and swimming powerfully for the breaker-racked shore. The boys gained some idea of the man’s magnificent strength in the way he sustained the weight of his partner’s body aloft and still kept his own head high above the water. They caught one more glimpse of the two just before they entered the boiling breakers. Jud had turned on his back and had drawn the limp form from above, holding it tight with one arm thrown around his waist, while with the other he was still desperately battling to win through the rock-strewn smother to the sandy shore beyond. “Look at a man, boys,” Alex cried in admiration, “using his own body to protect his partner’s body from the rocks. That’s some man, I’m telling you.” In a few moments the two bodies were rolled up on the beach by a mighty wave. Jud stooped and picked Bill up as though he were a sleeping child, and laying him down on the dry, warm sand, thrust a bunch of dry sea moss under his head for a pillow.

The boys were close to the shore and could see the eyes of Jud clearly. They were eloquent with tenderness and woe. He was bleeding from a dozen gaping wounds, made by the cruel, ragged rocks, but he did not seem to notice them. Kneeling down by Bill’s side, he applied the first aids to the drowned, such as raising and lowering the arms and depressing the chest. The boys stood and watched him anxiously.

Suddenly Jud lifted a beaming face. “He’s coming to all right,” he shouted joyously. “Reckon that bear knocked him senseless so that he didn’t swallow much water.”

“Strange how the Northland brings such different characters together in such strong partnership,” said Case, musingly. “I wonder if Bill would have done as much for Jud. I doubt it.”

A cry from Alex brought him back from his musings. The little lad’s freckled face was pale. “The cable’s parted. We are going on the rocks. Start her up, Clay. For the love of heaven, start her up.”

CHAPTER XII

A CLOSE CALL

Clay had just finished working the oil out of the engine and was examining it to see if the vandals had broken anything, when Alex called. With calm quickness, he threw on the switch, rocked the fly wheel over, and shoved the timer over to full speed. At the first throb of the motor. Case had sprung to the wheel and ground it hard over. The Rambler trembled like an overworked race horse. She hung in the trough of a sea that threatened to swamp her for a moment, then gallantly she swung around, meeting the next sea bow on, plunging bow under and sending great showers of spray over the cabin, she leaped away into the teeth of the wind.

“For goodness sake. Clay, shut down that motor some,” Alex begged. “She will bury herself in some of the big waves.”

“I thought you wanted speed from the yell you let out a minute ago.”

“I did,” Alex retorted. “Then I was afraid of going on the rocks. Now I’m afraid of going down in a submarine.”

Clay shoved the timer over to half speed and the Rambler rode the high swells more easily. On looking at their watches, the boys were surprised to find that all their terrifying experience which had occurred had taken place in less than an hour, during which time they had drifted about a mile from Nome. It took the speedy little launch but a short time to cover the distance and they soon moored securely again to the little pier.

The boys were all hungry, and Case immediately began frying eggs and bacon and making coffee while the other boys hung around saying little and even breakfast was eaten without the usual clatter of conversation.

“Boys,” said Clay when the meal was finished, “we each of us know why the others are so silent. We have to decide a most important question today. A man who has lived in this country for years, and whose word I believe can be trusted, gave us some important advice. You have had time to think it over and arrive at a decision. Let each one speak up for himself. I’ll have my say last, so as not to influence any one. Go ahead and speak and let each one think of it as a matter concerning himself only.”

“I did my thinking last night.” said Ike quickly, before any of the others could reply. “I thinks so hard, I forgot to lock the door. I says to myself. ‘Ike, you come up here to see your uncle and you don’t want to go back to the States until you do see him. But there are those boys what you talked into coming up here and who have all been good friends of yours. What are you going to do about that?’ Then I thinks some more. I got plenty of money here,” slapping the seat of his pants dramatically, “so I says to myself, ‘If Alex goes back I pay his fare and the money for his share of the cargo. If Case wants to go home, I do the same. If Clay wants to go, also, I do the same.’ Course if all go, it take pretty near all my money, but I will own the stock, you understand, but I thinks uncle and I make good money on it. Of course I don’t own the boat, but if you go back I give you a bill of sale for my news stand for the boat. We trade back again news stand for Rambler if I bring back boat all right. And I tell you, boys, that news stand is worth more than that boat. She burn up money all the time while the news stand makes money always, but most of all in the winter, when folks are cold and in a hurry. They give you a nickel or a dime for a penny paper. If they don’t get their change quick, they hurry on without it. I make change very slowly in the winter time,” he added shrewdly. “Well, what you says, boys?”

For a moment they sat appalled at the heroic pluck of the little fellow who was willing to go through the perils of an Arctic winter all alone. It was Alex who spoke first.

“I made up my mind when the Kid was talking last night. I believe in what he says, ‘that a thing not worth finishing, it not worth starting.’”

“You can’t ship me back home to be laughed at by a lot of sapheads who have never been ten miles from Chicago in their lives. It’s me for the great silence and all the rest rather than that.”

“Can’t drive me back with a club, either,” announced Clay.

Ike danced up and down in glee. “I meant my proposal, you understand, but all the time my heart was like lead for fear you all go home.”

“I felt so sure of what you fellows would decide,” smiled Clay, “that I’ve made out a little list of things we had ought to buy here at Nome. They are mostly things we will not need until winter, but I’m sure that we can buy them cheaper here than up the river. They have larger stocks here and we will not have to pay the heavy river freights and the big profits to the dealer at the other end.”

“That’s good business, Clay,” said Ike admiringly. “Let me do the bargaining.”

“All right,” agreed Clay. “Case had better go with you. I can’t trust you and Alex together, you’d be sure to get into trouble right off.”

The boys were off at the word and while Alex tidied up the cabin, Clay toiled over the motor to correct small derangements the vandals had caused.

Alex and Ike were back long before they were expected, and three sleds followed them bearing their purchases. On the first was tied a small light canoe. “It was not on your list, but I thought it would be handy to go ashore in at places where we could not run the Rambler in. It will save a lot of wet feet.”

“Good idea, Case,” Clay approved.

The other two sleds contained more warm blankets, snow shoes, fur-lined parkas, a kind of cape with a monk-like hood, moccasins and clothing of furs. Besides all of which Case had thoughtfully bought another sack of potatoes and one of onions.

In a few minutes they had all the stuff aboard and stacked up in a pile to wait until they had more time to stow it. Then Alex cast off the moorings, Clay started up the motor and Case took up his usual place at the wheel, and the Rambler, swinging around the end of the pier, headed her sharp bow straight for the mouth of Father Yukon, nearly one hundred miles away.

“Good bye, Nome!” said Case, waving his hat.

“So long, ’till next spring,” shouted Alex, throwing up his hat and catching it.

The old prospector, sitting on his usual post, taking the farewell for himself, rose painfully and after waving his red bandana handkerchief in the air, fired a parting volley from his heavy pistol.

Ike was not to be outdone. He intended to make his farewell dramatic and impressive. He mounted the rail and threw out his arms as if to embrace the whole straggling town. “Good-bye, Nome the golden,” he cried. Good-bye golden city, what gives four boys $420.00 in one day for doing nothing, but though we will leave you now, Nome, the golden, we will come back.”

Clay, down by the motor, heard nothing of the banter going on above deck. From the gentle motion of the boat, he decided that the sea had gone down. In fact, it had subsided greatly before they had left the dock. He wanted to reach the Yukon long before the river steamer did, so he pushed the timer over to full speed. The Rambler responded with a forward leap which caught Ike just as he was concluding his eloquent farewell. He struggled to retain his footing, but with arms waving, disappeared over the stern.

Alex ran to the motor hold. “Man overboard,” he yelled. “Stop her and back up.” Case had been laughing over the joke on Ike, but his face grew suddenly pale as Ike’s head appeared above the surface, his arms grasping at the air.

“Why, he can’t swim a stroke,” he cried.

But Alex had realized that fact more quickly. In a flash he had slashed away the laces of his shoes and kicking them off his feet, dived far out over the rail. Just after he leaped, he saw a white flash passing above him. As he came to the surface, he saw Captain Joe, loyal and faithful, though wounded and weak, swimming twenty feet in front of him. It was Captain Joe also who first saw the black head and seizing the long hair in his teeth, strove valiantly to hold it above the surface. A few strokes brought Alex to their side, and with the quickness that he had learned by desperate experience, he relieved the panting animal of his burden. Ike, after the manner of drowning people, strove to drag Alex down with him to the depths below, but Alex was expecting that and clinching his little freckled fist he drove it with all the force he could summon, just under the drowning lad’s jaw. Ike loosed his grip and hung limp as a rag. Alex gave a sigh of relief, and rolling over on his back, drew the other up over him so that Ike’s head was raised above the water. In this position he could not swim. It took all his strength to sustain their bodies above the water. He knew his companions would come to their assistance but would they be in time. The icy cold water was striking a chill to his blood. Could he last that long? He dreaded the cold that was boring into his very bones.

His friends were loyal to his faith in them. The moment Alex spoke Clay threw off the switch shutting off the power, but the Rambler’s momentum was so great that he did not dare to reverse the engine immediately; to do so would have stripped the gears and made the engine helpless. So soon as he dared, however, he threw on the switch and shoved forward the reverse lever. The Rambler stopped suddenly and under full speed tore her way backwards to where the three, fighting for their lives, lay 400 feet astern. As the Rambler backed swiftly down upon them. Clay gradually shut down the power and finally stopped her short twenty feet from the straggling, drowning ones. Calling to Case to leave the wheel and come to his assistance, Clay sprang out of the motor hold and snatching up the stern fine, flung an end of it over Alex’s face. Alex, by exerting all his strength, managed to shift so as to pass a couple of turns around Ike’s body just below the arm pits. “Hoist him up and then take Captain Joe up. He’s about all in.” Alex rolled over again on his back to float, floating took so little exertion. He was surprised to find how warm and comfortable he was becoming. True, his feet were sinking and would soon drag his head under water, but what did he care. He was warm and comfy and was getting deliciously sleepy. Something hit him across the face and he brushed it off dreamily. As his head slowly sank beneath the surface, something fastened in his hair and dragged his mouth above water. He opened his eyes dreamingly to look into Captain Joe’s loyal, loving eyes. In one corner of his mouth Joe carried the end of the rope. With the last bit of reserve of his strength, he twisted the rope around one arm and with the other clasped Captain Joe around his thick neck. He felt himself being pulled violently forward—then came darkness and a void.

When he came to he was lying in his own bunk with warm blankets piled over him and Clay trying to force a cup of hot coffee down his throat, while Case and Ike stood near with a suspicious moisture on their eye lashes.

“What are you sniffling for?” he demanded crossly of Case and Ike, for his whole body was sick and aching.

“We’re not sniffling,” replied Case, hotly, with a boy’s disgust at being caught in a display of sentiment “We are just sweating from working over you so hard.”

“My noble preserver,” said Ike, dramatically, “I owe my life to you but how can I reward you? How can I ever repay you for your so nobly risking your life for mine? This lump on my jaw that you gave me will always remind me of your noble action.”

But Alex had had all the sentiment he could bear. “Shut up,” he snapped. “I didn’t go after you. I went after Captain Joe. He’s a valuable dog. If you want any more souvenirs of your little wetting, I’ll give you one on the other jaw, and as soon as they go down I’ll give you fresh ones. Oh, I’ll keep your memory fresh and green. Gee, I’ll give you the other one now,” he declared, throwing off his blankets, but Ike had fled at the first signs of war. Alex chanted after him, with a grin:

“Mush, mush, mush,

Always to be taken with

A tablespoon of gush.

Mush in the morning

Slush at night

If I don’t get my mush

I’m bound to get tight.”

“What are you waiting for, Case?” he interrupted his chant to demand.

“Just to tell you that you have got to keep quiet until tomorrow morning. Clay is going to start up the motor now. We let the Rambler drift while we were working over you and Ike. One of us will stay down in the cabin with you all the time ready to get you anything you want.”

“So I’m to be made to stay here and miss the last glimpse of Nome,” Alex growled. “Miss seeing the Rambler tearing through the water at over twenty miles an hour. Miss seeing Michael’s Island and the river steam boat, and worst of all, miss the first glimpse of Father Yukon. What are you going to do if I refuse to be in this old bunk?” he demanded.

“Then I’ll have to tie your hands and feet, lash you down to the bunk, take all your clothes away from you, lock them up in your locker, and keep the key,” Case said firmly.

Alex laid back and closed his eyes.

“Well, which shall it be?” demanded Case, as Alex still lay quiet with closed eyes. “Will you promise to lay quiet or will I have to tie you up?”

“Don’t disturb me, Case,” Alex murmured rapturously. “I’m having a vision, such a touching vision. Maybe I’m only delirious, but it’s touching, touching. Let me tell it to you, Case. It seems like it was the Sunday before we left Chicago and I am sitting on a bench looking at the couples strolling around, when I see a fellow I know walking with a red-headed, freckled-faced girl.

“Her hair isn’t red, it’s auburn, and she isn’t freckled,” Case said, indignantly.

“Keep still,” said Alex. “This is only a vision and I’ve got to tell it as I saw it. They didn’t notice me, they were so taken up with each other. Pretty soon they sit down on the bench close to me, only a clump of bushes between them and me, and the fellow talked so funny you would have laughed to have heard it, Case, honestly you would have, and then they got up to go, Case,” and Alex’s voice lowered. “He kissed her, Case, and said, ‘I’ll be back in the fall, darling.’”

Case had reddened to the roots of his hair. “I am not ashamed of what I said or did,” he said, desperately, but a great fear was in his heart as he foresaw the ridicule and banter he would have to endure if Alex told the story.

“Does she play ‘Annie Laurie?’” inquired Alex, who had been writing rapidly on a scrap of paper.

“Of course,” said Case stoutly. “She can do anything any girl in Chicago can do, and do it better.” “I just made up another verse that you two might like to sing together when you get back.”

Case took the scrap of paper and read:

“An’ her hair was like the red bird’s

Her neck scraggly like the crane’s

An’ her feet they were the biggest

I’ll ever see again.”

Case surrendered. “Sit still for two hours and I’ll fix a place in the sunshine on deck for you. And you won’t tell any of the boys about your vision?” he inquired anxiously.

“Nary a tell,” Alex promised, solemnly, “and I say. Case, I was just joshing about her. She’s pretty and a good appearing girl.”

“She’s both,” said Case, happily, as he turned to go on deck.

CHAPTER XIII

ON THE YUKON

Case had hardly disappeared when Ike came rushing down into the cabin in a panic. “My pants, my pants,” he cried.

“Is this the proper way to invade a sick man’s room?” demanded Alex with a grin.

“But my pants,” Ike said excitedly; “the wet ones.”

“Want to put them on and imagine you’re drowning again?” grinned the invalid.

“All my money is in the seat of them pants, you understand,” Ike explained. “Maybe it’s no good now.”

“I think your pants are in that wet heap over in the corner,” Alex said, roused to interest.

Ike pounced upon the wet heap and quickly finding the valuable garment ripped the seat open with his knife. “It’s all right,” he cried in joy. “It is all wet, you understand, I’ll spread it out on the floor and it soon be dry.”

Alex watched him curiously as Ike separated the wet bills and spread them out to dry. He was amazed at the amount the little Jew had been carrying about his person. Idly, he figured up the amount as Ike spread out each bill. When Ike spread out the last one with a sigh of satisfaction, Alex lay back and did some mental figuring. He repeated the operation again. The result was the same. If they had all taken up the offer the little Jew had made and all have gone home, Ike would have been left alone in this strange, fearsome land with less than ten dollars in his pocket. Alex felt a fresh respect for the pluck and determination of this lad no bigger than himself. He would have liked to express this sentiment but he detested open displays of emotion, so he merely growled.

“I’m sorry I hit you so hard on the jaw.”

“That’s all right,” said Ike, cheerfully, as he felt tenderly of the lump. Some day when we both feel better we fight it out with fists, you understand?”

Alex’s stout little heart warmed to him. Who had said a Jew would not fight, he wondered.

“I say, Ike,” he said softly. “I didn’t want to hit you. I just had to. I grabbed you just the right way but you twisted and caught me tight. We would have both been drowned if I hadn’t lammed you so hard as to knock you loose.” Feeling that he had spoken too softly, he said severely: “I never expected to see a Chicago kid of your age that couldn’t swim.”

“You see,” Ike explained. “I went to a swimming teacher once to learn to swim good, you understand. He try me for awhile then he tell me I can’t never learn, my race is too much against me.”

“How’s that?” Alex asked, sympathetically.

“He said I would always work my hands palms up instead of palms down.”

Alex, grinning, got out of his bunk and began slipping on his clothes as he saw Case descending the cabin steps. “Ike,” he said, “you’re a cheerful liar but all the same I believe we are going to be great pals.”

It was when he started for the door that Alex realized his weakness. His legs wabbled under him and his head began to swim. Case caught him tenderly as he reeled and supported him up to where a blanket spread in the sun awaited him. “Say, Case,” he said, as the other tried to make him comfortable, “what makes me so blamed weak?”

“You were farther gone than any of the rest,” Case replied. “Ike got off the lightest of you three, Captain Joe had most of his wounds open with the exertion and he is in pretty bad shape. We thought you were dead when we palled you in over the side. We had to roll you over a barrel and do a lot of other things to get the water out of you.”

“Why, I didn’t swallow much water,” Alex protested.

“You did not notice it because you were so cold and numb. When you were floating on your back you were taking in water all the time.”

“But I felt warm, comfortable and sleepy.”

“Which meant you were mighty near the end,” Case said firmly. “If it had not been for Captain Joe’s catching you before you got too deep down, I don’t believe you would ever have come up again. We threw the rope to you and when you brushed it off we knew what the trouble was. We kicked off our shoes and were going over after you when we saw Captain Joe come to your rescue.” He lowered his voice anxiously. “Remember you’re not going to tell about that vision of yours?”

Alex smiled blissfully. “No, it’s just our own little secret, Case. Maybe bye and bye I’ll make up some more nice verses and we will sing them over until you catch the words and then when we are alone we can have some nice talks about her.”

Case departed groaning in spirit, realizing that if he had disposed of two possible tormentors, there still remained a third, the worst of all.

Clay climbed out of the engine hold to greet the invalid. “Well, how’s the boy?”

“Fine and dandy,” Alex smiled back. “Feel as though I could set up and take some nourishment now.”

“I’ll have Ike start up the fire and make you a bowl of oyster soup. It isn’t good for one to eat much after swallowing so much salt water. Well, you missed the last glimpse of Nome.”

Alex grinned, “I don’t mind that so much. I guess I saw enough of Nome that first day to last me.”

“We’ll soon be getting in sight of St. Michael’s Island,” Clay continued. “I’m going to slow down going past the island. I want to punish the Yukon Kid for bragging over that clumsy old river tub he calls a steamboat. After we get well past we’ll speed up and run up the river ’till well along in the afternoon. Then we can anchor in some cozy nook and get a good night’s rest. I don’t believe that steamer will pass us before morning. Look. Alex, you can see the island now. That blot of green straight ahead of the bow. Now I’m going to let her out to the last notch. Watch her go.”

Clay shoved the timer over to the last notch and the Rambler, raising a still higher wave at her bow, ploughed like a shark through the small billows.

“Going some, isn’t she son?’ exulted Clay, wiping his hands on a bit of waste.

Alex raised on one elbow and gazed at the foam flying past with a sigh of satisfaction. “She goes like a blow fly to the fish market. She must be making twenty-two miles an hour.”

“One cannot tell without running a boat around a staked course what time it will make, but I figure the Rambler is making twenty-four miles an hour right now. I’ve got her tinkered up like a watch and she’s running like a railroad train.

St. Michael’s rose quickly on the horizon and when within about half a mile of it, Clay slowed the engine down and the Rambler ambled past at a sedate rate of speed. As they passed the island, the boys saw the river steamboat lying at her pier, a thin trickle of white smoke trickling out of her funnels.

“Only just beginning to get up steam, it will take them a full two hours to get up a full head, and the Yukon Kid expected to pass us at the mouth of the Yukon,” said Clay scornfully.

As soon as they were well clear of the island, Clay shoved over the timer again and the Rambler leaped ahead like a sword fish.

The distance between the island and the famous river was not great and they soon headed up its broad bosom. Case had a chart of the lower Yukon and a box compass by which to steer, and they made steady progress up the great river. Long before twilight they ran the Rambler slowly into a tiny cove where they found the water deep enough to run her bow clear up on shore. An anchor was thrown on shore and another heaved as far as they could heave it and its cable tautened up so as to prevent the Rambler slewing in on the beach.

“I’m going to be boss for the rest of the day,” Clay declared, pleasantly, when the work was done. “First of all, I want that young monkey,” indicating Alex, “to go right to bed. I’ll make him a bowl of hot broth and he’ll be asleep in ten minutes after he drinks it.”

“Me for the broth and the blankets,” agreed Alex willingly, for he was coming to a realization of his weak state.

“Teddy Bear has got into better humor this afternoon, I believe, Case, if you would take him ashore and lead him around a bit he would eat a big supper and be his own good-humored self tomorrow.”

“I’ll go,” said Case, eagerly, for he was eager to explore the forest that stretched away back of the cove.

“Good,” approved Clay, “while you are gone Ike and I will cook up a big supper. We have been on rather short rations today.”

“Ike,” he said, as soon as the meal was well started, “come on up on deck with me, I want to talk with you a little.”

“Now, Ike,” he said as soon as they were seated close together on the cabin top. “I don’t want to pry into your personal secrets, but I do want to know something about those two men and why they are following us so closely. They nearly finished us off today. Next time they may be more successful. Now we want to know all we can about these men so as to know how to deal with them when we meet them again, as I feel sure we will. Wait a minute and I’ll read you something.” He took out a slip of the papers they had bought the morning they left Chicago and read the account of the holdup and robbery. “Pretty desperate men I should call them,” he commented. “Highway men, burglars, and almost murderers, in our case, at least. I think you had ought to tell us all about them.”

Ike’s face filled with trouble and anxiety and it was a full minute before he replied. “You are a man, may own a secret and be so bound by promise laid on him by some one else, that he is not free to tell it, you understand, but all I am free to tell you, I’ll tell you, Clay, tell it to you honestly.”

“I’ll believe you, Ike,” said Clay quietly.

“Well, you hear me speak often of my uncle. My uncle was a great man in the old country, a student and a scientist. He was rich, too, very rich, but instead of spending his time at court, he was all the time going amongst the poor, teaching, helping, and giving money where it was needed most. It’s a crime in Russia for a Jew to do like that, so the Little Father pretty soon takes away all his moneys and sends him to the mines in Siberia to work all his life, but, after eight years, they let him go, and we sent him the money to come to us in good America. But, after he come, he was not content. He wanted so bad to work, but his fingers were twisted and stiff from handling pick and shovel in the cold, so he could not get work in the sweat shops. That made him sad. Then one day comes the news of gold in Alaska and next morning uncle was gone, just leaving a little note saying that he was not going to be a burden on us any longer.” There was a dry sob in the lad’s throat at the recollection of the note, but he bravely conquered his emotion and went on. “About eight months later, we got a letter saying he had got to the Yukon and would send us some money in the spring, soon as the mining commenced. About every six months after that there comes a kind, cheery letter, but no money. Uncle’s not what you call a business man, he all the time dreams big dreams about helping the people, you understand. I believe he finds but little gold and much suffering on the Yukon.”

“But where do those two men come in?” asked Clay.

“They bring me a letter from him last fall. The moment they gave it to me I see it had been opened, but I kept quiet, and reads it while they keeps telling me they were my uncle’s partners and what a good friend they were of his. Then they ask me what was in the letter and I tells them I can’t say until I see my uncle and that I don’t understand it plain because there was a big piece torn off the bottom. All that winter they keep at me about that letter and all the time I tell them the same thing.

“I did some worrying that winter and I gets to thinking about the long trips you boys take every summer and makes no money, and I thinks that there’s a good chance for them boys to make a little money and a good chance for me to go too. So I kept at you about going till I gits you interested and you decided to go. I’m sorry now. Clay, honestly, Clay, I’m sorry.”

“I’m not,” said Clay cheerily. “Jump down into the kitchen and stir up that stew and set the coffee back. I can smell it boiling.”

Ike was back in a moment and resumed his tale.

“That’s all that I know about them fellers, excepting what you fellows know. I wish I could tell you what was in the letter, but uncle told me to tell nobody till I see him, besides I don’t understand all of it myself, there’s so much of it torn off.”

“It’s all right, Ike,” Clay said absently. “I believe you and the boys will too. Stick by us and we’ll stick by you. I wonder what has become of Case.”

CHAPTER XV

ANOTHER MISHAP

As it drew still nearer to twilight, the boys grew more and more uneasy about Case, until at last Ike got out the rifle and fired four shots in quick succession, the distress signal they had agreed upon, but there was no response.

“I’m going to go ashore and look for him,” Clay announced. “Turn on the prow light and signal with the rifle every half hour. I cannot understand what trouble Case has got into—but he has sure got into trouble of some kind.”

“I’ll go with you.” Ike offered eagerly, but Clay shook his head decidedly. “No, I am much taller and can travel faster than you. Besides, some one had ought to stay by the boat and keep watch. This is a strange country to us and we don’t know what danger may be around us, and then it needs some one to look after Alex. He is pretty weak yet.”

“I’ll stay then, Clay,” said Ike willingly.

“Good, so long,” said Clay, as he plunged into the group of cottonwoods.

Ike got out his automatic and paroled the deck back and forth with a delicious sense of his responsibility as defender of the Rambler and her sick crew of one. Occasionally he relaxed his vigilance long enough to dart down into the cabin to see if the meal was keeping warm and also to take a look at Alex, who was snoring peacefully in his bunk. As the minutes went on, however, his anxiety over his comrades, more than overcame the novelty of his position. Not a sound came from the cottonwood thicket. The only noise that came to his ears was the soft murmur of the flowing river as it lapped the stones of the shore. At the end of the half hour, he brought out the rifle and fired the four quick shots. He was delighted to hear in return the sharp crack of Clay’s automatic. It sounded not far away, but it was long before a rustling arose from the cottonwood trees and Clay emerged into the dim twilight bearing a limp body in his arms. “Come on and give me some help here,” he cried, as soon as he spied the boat, but Ike was already hastening to his assistance. “Is he dead?” inquired Ike in an awed whisper as he gathered up the dangling legs.

“I don’t know,” said Clay, wearily. “It is dark in the cottonwoods so I could not see, but his heart was beating all right when I found him. I stumbled over him by accident or else I would not have found him until morning. I found him lying all in a heap at the foot of a big cottonwood. I don’t know what happened to him. Let’s get him down into the cabin where we can see what’s the matter with him.”

Between them they managed to get him on deck and down into the cabin’s bright light.

“I’ll hold him while you get a blanket and spread it out on the floor,” Clay said. “He’s dripping with blood so it would ruin his bunk to put him in it. Now put some water on to heat and then come back and help me get his clothes off. I guess we will have to cut them off him.”