Come on, Shorty said, rubbing his ear. We cant do nothin for the old geezer. An Ive sure frosted my ear. Now all the blamed skinll peel off, and itll be sore for a week.
A few minutes later, when a flaming ribbon spilled pulsating fire over the heavens, they saw on the ice a quarter of a mile ahead two forms. Beyond, for a mile, nothing moved.
Theyre leading the procession, Smoke said, as darkness fell again. Come on, lets get them.
At the end of half an hour, not yet having overtaken the two in front, Shorty broke into a run.
If we catch em well never pass em, he panted. Lord, what a pace theyre hittin. Dollars to doughnuts theyre no chechakos. Theyre the real sour-dough variety, you can stack on that.
Smoke was leading when they finally caught up, and he was glad to ease to a walk at their heels. Almost immediately he got the impression that the one nearer him was a woman. How this impression came, he could not tell. Hooded and furred, the dark form was as any form; yet there was a haunting sense of familiarity about it. He waited for the next flame of the aurora, and by its light saw the smallness of the moccasined feet. But he saw more the walk, and knew it for the unmistakable walk he had once resolved never to forget.
Shes a sure goer, Shorty confided hoarsely. Ill bet its an Indian.
How do you do, Miss Gastell? Smoke addressed her.
How do you do, she answered, with a turn of the head and a quick glance. Its too dark to see. Who are you?
Smoke.
She laughed in the frost, and he was certain it was the prettiest laughter he had ever heard. And have you married and raised all those children you were telling me about? Before he could retort, she went on. How many chechakos are there behind?
Several thousand, I imagine. We passed over three hundred. And they werent wasting any time.
Its the old story, she said bitterly. The new-comers get in on the rich creeks, and the old-timers, who dared and suffered and made this country, get nothing. Old-timers made this discovery on Squaw Creek how it leaked out is the mystery and they sent word up to all the old-timers on Sea Lion. But its ten miles farther than Dawson, and when they arrive theyll find the creek staked to the skyline by the Dawson chechakos. It isnt right, it isnt fair, such perversity of luck.
It is too bad, Smoke sympathized. But Im hanged if I know what youre going to do about it. First come, first served, you know.
I wish I could do something, she flashed back at him. Id like to see them all freeze on the trail, or have everything terrible happen to them, so long as the Sea Lion stampede arrived first.
Youve certainly got it in for us hard, he laughed.
It isnt that, she said quickly. Man by man, I know the crowd from Sea Lion, and they are men. They starved in this country in the old days, and they worked like giants to develop it. I went through the hard times on the Koyukuk with them when I was a little girl. And I was with them in the Birch Creek famine, and in the Forty Mile famine. They are heroes, and they deserve some reward, and yet here are thousands of green softlings who havent earned the right to stake anything, miles and miles ahead of them. And now, if youll forgive my tirade, Ill save my breath, for I dont know when you and all the rest may try to pass dad and me.
No further talk passed between Joy and Smoke for an hour or so, though he noticed that for a time she and her father talked in low tones.
I know em now, Shorty told Smoke. Hes old Louis Gastell, an the real goods. That must be his kid. He come into this country so long ago they aint nobody can recollect, an he brought the girl with him, she only a baby. Him an Beetles was tradin partners an they ran the first dinkey little steamboat up the Koyukuk.
I dont think well try to pass them, Smoke said. Were at the head of the stampede, and there are only four of us.
Shorty agreed, and another hour of silence followed, during which they swung steadily along. At seven oclock, the blackness was broken by a last display of the aurora borealis, which showed to the west a broad opening between snow-clad mountains.
Squaw Creek! Joy exclaimed.
Goin some, Shorty exulted. We oughtnt to been there for another half hour to the least, accordin to my reckonin. I must a been spreadin my legs.
It was at this point that the Dyea trail, baffled by ice-jams, swerved abruptly across the Yukon to the east bank. And here they must leave the hard-packed, main-travelled trail, mount the jams, and follow a dim trail, but slightly packed, that hovered the west bank.
Louis Gastell, leading, slipped in the darkness on the rough ice, and sat up, holding his ankle in both his hands. He struggled to his feet and went on, but at a slower pace and with a perceptible limp. After a few minutes he abruptly halted.
Its no use, he said to his daughter. Ive sprained a tendon. You go ahead and stake for me as well as yourself.
Cant we do something? Smoke asked solicitously.
Louis Gastell shook his head. She can stake two claims as well as one. Ill crawl over to the bank, start a fire, and bandage my ankle. Ill be all right. Go on, Joy. Stake ours above the Discovery claim; its richer higher up.
Heres some birch bark, Smoke said, dividing his supply equally. Well take care of your daughter.
Louis Gastell laughed harshly. Thank you just the same, he said. But she can take care of herself. Follow her and watch her.
Do you mind if I lead? she asked Smoke, as she headed on. I know this country better than you.
Lead on, Smoke answered gallantly, though I agree with you its a darned shame all us chechakos are going to beat that Sea Lion bunch to it. Isnt there some way to shake them?
She shook her head. We cant hide our trail, and theyll follow it like sheep.
After a quarter of a mile, she turned sharply to the west. Smoke noticed that they were going through unpacked snow, but neither he nor Shorty observed that the dim trail they had been on still led south. Had they witnessed the subsequent procedure of Louis Gastell, the history of the Klondike would have been written differently; for they would have seen that old-timer, no longer limping, running with his nose to the trail like a hound, following them. Also, they would have seen him trample and widen the turn to the fresh trail they had made to the west. And, finally, they would have seen him keep on the old dim trail that still led south.
A trail did run up the creek, but so slight was it that they continually lost it in the darkness. After a quarter of an hour, Joy Gastell was willing to drop into the rear and let the two men take turns in breaking a way through the snow. This slowness of the leaders enabled the whole stampede to catch up, and when daylight came, at nine oclock, as far back as they could see was an unbroken line of men. Joys dark eyes sparkled at the sight.
How long since we started up the creek? she asked.
Fully two hours, Smoke answered.
And two hours back make four, she laughed. The stampede from Sea Lion is saved.
A faint suspicion crossed Smokes mind, and he stopped and confronted her.
I dont understand, he said.
You dont? Then Ill tell you. This is Norway Creek. Squaw Creek is the next to the south.
You dont? Then Ill tell you. This is Norway Creek. Squaw Creek is the next to the south.
Smoke was for the moment, speechless.
You did it on purpose? Shorty demanded.
I did it to give the old-timers a chance. She laughed mockingly. The men grinned at each other and finally joined her. Id lay you across my knee an give you a wallopin, if women folk wasnt so scarce in this country, Shorty assured her.
Your father didnt sprain a tendon, but waited till we were out of sight and then went on? Smoke asked.
She nodded.
And you were the decoy?
Again she nodded, and this time Smokes laughter rang out clear and true. It was the spontaneous laughter of a frankly beaten man.
Why dont you get angry with me? she queried ruefully. Or or wallop me?
Well, we might as well be starting back, Shorty urged. My feets gettin cold standin here.
Smoke shook his head. That would mean four hours lost. We must be eight miles up this creek now, and from the look ahead Norway is making a long swing south. Well follow it, then cross over the divide somehow, and tap Squaw Creek somewhere above Discovery. He looked at Joy. Wont you come along with us? I told your father wed look after you.
I She hesitated. I think I shall, if you dont mind. She was looking straight at him, and her face was no longer defiant and mocking. Really, Mr. Smoke, you make me almost sorry for what I have done. But somebody had to save the old-timers.
It strikes me that stampeding is at best a sporting proposition.
And it strikes me you two are very game about it, she went on, then added with the shadow of a sigh: What a pity you are not old-timers!
For two hours more they kept to the frozen creek-bed of Norway, then turned into a narrow and rugged tributary that flowed from the south. At midday they began the ascent of the divide itself. Behind them, looking down and back, they could see the long line of stampeders breaking up. Here and there, in scores of places, thin smoke-columns advertised the making of camps.
As for themselves, the going was hard. They wallowed through snow to their waists, and were compelled to stop every few yards to breathe. Shorty was the first to call a halt.
We been hittin the trail for over twelve hours, he said. Smoke, Im plum willin to say Im good an tired. An so are you. An Im free to shout that I can sure hang on to this here pasear like a starvin Indian to a hunk of bear-meat. But this poor girl here cant keep her legs no time if she dont get something in her stomach. Heres where we build a fire. What dye say?
So quickly, so deftly and methodically, did they go about making a temporary camp, that Joy, watching with jealous eyes, admitted to herself that the old-timers could not do it better. Spruce boughs, with a spread blanket on top, gave a foundation for rest and cooking operations. But they kept away from the heat of the fire until noses and cheeks had been rubbed cruelly.
Smoke spat in the air, and the resultant crackle was so immediate and loud that he shook his head. I give it up, he said. Ive never seen cold like this.
One winter on the Koyukuk it went to eighty-six below, Joy answered. Its at least seventy or seventy-five right now, and I know Ive frosted my cheeks. Theyre burning like fire.
On the steep slope of the divide there was no ice, so snow, as fine and hard and crystalline as granulated sugar, was poured into the gold-pan by the bushel until enough water was melted for the coffee. Smoke fried bacon and thawed biscuits. Shorty kept the fuel supplied and tended the fire, and Joy set the simple table composed of two plates, two cups, two spoons, a tin of mixed salt and pepper, and a tin of sugar. When it came to eating, she and Smoke shared one set between them. They ate out of the same plate and drank from the same cup.
It was nearly two in the afternoon when they cleared the crest of the divide and began dropping down a feeder of Squaw Creek. Earlier in the winter some moose-hunter had made a trail up the canyon that is, in going up and down he had stepped always in his previous tracks. As a result, in the midst of soft snow, and veiled under later snow falls, was a line of irregular hummocks. If ones foot missed a hummock, he plunged down through unpacked snow and usually to a fall. Also, the moose-hunter had been an exceptionally long-legged individual. Joy, who was eager now that the two men should stake, and fearing that they were slackening their pace on account of her evident weariness, insisted on taking her turn in the lead. The speed and manner in which she negotiated the precarious footing called out Shortys unqualified approval.
Look at her! he cried. Shes the real goods an the red meat. Look at them moccasins swing along. No high-heels there. She uses the legs God gave her. Shes the right squaw for any bear-hunter.
She flashed back a smile of acknowledgment that included Smoke. He caught a feeling of chumminess, though at the same time he was bitingly aware that it was very much of a woman who embraced him in that comradely smile.
Looking back, as they came to the bank of Squaw Creek, they could see the stampede, strung out irregularly, struggling along the descent of the divide.
They slipped down the bank to the creek bed. The stream, frozen solidly to bottom, was from twenty to thirty feet wide and ran between six- and eight-foot earth banks of alluvial wash. No recent feet had disturbed the snow that lay upon its ice, and they knew they were above the Discovery claim and the last stakes of the Sea Lion stampeders.
Look out for springs, Joy warned, as Smoke led the way down the creek. At seventy below youll lose your feet if you break through.
These springs, common to most Klondike streams, never cease at the lowest temperatures. The water flows out from the banks and lies in pools which are cuddled from the cold by later surface-freezings and snow falls. Thus, a man, stepping on dry snow, might break through half an inch of ice-skin and find himself up to the knees in water. In five minutes, unless able to remove the wet gear, the loss of ones foot was the penalty.
Though only three in the afternoon, the long grey twilight of the Arctic had settled down. They watched for a blazed tree on either bank, which would show the center-stake of the last claim located. Joy, impulsively eager, was the first to find it. She darted ahead of Smoke, crying: Somebodys been here! See the snow! Look for the blaze! There it is! See that spruce!
She sank suddenly to her waist in the snow.
Now Ive done it, she said woefully. Then she cried: Dont come near me! Ill wade out.
Step by step, each time breaking through the thin skin of ice concealed under the dry snow, she forced her way to solid footing. Smoke did not wait, but sprang to the bank, where dry and seasoned twigs and sticks, lodged amongst the brush by spring freshets, waited the match. By the time she reached his side, the first flames and flickers of an assured fire were rising.
Sit down! he commanded.
She obediently sat down in the snow. He slipped his pack from his back, and spread a blanket for her feet.
From above came the voices of the stampeders who followed them.
Let Shorty stake, she urged.
Go on, Shorty, Smoke said, as he attacked her moccasins, already stiff with ice. Pace off a thousand feet and place the two center-stakes. We can fix the corner-stakes afterwards.
With his knife Smoke cut away the lacings and leather of the moccasins. So stiff were they with ice that they snapped and crackled under the hacking and sawing. The Siwash socks and heavy woollen stockings were sheaths of ice. It was as if her feet and calves were encased in corrugated iron.