and which they possess no more. And first, Esanetuk, who be SICK
TUMTUM, fought with Kluktu, and there was much noise. And next,
being daughters of the one mother, did they fight with Tukeliketa.
And after that did they three fall upon Moosu, like wind-squalls,
from every hand, till he ran forth from the igloo, and the people
mocked him. For a man who cannot command his womankind is a fool.’
“Then came Angeit: ‘Great trouble hath befallen Moosu, O master,
for I have whispered to advantage, till the people came to Moosu,
saying they were hungry and demanding the fulfilment of prophecy.
And there was a loud shout of “Itlwillie! Itlwillie!” (Meat.) So
he cried peace to his womenfolk, who were overwrought with anger
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21
and with hooch, and led the tribe even to thy meat caches. And he
bade the men open them and be fed. And lo, the caches were empty.
There was no meat. They stood without sound, the people being
frightened, and in the silence I lifted my voice. “O Moosu, where
is the meat? That there was meat we know. Did we not hunt it and
drag it in from the hunt? And it were a lie to say one man hath
eaten it; yet have we seen nor hide nor hair. Where is the meat, O
Moosu? Thou hast the ear of God. Where is the meat?”
“‘And the people cried, “Thou hast the ear of God. Where is the
meat?” And they put their heads together and were afraid. Then I
went among them, speaking fearsomely of the unknown things, of the
dead that come and go like shadows and do evil deeds, till they
cried aloud in terror and gathered all together, like little
children afraid of the dark. Neewak made harangue, laying this
evil that had come upon them at the door of Moosu. When he had
done, there was a furious commotion, and they took spears in their
hands, and tusks of walrus, and clubs, and stones from the beach.
But Moosu ran away home, and because he had not drunken of hooch
they could not catch him, and fell one over another and made haste
slowly. Even now they do howl without his igloo, and his woman-
folk within, and what of the noise, he cannot make himself heard.’
“‘O Angeit, thou hast done well,’ I commanded. ‘Go now, taking
this empty sled and the lean dogs, and ride fast to the igloo of
Moosu; and before the people, who are drunken, are aware, throw him
quick upon the sled and bring him to me.’
”
I waited and gave good advice to the faithful ones till Angeit
returned. Moosu was on the sled, and I saw by the fingermarks on
his face that his womankind had done well by him. But he tumbled
off and fell in the snow at my feet, crying: ‘O master, thou wilt
forgive Moosu, thy servant, for the wrong things he has done! Thou
art a great man! Surely wilt thou forgive!’
“‘Call me “brother,” Moosu–call me “brother,”‘ I chided, lifting
him to his feet with the toe of my moccasin. ‘Wilt thou evermore
obey?’
“‘Yea, master,’ he whimpered, ‘evermore.’
“‘Then dispose thy body, so, across the sled,’ I shifted the
dogwhip to my right hand. ‘And direct thy face downwards, toward
the snow. And make haste, for we journey south this day.’ And
when he was well fixed I laid the lash upon him, reciting, at every
stroke, the wrongs he had done me. ‘This for thy disobedience in
general–whack! And this for thy disobedience in particular–
whack! whack! And this for Esanetuk! And this for thy soul’s
welfare! And this for the grace of thy authority! And this for
Kluktu! And this for thy rights God-given! And this for thy fat
firstlings! And this and this for thy income-tax and thy loaves
and fishes! And this for all thy disobedience! And this, finally,
that thou mayest henceforth walk softly and with understanding!
Now cease thy sniffling and get up! Gird on thy snowshoes and go
to the fore and break trail for the dogs. CHOOK! MUSH-ON! Git!'”
Thomas Stevens smiled quietly to himself as he lighted his fifth
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22
cigar and sent curling smoke-rings ceilingward.
“But how about the people of Tattarat?” I asked. “Kind of rough,
wasn’t it, to leave them flat with famine?”
And he answered, laughing, between two smoke-rings, “Were there not
the fat dogs?”
THE FAITH OF MEN
“Tell you what we’ll do; we’ll shake for it.”
“That suits me,” said the second man, turning, as he spoke, to the
Indian that was mending snow-shoes in a corner of the cabin.
“Here, you Billebedam, take a run down to Oleson’s cabin like a
good fellow, and tell him we want to borrow his dice box.”
This sudden request in the midst of a council on wages of men,
wood, and grub surprised Billebedam. Besides, it was early in the
day, and he had never known white men of the calibre of Pentfield
and Hutchinson to dice and play till the day’s work was done. But
his face was impassive as a Yukon Indian’s should be, as he pulled
on his mittens and went out the door.
Though eight o’clock, it was still dark outside, and the cabin was
lighted by a tallow candle thrust into an empty whisky bottle. It
stood on the pine-board table in the middle of a disarray of dirty
tin dishes. Tallow from innumerable candles had dripped down the
long neck of the bottle and hardened into a miniature glacier. The
small room, which composed the entire cabin, was as badly littered
as the table; while at one end, against the wall, were two bunks,
one above the other, with the blankets turned down just as the two
men had crawled out in the morning.
Lawrence Pentfield and Corry Hutchinson were millionaires, though
they did not look it. There seemed nothing unusual about them,
while they would have passed muster as fair specimens of lumbermen
in any Michigan camp. But outside, in the darkness, where holes
yawned in the ground, were many men engaged in windlassing muck and
gravel and gold from the bottoms of the holes where other men
received fifteen dollars per day for scraping it from off the
bedrock. Each day thousands of dollars’ worth of gold were scraped
from bedrock and windlassed to the surface, and it all belonged to
Pentfield and Hutchinson, who took their rank among the richest
kings of Bonanza.
Pentfield broke the silence that followed on Billebedam’s departure
by heaping the dirty plates higher on the table and drumming a
tattoo on the cleared space with his knuckles. Hutchinson snuffed
the smoky candle and reflectively rubbed the soot from the wick
between thumb and forefinger.
“By Jove, I wish we could both go out!” he abruptly exclaimed.
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23
“That would settle it all.”
Pentfield looked at him darkly.
“If it weren’t for your cursed obstinacy, it’d be settled anyway.
All you have to do is get up and go. I’ll look after things, and
next year I can go out.”
“Why should I go? I’ve no one waiting for me–”
“Your people,” Pentfield broke in roughly.
“Like you have,” Hutchinson went on. “A girl, I mean, and you know
it.”
Pentfield shrugged his shoulders gloomily. “She can wait, I
guess.”
“But she’s been waiting two years now.”
“And another won’t age her beyond recognition.”
“That’d be three years. Think of it, old man, three years in this
end of the earth, this falling-off place for the damned!”
Hutchinson threw up his arm in an almost articulate groan.
He was several years younger than his partner, not more than
twenty-six, and there was a certain wistfulness in his face that
comes into the faces of men when they yearn vainly for the things
they have been long denied. This same wistfulness was in
Pentfield’s face, and the groan of it was articulate in the heave
of his shoulders.
“I dreamed last night I was in Zinkand’s,” he said. “The music
playing, glasses clinking, voices humming, women laughing, and I
was ordering eggs–yes, sir, eggs, fried and boiled and poached and
scrambled, and in all sorts of ways, and downing them as fast as
they arrived.”
“I’d have ordered salads and green things,” Hutchinson criticized
hungrily, “with a big, rare, Porterhouse, and young onions and
radishes,–the kind your teeth sink into with a crunch.”
“I’d have followed the eggs with them, I guess, if I hadn’t
awakened,” Pentfield replied.
He picked up a trail-scarred banjo from the floor and began to
strum a few wandering notes. Hutchinson winced and breathed
heavily.
“Quit it!” he burst out with sudden fury, as the other struck into
a gaily lifting swing. “It drives me mad. I can’t stand it”
Pentfield tossed the banjo into a bunk and quoted:-
“Hear me babble what the weakest won’t confess –