Kit shook his head.
“Then I’m sorry for you, pardner. They ain’t no grub in the
country, and they’ll drop you cold as soon as they hit Dawson. Men
are going to starve there this winter.”
“They agreed–” Kit began.
“Verbal,” Shorty snapped him short. “It’s your say so against
theirs, that’s all. Well, anyway–what’s your name, pardner?”
“Call me Smoke,” said Kit.
“Well, Smoke, you’ll have a run for your verbal contract just the
same. This is a plain sample of what to expect. They can sure shed
mazuma, but they can’t work, or turn out of bed in the morning. We
should have been loaded and started an hour ago. It’s you an’ me
for the big work. Pretty soon you’ll hear ’em shoutin’ for their
coffee–in bed, mind you, and they grown men. What d’ye know about
boatin’ on the water? I’m a cowman and a prospector, but I’m sure
tender-footed on water, an’ they don’t know punkins. What d’ye
know?”
“Search me,” Kit answered, snuggling in closer under the tarpaulin
as the snow whirled before a fiercer gust. “I haven’t been on a
small boat since a boy. But I guess we can learn.”
A corner of the tarpaulin tore loose, and Shorty received a jet of
driven snow down the back of his neck.
“Oh, we can learn all right,” he muttered wrathfully. “Sure we can.
A child can learn. But it’s dollars to doughnuts we don’t even get
started to-day.”
It was eight o’clock when the call for coffee came from the tent,
and nearly nine before the two employers emerged.
“Hello,” said Sprague, a rosy-cheeked, well-fed young man of twenty-
five. “Time we made a start, Shorty. You and–” Here he glanced
interrogatively at Kit. “I didn’t quite catch your name last
evening.”
“Smoke.”
“Well, Shorty, you and Mr Smoke had better begin loading the boat.”
“Plain Smoke–cut out the Mister,” Kit suggested.
Sprague nodded curtly and strolled away among the tents, to be
followed by Doctor Stine, a slender, pallid young man.
SMOKE BELLEW
24
Shorty looked significantly at his companion.
“Over a ton and a half of outfit, and they won’t lend a hand.
You’ll see.”
“I guess it’s because we’re paid to do the work,” Kit answered
cheerfully, “and we might as well buck in.”
To move three thousand pounds on the shoulders a hundred yards was
no slight task, and to do it in half a gale, slushing through the
snow in heavy rubber boots, was exhausting. In addition, there was
the taking down of the tent and the packing of small camp equipage.
Then came the loading. As the boat settled, it had to be shoved
farther and farther out, increasing the distance they had to wade.
By two o’clock it had all been accomplished, and Kit, despite his
two breakfasts, was weak with the faintness of hunger. His knees
were shaking under him. Shorty, in similar predicament, foraged
through the pots and pans, and drew forth a big pot of cold boiled
beans in which were imbedded large chunks of bacon. There was only
one spoon, a long-handled one, and they dipped, turn and turn about,
into the pot. Kit was filled with an immense certitude that in all
his life he had never tasted anything so good.
“Lord, man,” he mumbled between chews, “I never knew what appetite
was till I hit the trail.”
Sprague and Stine arrived in the midst of this pleasant occupation.
“What’s the delay?” Sprague complained. “Aren’t we ever going to get
started?”
Shorty dipped in turn, and passed the spoon to Kit. Nor did either
speak till the pot was empty and the bottom scraped.
“Of course we ain’t ben doin’ nothing,” Shorty said, wiping his
mouth with the back of his hand. “We ain’t ben doin’ nothing at
all. And of course you ain’t had nothing to eat. It was sure
careless of me.”
“Yes, yes,” Stine said quickly. “We ate at one of the tents–
friends of ours.”
“Thought so,” Shorty grunted.
“But now that you’re finished, let us get started,” Sprague urged.
“There’s the boat,” said Shorty. “She’s sure loaded. Now, just how
might you be goin’ about to get started?”
“By climbing aboard and shoving off. Come on.”
They waded out, and the employers got on board, while Kit and Shorty
shoved clear. When the waves lapped the tops of their boots they
clambered in. The other two men were not prepared with the oars,
and the boat swept back and grounded. Half a dozen times, with a
great expenditure of energy, this was repeated.
SMOKE BELLEW
25
Shorty sat down disconsolately on the gunwale, took a chew of
tobacco, and questioned the universe, while Kit baled the boat and
the other two exchanged unkind remarks.
“If you’ll take my orders, I’ll get her off,” Sprague finally said.
The attempt was well intended, but before he could clamber on board
he was wet to the waist.
“We’ve got to camp and build a fire,” he said, as the boat grounded
again. “I’m freezing.”
“Don’t be afraid of a wetting,” Stine sneered. “Other men have gone
off to-day wetter than you. Now I’m going to take her out.”
This time it was he who got the wetting, and who announced with
chattering teeth the need of a fire.
“A little splash like that,” Sprague chattered spitefully. “We’ll
go on.”
“Shorty, dig out my clothes-bag and make a fire,” the other
commanded.
“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Sprague cried.
Shorty looked from one to the other, expectorated, but did not move.
“He’s working for me, and I guess he obeys my orders,” Stine
retorted. “Shorty, take that bag ashore.”
Shorty obeyed, and Sprague shivered in the boat. Kit, having
received no orders, remained inactive, glad of the rest.
“A boat divided against itself won’t float,” he soliloquized.
“What’s that?” Sprague snarled at him.
“Talking to myself–habit of mine,” he answered.
His employer favoured him with a hard look, and sulked several
minutes longer. Then he surrendered.
“Get out my bag, Smoke,” he ordered, “and lend a hand with that
fire. We won’t get off till the morning now.”
II.
Next day the gale still blew. Lake Linderman was no more than a
narrow mountain gorge filled with water. Sweeping down from the
mountains through this funnel, the wind was irregular, blowing great
guns at times and at other times dwindling to a strong breeze.
“If you give me a shot at it, I think I can get her off,” Kit said,
SMOKE BELLEW
26
when all was ready for the start.
“What do you know about it?” Stine snapped at him.
“Search me,” Kit answered, and subsided.
It was the first time he had worked for wages in his life, but he
was learning the discipline of it fast. Obediently and cheerfully
he joined in various vain efforts to get clear of the beach.
“How would you go about it?” Sprague finally half-panted, half-
whined at him.
“Sit down and get a good rest till a lull comes in the wind, and
then buck in for all we’re worth.”
Simple as the idea was, he had been the first to evolve it; the
first time it was applied it worked, and they hoisted a blanket to
the mast and sped down the lake. Stine and Sprague immediately
became cheerful. Shorty, despite his chronic pessimism, was always
cheerful, and Kit was too interested to be otherwise. Sprague
struggled with the steering sweep for a quarter of an hour, and then
looked appealingly at Kit, who relieved him.
“My arms are fairly broken with the strain of it,” Sprague muttered
apologetically.
“You never ate bear-meat, did you?” Kit asked sympathetically.
“What the devil do you mean?”
“Oh, nothing; I was just wondering.”
But behind his employer’s back Kit caught the approving grin of
Shorty, who had already caught the whim of his simile.
Kit steered the length of Linderman, displaying an aptitude that
caused both young men of money and disinclination for work to name
him boat-steerer. Shorty was no less pleased, and volunteered to
continue cooking and leave the boat work to the other.
Between Linderman and Lake Bennet was a portage. The boat, lightly
loaded, was lined down the small but violent connecting stream, and
here Kit learned a vast deal more about boats and water. But when
it came to packing the outfit, Stine and Sprague disappeared, and
their men spent two days of back-breaking toil in getting the outfit
across. And this was the history of many miserable days of the
trip–Kit and Shorty working to exhaustion, while their masters
toiled not and demanded to be waited upon.
But the iron-bound arctic winter continued to close down, and they
were held back by numerous and avoidable delays. At Windy Arm,
Stine arbitrarily dispossessed Kit of the steering-sweep and within
the hour wrecked the boat on a wave-beaten lee shore. Two days were
lost here in making repairs, and the morning of the fresh start, as