A thousand deaths by Jack London

from eddy to eddy in thin lines around the points. The freeze-up

was very imminent.

“We could make it if they had the souls of clams,” Kit told Shorty,

as they dried their moccasins by the fire on the evening of the

third day. “We could have made it to-day if they hadn’t turned

back. Another hour’s work would have fetched that west shore.

They’re–they’re babes in the woods.”

“Sure,” Shorty agreed. He turned his moccasin to the flame and

debated a moment. “Look here, Smoke. It’s hundreds of miles to

Dawson. If we don’t want to freeze in here, we’ve got to do

something. What d’ye say?”

Kit looked at him, and waited.

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34

“We’ve got the immortal cinch on them two babes,” Shorty expounded.

“They can give orders an’ shed mazuma, but, as you say, they’re plum

babes. If we’re goin’ to Dawson, we got to take charge of this here

outfit.”

They looked at each other.

“It’s a go,” said Kit, as his hand went out in ratification.

In the morning, long before daylight, Shorty issued his call.

“Come on!” he roared. “Tumble out, you sleepers! Here’s your

coffee! Kick in to it! We’re goin’ to make a start!”

Grumbling and complaining, Stine and Sprague were forced to get

under way two hours earlier than ever before. If anything, the gale

was stiffer, and in a short time every man’s face was iced up, while

the oars were heavy with ice. Three hours they struggled, and four,

one man steering, one chopping ice, two toiling at the oars, and

each taking his various turns. The north-west shore loomed nearer

and nearer. The gale blew even harder, and at last Sprague pulled

in his oar in token of surrender. Shorty sprang to it, though his

relief had only begun.

“Chop ice,” he said, handing Sprague the hatchet.

“But what’s the use?” the other whined. “We can’t make it. We’re

going to turn back.”

“We’re going on,” said Shorty. “Chop ice. An’ when you feel better

you can spell me.”

It was heart-breaking toil, but they gained the shore, only to find

it composed of surge-beaten rocks and cliffs, with no place to land.

“I told you so,” Sprague whimpered.

“You never peeped,” Shorty answered.

“We’re going back.”

Nobody spoke, and Kit held the boat into the seas as they skirted

the forbidding shore. Sometimes they gained no more than a foot to

the stroke, and there were times when two or three strokes no more

than enabled them to hold their own. He did his best to hearten the

two weaklings. He pointed out that the boats which had won to this

shore had never come back. Perforce, he argued, they had found a

shelter somewhere ahead. Another hour they laboured, and a second.

“If you fellows put into your oars some of that coffee you swig in

your blankets, we’d make it,” was Shorty’s encouragement. “You’re

just goin’ through the motions an’ not pullin’ a pound.”

A few minutes later Sprague drew in his oar.

“I’m finished,” he said, and there were tears in his voice.

SMOKE BELLEW

35

“So are the rest of us,” Kit answered, himself ready to cry or to

commit murder, so great was his exhaustion. “But we’re going on

just the same.”

“We’re going back. Turn the boat around.”

“Shorty, if he won’t pull, take that oar yourself,” Kit commanded.

“Sure,” was the answer. “He can chop ice.”

But Sprague refused to give over the oar; Stine had ceased rowing,

and the boat was drifting backward.

“Turn around, Smoke,” Sprague ordered.

And Kit, who never in his life had cursed any man, astonished

himself.

“I’ll see you in hell, first,” he replied. “Take hold of that oar

and pull.”

It is in moments of exhaustion that men lose all their reserves of

civilization, and such a moment had come. Each man had reached the

breaking-point. Sprague jerked off a mitten, drew his revolver, and

turned it on his steersman. This was a new experience to Kit. He

had never had a gun presented at him in his life. And now, to his

surprise, it seemed to mean nothing at all. It was the most natural

thing in the world.

“If you don’t put that gun up,” he said, “I’ll take it away and rap

you over the knuckles with it.”

“If you don’t turn the boat around I’ll shoot you,” Sprague

threatened.

Then Shorty took a hand. He ceased chopping ice and stood up behind

Sprague.

“Go on an’ shoot,” said Shorty, wiggling the hatchet. “I’m just

aching for a chance to brain you. Go on an’ start the festivities.”

“This is mutiny,” Stine broke in. “You were engaged to obey

orders.”

Shorty turned on him.

“Oh, you’ll get yours as soon as I finish with your pardner, you

little hog-wallopin’ snooper, you.”

“Sprague,” Kit said, “I’ll give you just thirty seconds to put away

that gun and get that oar out.”

Sprague hesitated, gave a short hysterical laugh, put the revolver

away and bent his back to the work.

For two hours more, inch by inch, they fought their way along the

edge of the foaming rocks, until Kit feared he had made a mistake.

SMOKE BELLEW

36

And then, when on the verge of himself turning back, they came

abreast of a narrow opening, not twenty feet wide, which led into a

land-locked inclosure where the fiercest gusts scarcely flawed the

surface. It was the haven gained by the boats of previous days.

They landed on a shelving beach, and the two employers lay in

collapse in the boat, while Kit and Shorty pitched the tent, built a

fire, and started the cooking.

“What’s a hog-walloping snooper, Shorty?” Kit asked.

“Blamed if I know,” was the answer; “but he’s one just the same.”

The gale, which had been dying quickly, ceased at nightfall, and it

came on clear and cold. A cup of coffee, set aside to cool and

forgotten, a few minutes later was found coated with half an inch of

ice. At eight o’clock, when Sprague and Stine, already rolled in

their blankets, were sleeping the sleep of exhaustion, Kit came back

from a look at the boat.

“It’s the freeze-up, Shorty,” he announced. “There’s a skin of ice

over the whole pond already.”

“What are you going to do?”

“There’s only one thing. The lake of course freezes first. The

rapid current of the river may keep it open for days. This time to-

morrow any boat caught in Lake Le Barge remains there until next

year.”

“You mean we got to get out to-night? Now?”

Kit nodded.

“Tumble out, you sleepers!” was Shorty’s answer, couched in a roar,

as he began casting off the guy-ropes of the tent.

The other two awoke, groaning with the pain of stiffened muscles and

the pain of rousing from exhausted sleep.

“What time is it?” Stine asked.

“Half-past eight.”

“It’s dark yet,” was the objection.

Shorty jerked out a couple of guy-ropes, and the tent began to sag.

“It’s not morning,” he said. “It’s evening. Come on. The lake’s

freezin’. We got to get acrost.”

Stine sat up, his face bitter and wrathful.

“Let it freeze. We’re not going to stir.”

“All right,” said Shorty. “We’re goin’ on with the boat.”

“You were engaged–”

SMOKE BELLEW

37

“To take you to Dawson,” Shorty caught him up. “Well, we’re takin’

you, ain’t we?”

He punctuated his query by bringing half the tent down on top of

them.

They broke their way through the thin ice in the little harbour, and

came out on the lake, where the water, heavy and glassy, froze on

their oars with every stroke. The water soon became like mush,

clogging the stroke of the oars and freezing in the air even as it

dripped. Later the surface began to form a skin, and the boat

proceeded slower and slower.

Often, afterwards, when Kit tried to remember that night and failed

to bring up aught but nightmare recollections, he wondered what must

have been the sufferings of Stine and Sprague. His one impression

of himself was that he struggled through biting frost and

intolerable exertion for a thousand years more or less.

Morning found them stationary. Stine complained of frosted fingers,

and Sprague of his nose, while the pain in Kit’s cheeks and nose

told him that he, too, had been touched. With each accretion of

daylight they could see farther, and far as they could see was icy

surface. The water of the lake was gone. A hundred yards away was

the shore of the north end. Shorty insisted that it was the opening

of the river and that he could see water. He and Kit alone were

able to work, and with their oars they broke the ice and forced the

boat along. And at the last gasp of their strength they made the

suck of the rapid river. One look back showed them several boats

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