by Jack London
To the Man on the Trail
'Dump it in!.' 'But I say, Kid, isn't that going it a little toostrong? Whisky and alcohol's bad enough; but when it comes to brandyand pepper sauce and-' 'Dump it in. Who's making this punch, anyway?'And Malemute Kid smiled benignantly through the clouds of steam. 'Bythe time you've been in this country as long as I have, my son, andlived on rabbit tracks and salmon belly, you'll learn that Christmascomes only once per annum.
And a Christmas without punch is sinking a hole to bedrock with nary apay streak.'
'Stack up on that fer a high cyard,' approved Big Jim Belden, who hadcome down from his claim on Mazy May to spend Christmas, and who, aseveryone knew, had been living the two months past on straight moosemeat. 'Hain't fergot the hooch we-uns made on the Tanana, hey yeh?''Well, I guess yes. Boys, it would have done your hearts good to seethat whole tribe fighting drunk--and all because of a glorious fermentof sugar and sour dough. That was before your time,' Malemute Kid saidas he turned to Stanley Prince, a young mining expert who had been intwo years. 'No white women in the country then, and Mason wanted to getmarried. Ruth's father was chief of the Tananas, and objected, like therest of the tribe. Stiff? Why, I used my last pound of sugar; finestwork in that line I ever did in my life. You should have seen thechase, down the river and across the portage.' 'But the squaw?' askedLouis Savoy, the tall French Canadian, becoming interested; for he hadheard of this wild deed when at Forty Mile the preceding winter.
Then Malemute Kid, who was a born raconteur, told the unvarnished taleof the Northland Lochinvar. More than one rough adventurer of the Northfelt his heartstrings draw closer and experienced vague yearnings forthe sunnier pastures of the Southland, where life promised somethingmore than a barren struggle with cold and death.
'We struck the Yukon just behind the first ice run,' he concluded, 'andthe tribe only a quarter of an hour behind. But that saved us; for thesecond run broke the jam above and shut them out. When they finally gotinto Nuklukyeto, the whole post was ready for them.
'And as to the forgathering, ask Father Roubeau here: he performed theceremony.' The Jesuit took the pipe from his lips but could onlyexpress his gratification with patriarchal smiles, while Protestant andCatholic vigorously applauded.
'By gar!' ejaculated Louis Savoy, who seemed overcome by the romance ofit. 'La petite squaw: mon Mason brav. By gar!' Then, as the first tincups of punch went round, Bettles the Unquenchable sprang to his feetand struck up his favorite drinking song: 'There's Henry Ward BeecherAnd Sunday-school teachers, All drink of the sassafras root; But youbet all the same, If it had its right name, It's the juice of theforbidden fruit.'
'Oh, the juice of the forbidden fruit,' roared out the bacchanalianchorus, 'Oh, the juice of the forbidden fruit; But you bet all thesame, If it had its right name, It's the juice of the forbidden fruit.'
Malemute Kid's frightful concoction did its work; the men of the campsand trails unbent in its genial glow, and jest and song and tales ofpast adventure went round the board.
Aliens from a dozen lands, they toasted each and all. It was theEnglishman, Prince, who pledged 'Uncle Sam, the precocious infant ofthe New World'; the Yankee, Bettles, who drank to 'The Queen, God blessher'; and together, Savoy and Meyers, the German trader, clanged theircups to Alsace and Lorraine.
Then Malemute Kid arose, cup in hand, and glanced at the greased-paperwindow, where the frost stood full three inches thick. 'A health to theman on trail this night; may his grub hold out; may his dogs keep theirlegs; may his matches never miss fire.' Crack!
Crack! heard the familiar music of the dog whip, the whining howl ofthe Malemutes, and the crunch of a sled as it drew up to the cabin.Conversation languished while they waited the issue.
'An old-timer; cares for his dogs and then himself,' whispered MalemuteKid to Prince as they listened to the snapping jaws and the wolfishsnarls and yelps of pain which proclaimed to their practiced ears thatthe stranger was beating back their dogs while he fed his own.
Then came the expected knock, sharp and confident, and the strangerentered.
Dazzled by the light, he hesitated a moment at the door, giving to alla chance for scrutiny. He was a striking personage, and a mostpicturesque one, in his Arctic dress of wool and fur. Standing six foottwo or three, with proportionate breadth of shoulders and depth ofchest, his smooth-shaven face nipped by the cold to a gleaming pink,his long lashes and eyebrows white with ice, and the ear and neck flapsof his great wolfskin cap loosely raised, he seemed, of a verity, theFrost King, just stepped in out of the night.
Clasped outside his Mackinaw jacket, a beaded belt held two largeColt's revolvers and a hunting knife, while he carried, in addition tothe inevitable dog whip, a smokeless rifle of the largest bore andlatest pattern. As he came forward, for all his step was firm andelastic, they could see that fatigue bore heavily upon him.
An awkward silence had fallen, but his hearty 'What cheer, my lads?'put them quickly at ease, and the next instant Malemute Kid and he hadgripped hands. Though they had never met, each had heard of the other,and the recognition was mutual. A sweeping introduction and a mug ofpunch were forced upon him before he could explain his errand.
How long since that basket sled, with three men and eight dogs,passed?' he asked.
'An even two days ahead. Are you after them?' 'Yes; my team. Run themoff under my very nose, the cusses. I've gained two days on themalready--pick them up on the next run.' 'Reckon they'll show spunk?'asked Belden, in order to keep up the conversation, for Malemute Kidalready had the coffeepot on and was busily frying bacon and moose meat.
The stranger significantly tapped his revolvers.
'When'd yeh leave Dawson?' 'Twelve o'clock.' 'Last night?'--as a matterof course.
'Today.' A murmur of surprise passed round the circle. And well itmight; for it was just midnight, and seventy-five miles of rough rivertrail was not to be sneered at for a twelve hours' run.
The talk soon became impersonal, however, harking back to the trails ofchildhood. As the young stranger ate of the rude fare Malemute Kidattentively studied his face. Nor was he long in deciding that it wasfair, honest, and open, and that he liked it. Still youthful, the lineshad been firmly traced by toil and hardship.
Though genial in conversation, and mild when at rest, the blue eyesgave promise of the hard steel-glitter which comes when called intoaction, especially against odds. The heavy jaw and square-cut chindemonstrated rugged pertinacity and indomitability. Nor, though theattributes of the lion were there, was there wanting the certainsoftness, the hint of womanliness, which bespoke the emotional nature.
'So thet's how me an' the ol' woman got spliced,' said Belden,concluding the exciting tale of his courtship. '"Here we be, Dad," sezshe. "An' may yeh be damned," sez he to her, an' then to me, "Jim,yeh--yeh git outen them good duds o' yourn; I want a right peart sliceo' thet forty acre plowed 'fore dinner." An' then he sort o' sniffledan' kissed her. An' I was thet happy--but he seen me an' roars out,"Yeh, Jim!" An' yeh bet I dusted fer the barn.' 'Any kids waiting foryou back in the States?' asked the stranger.
'Nope; Sal died 'fore any come. Thet's why I'm here.' Beldenabstractedly began to light his pipe, which had failed to go out, andthen brightened up with, 'How 'bout yerself, stranger--married man?'For reply, he opened his watch, slipped it from the thong which servedfor a chain, and passed it over. Belden picked up the slush lamp,surveyed the inside of the case critically, and, swearing admiringly tohimself, handed it over to Louis Savoy. With numerous 'By gars!' hefinally surrendered it to Prince, and they noticed that his handstrembled and his eyes took on a peculiar softness. And so it passedfrom horny hand to horny hand--the pasted photograph of a woman, theclinging kind that such men fancy, with a babe at the breast. Those whohad not yet seen the wonder were keen with curiosity; those who hadbecame silent and retrospective. They could face the pinch of famine,the grip of scurvy, or the quick death by field or flood; but thepictured semblance of a stranger woman and child made women andchildr
en of them all.
'Never have seen the youngster yet--he's a boy, she says, and two yearsold,' said the stranger as he received the treasure back. A lingeringmoment he gazed upon it, then snapped the case and turned away, but notquick enough to hide the restrained rush of tears. Malemute Kid ledhim to a bunk and bade him turn in.
'Call me at four sharp. Don't fail me,' were his last words, and amoment later he was breathing in the heaviness of exhausted sleep.
'By Jove! He's a plucky chap,' commented Prince. 'Three hours' sleepafter seventy-five miles with the dogs, and then the trail again. Whois he, Kid?' 'Jack Westondale. Been in going on three years, withnothing but the name of working like a horse, and any amount of badluck to his credit. I never knew him, but Sitka Charley told me abouthim.' 'It seems hard that a man with a sweet young wife like his shouldbe putting in his years in this Godforsaken hole, where every yearcounts two on the outside.' 'The trouble with him is clean grit andstubbornness. He's cleaned up twice with a stake, but lost it bothtimes.' Here the conversation was broken off by an uproar from Bettles,for the effect had begun to wear away. And soon the bleak years ofmonotonous grub and deadening toil were being forgotten in roughmerriment. Malemute Kid alone seemed unable to lose himself, and castmany an anxious look at his watch. Once he put on his mittens andbeaver-skin cap, and, leaving the cabin, fell to rummaging about in thecache.
Nor could he wait the hour designated; for he was fifteen minutes aheadof time in rousing his guest. The young giant had stiffened badly, andbrisk rubbing was necessary to bring him to his feet. He totteredpainfully out of the cabin, to find his dogs harnessed and everythingready for the start. The company wished him good luck and a shortchase, while Father Roubeau, hurriedly blessing him, led the stampedefor the cabin; and small wonder, for it is not good to faceseventy-four degrees below zero with naked ears and hands.
Malemute Kid saw him to the main trail, and there, gripping his handheartily, gave him advice.
'You'll find a hundred pounds of salmon eggs on the sled,' he said.'The dogs will go as far on that as with one hundred and fifty of fish,and you can't get dog food at Pelly, as you probably expected.' Thestranger started, and his eyes flashed, but he did not interrupt. 'Youcan't get an ounce of food for dog or man till you reach Five Fingers,and that's a stiff two hundred miles. Watch out for open water on theThirty Mile River, and be sure you take the big cutoff above Le Barge.''How did you know it? Surely the news can't be ahead of me already?' 'Idon't know it; and what's more, I don't want to know it. But you neverowned that team you're chasing. Sitka Charley sold it to them lastspring. But he sized you up to me as square once, and I believe him.I've seen your face; I like it. And I've seen--why, damn you, hit thehigh places for salt water and that wife of yours, and--' Here the Kidunmittened and jerked out his sack.
'No; I don't need it,' and the tears froze on his cheeks as heconvulsively gripped Malemute Kid's hand.
'Then don't spare the dogs; cut them out of the traces as fast as theydrop; buy them, and think they're cheap at ten dollars a pound. You canget them at Five Fingers, Little Salmon, and Hootalinqua. And watch outfor wet feet,' was his parting advice. 'Keep a-traveling up totwenty-five, but if it gets below that, build a fire and change yoursocks.'
Fifteen minutes had barely elapsed when the jingle of bells announcednew arrivals. The door opened, and a mounted policeman of the NorthwestTerritory entered, followed by two half-breed dog drivers. LikeWestondale, they were heavily armed and showed signs of fatigue. Thehalf-breeds had been born to the trail and bore it easily; but theyoung policeman was badly exhausted. Still, the dogged obstinacy of hisrace held him to the pace he had set, and would hold him till hedropped in his tracks.
'When did Westondale pull out?' he asked. 'He stopped here, didn't he?'This was supererogatory, for the tracks told their own tale too well.
Malemute Kid had caught Belden's eye, and he, scenting the wind,replied evasively, 'A right peart while back.' 'Come, my man; speakup,' the policeman admonished.
'Yeh seem to want him right smart. Hez he ben gittin' cantankerous downDawson way?'
'Held up Harry McFarland's for forty thousand; exchanged it at the P.C.store for a check on Seattle; and who's to stop the cashing of it if wedon't overtake him? When did he pull out?'
Every eye suppressed its excitement, for Malemute Kid had given thecue, and the young officer encountered wooden faces on every hand.
Striding over to Prince, he put the question to him. Though it hurthim, gazing into the frank, earnest face of his fellow countryman, hereplied inconsequentially on the state of the trail.
Then he espied Father Roubeau, who could not lie. 'A quarter of an hourago,' the priest answered; 'but he had four hours' rest for himself anddogs.' 'Fifteen minutes' start, and he's fresh! My God!' The poorfellow staggered back, half fainting from exhaustion anddisappointment, murmuring something about the run from Dawson in tenhours and the dogs being played out.
Malemute Kid forced a mug of punch upon him; then he turned for thedoor, ordering the dog drivers to follow. But the warmth and promise ofrest were too tempting, and they objected strenuously. The Kid wasconversant with their French patois, and followed it anxiously.
They swore that the dogs were gone up; that Siwash and Babette wouldhave to be shot before the first mile was covered; that the rest werealmost as bad; and that it would be better for all hands to rest up.
'Lend me five dogs?' he asked, turning to Malemute Kid.
But the Kid shook his head.
'I'll sign a check on Captain Constantine for five thousand--here's mypapers--I'm authorized to draw at my own discretion.'
Again the silent refusal.
'Then I'll requisition them in the name of the Queen.' Smilingincredulously, the Kid glanced at his well-stocked arsenal, and theEnglishman, realizing his impotency, turned for the door. But the dogdrivers still objecting, he whirled upon them fiercely, calling themwomen and curs. The swart face of the older half-breed flushed angrilyas he drew himself up and promised in good, round terms that he wouldtravel his leader off his legs, and would then be delighted to planthim in the snow.
The young officer--and it required his whole will--walked steadily tothe door, exhibiting a freshness he did not possess. But they all knewand appreciated his proud effort; nor could he veil the twinges ofagony that shot across his face. Covered with frost, the dogs werecurled up in the snow, and it was almost impossible to get them totheir feet. The poor brutes whined under the stinging lash, for the dogdrivers were angry and cruel; nor till Babette, the leader, was cutfrom the traces, could they break out the sled and get under way.
'A dirty scoundrel and a liar!' 'By gar! Him no good!' 'A thief!''Worse than an Indian!'
It was evident that they were angry--first at the way they had beendeceived; and second at the outraged ethics of the Northland, wherehonesty, above all, was man's prime jewel.
'An' we gave the cuss a hand, after knowin' what he'd did.' All eyesturned accusingly upon Malemute Kid, who rose from the corner where hehad been making Babette comfortable, and silently emptied the bowl fora final round of punch.
'It's a cold night, boys--a bitter cold night,' was the irrelevantcommencement of his defense. 'You've all traveled trail, and know whatthat stands for. Don't jump a dog when he's down. You've only heard oneside. A whiter man than Jack Westondale never ate from the same pot norstretched blanket with you or me.
'Last fall he gave his whole clean-up, forty thousand, to Joe Castrell,to buy in on Dominion. Today he'd be a millionaire. But, while hestayed behind at Circle City, taking care of his partner with thescurvy, what does Castell do? Goes into McFarland's, jumps the limit,and drops the whole sack. Found him dead in the snow the next day. Andpoor Jack laying his plans to go out this winter to his wife and theboy he's never seen. You'll notice he took exactly what his partnerlost--forty thousand. Well, he's gone out; and what are you going to doabout it?' The Kid glanced round the circle of his judges, noted thesoftening of their faces, then r
aised his mug aloft. 'So a health tothe man on trail this night; may his grub hold out; may his dogs keeptheir legs; may his matches never miss fire.
'God prosper him; good luck go with him; and--' 'Confusion to theMounted Police!' cried Bettles, to the crash of the empty cups.