Pardners

by Rex Beach

  THE SCOURGE

  Coming down coast from the Kotzebue country they stumbled onto thelittle camp in the early winter, and as there was food a plenty, ofits kind, whereas they had subsisted for some days on puree of sealoil and short ribs of dog, Captain and Big George decided to winter.A maxim of the north teaches to cabin by a grub-pile.

  It was an odd village they beheld that first day. Instead of theclean moss-chinked log shelters men were wont to build in this land,they found the community housed like marmots in holes and burrows.

  It seemed that the troop had landed, fresh from the States, a hundredand a quarter strong, hot with the lust for gold, yet shaken by thenewspaper horrors of Alaska's rigorous hardships and forbiddingclimate.

  Debouching in the early fall, they had hastily prepared for anAssociated Press-painted Arctic winter.

  Had they been forced to winter in the mountains of Idaho, or amongMontana's passes, they would have prepared simply and effectively.Here, however, in a mystic land, surrounded by the unknown, they grewpanic stricken and lost their wits.

  Thus, when the two "old timers" came upon them in the early winterthey found them in bomb-proof hovels, sunk into the muck, banked withlog walls, and thatched over with dirt and sod.

  "Where are your windows and ventilators?" they were asked, andcollectively the camp laughed at the question. _They_ knew how tokeep snug and warm even if half-witted "sourdoughs" didn't. _They_weren't taking any chances on freezing, not on your tin-type, nooutdoor work and exposure for them!

  As the winter settled, they snuggled back, ate three meals and moredaily of bacon, beans, and baking-powder bread; playing cribbage foran appetite. They undertook no exercise more violent than seven-up,while the wood-cutting fell as a curse upon those unfortunates wholost at the game. They giggled at Captain and the big whaler whodaily, snow or blow, hit the trail or wielded pick and shovel.

  However, as the two maintained their practice, the camp grew toresent their industry, and, as is possible only in utterly idlecommunities, there sprung up a virulence totally out of proportion,and, founded without reason, most difficult to dispel. Before theyknew it, the two were disliked and distrusted; their presenceignored; their society shunned.

  Captain had talked to many in the camp. "You'll get scurvy, sure,living in these dark houses. They're damp and dirty, and you don'texercise. Besides, there isn't a pound of fresh grub in camp."

  Figuratively, the camp's nose had tilted at this, and it statedpompously that it were better to preserve its classic purity offeatures and pro rata of toes, than to jeopardize these adjunctsthrough fear of a possible blood disease.

  "Blood disease, eh?" George snorted like a sea-lion. "Wait tillyour legs get black and you spit your teeth out like plum-pits--mebbeyou'll listen then. It'll come, see if it don't."

  He was right. Yet when the plague did grip the camp and men died,one in five, they failed to rise to it. Instead of fighting manfullythey lapsed into a frightened, stubborn coma.

  There was one, and only one, who did not. Klusky the Jew; Klusky thepariah. They said he worked just to be ornery and different from therest, he hated them so. They enjoyed baiting him to witness hisfury. It sated that taint of Roman cruelty inherent in the man ofignorance. He was all the amusement they had, for it wasn't policyto stir up the two others--they might slop over and clean up thevillage. So they continued to goad him as they had done sinceleaving 'Frisco. They gibed and jeered till he shunned them, livingalone in the fringe of the pines, bitter and vicious, as an outcastfrom the pack will grow, whether human or lupine. He frequented onlythe house of Captain and George, because they were exiles likehimself.

  The partners did not relish this overmuch, for he was an odiousbeing, avaricious, carping, and dirty.

  "His face reminds me of a tool," said George, once, "nose an' chinshuts up like calipers. He's got the forehead of a salmon trout, an'his chin don't retreat, it stampedes, plumb down ag'in his apple.Look out for that droop of the mouth. I've seen it before, an' hiseyes is bad, too. They've stirred him up an' pickled all the good heever had. Some day he'll do a murder."

  "I wonder what he means by always saying he'll have revenge beforespring. It makes me creep to hear him cackle and gloat. I thinkhe's going crazy."

  "Can't tell. This bunch would bust anybody's mental tugs, an' theymake a mistake drivin' him so. Say! How's my gums look tonight?"George stretched his lips back, showing his teeth, while Captain madecareful examination.

  "All right. How are mine?"

  "Red as a berry."

  Every day they searched thus for the symptoms, looking fordiscolouration, and anxiously watching bruises on limb or body. Menlive in fear when their comrades vanish silently from their midst.Each night upon retiring they felt legs nervously, punching here andthere to see that the flesh retained its resiliency.

  So insidious is the malady's approach that it may be detected onlythus. A lassitude perhaps, a rheumatic laziness, or pains andswelling at the joints. Mayhap one notes a putty-like softness ofthe lower limbs. Where he presses, the finger mark remains, fillingup sluggishly. No mental depression at first, nor fever, only adrooping ambition, fatigue, enlarging parts, now gradual, now sudden.

  The grim humour of seeing grown men gravely poking their legs withrigid digits, or grinning anxiously into hand-mirrors had struck someof the tenderfeet at first, but the implacable progress of thedisease; its black, merciless presence, pausing destructively hereand there, had terrorized them into a hopeless fatalism till theycowered helplessly, awaiting its touch.

  One night Captain announced to his partner. "I'm going over to theFrenchmen's, I hear Menard is down."

  "What's the use of buttin' in where ye ain't wanted? As fer me, themfrogeaters can all die like salmon; I won't go nigh 'em an' I've told'em so. I give 'em good advice, an' what'd I get? What'd that daffydoctor do? Pooh-poohed at me an' physiced them. Lord! Physic a manwith scurvy--might as well bleed a patient fer amputation." Georgespoke with considerable heat.

  Captain pulled his parka hood well down so that the fox-tails aroundthe edge protected his features, and stepped out into the evening.He had made several such trips in the past few months to call on mensmitten with the sickness, but all to no effect. Being "chechakos"they were supreme in their conceit, and refused to heed his advice.

  Returning at bed time he found his partner webbing a pair ofsnow-shoes by the light of a stinking "go-devil," consisting of astring suspended in a can of molten grease. The camp had sold themgrub, but refused the luxury of candles. Noting his gravity, Georgequestioned:

  "Well, how's Menard?"

  "Dead!" Captain shook himself as though at the memory. "It wasawful. He died while I was talking to him."

  "Don't say! How's that?"

  "I found him propped up in a chair. He looked bad, but said he wasfeeling fine--"

  "That's the way they go. I've seen it many a time--feelin' fineplumb to the last."

  "He'd been telling me about a bet he had with Promont. Promont wastaken last week, too, you know, same time. Menard bet him twentydollars that he'd outlast him."

  "'I'm getting all right,' says he, 'but poor Promont's going to die.I'll get his twenty, sure!' I turned to josh with the boy a bit, an'when I spoke to Menard he didn't answer. His jaw had sagged and he'dsettled in his chair. Promont saw it, too, and cackled. 'H'I 'avewin de bet! H'I 'ave win de bet!' That's all. He just slid off.Gee! It was horrible."

  George put by his work and swore, pacing the rough pole floor.

  "Oh, the cussed fools! That makes six dead from the one cabin--sixfrom eighteen, an' Promont'll make seven to-morrow. Do ye mind howwe begged 'em to quit that dug-out an' build a white man's house, an'drink spruce tea, an' _work_! They're too ---- lazy. They liearound in that hole, breath bad air, an' rot."

  "And just to think, if we only had a crate of potatoes in camp wecould save every man jack of 'em. Lord! They never even brought nocitric acid nor l
ime juice--nothin'! If we hadn't lost our grub whenthe whale-boat upset, eh? That ten-gallon keg of booze would helpsome. Say! I got such a thirst I don't never expect to squench itproper;" he spoke plaintively.

  "Klusky was here again while you was gone, too. I itch to choke thatJew whenever he gets to ravin' over these people. He's sure losin'his paystreak. He gritted his teeth an' foamed like a mad malamoot,I never see a low-downer lookin' aspect than him when he gets mad."

  "'I'll make 'em come to me,' says he, 'on their bellies beggin'. Itain't time yet. Oh, no! Wait 'till half of 'em is dead, an' therest is rotten with scurvy. Then they'll crawl to me with their gumsthick and black, an' their flesh like dough; they'll kiss my feet an'cry, an' I'll stamp 'em into the snow!' You'd ought a heard himlaugh. Some day I'm goin' to lay a hand on that man, right in my ownhouse."

  As they prepared for bed. Captain remarked:

  "By the way, speaking of potatoes, I heard to-night that there was acrate in the Frenchmen's outfit somewhere, put in by mistake.perhaps, but when they boated their stuff up river last fall itcouldn't be found--must have been lost."

  It was some days later that, returning from a gameless hunt, Captainstaggered into camp, weary from the drag of his snow-shoes.

  Throwing himself into his bunk he rested while George prepared themeagre meal of brown beans, fried salt pork, and sour-dough bread.The excellence of this last, due to the whaler's years of practice,did much to mitigate the unpleasantness of the milkless, butterless,sugarless menu.

  Captain's fatigue prevented notice of the other's bearing. However,when he had supped and the dishes were done George spoke, quietly andwithout emotion.

  "Well, boy, the big thing has come off."

  "What do you mean?"

  For reply he took the grease dip and, holding it close, bared histeeth.

  With a cry Captain leaped from his bunk, and took his face betweenhis hands.

  "Great God! George!"

  He pushed back the lips. Livid blotches met his gaze--the gumsswollen and discoloured. He dropped back sick and pale, staring athis bulky comrade, dazed and uncomprehending.

  Carefully replacing the lamp, George continued:

  "I felt it comin' quite a while back, pains in my knees an' allthat--thought mebbe you'd notice me hobblin' about. I can't gitaround good--feel sort of stove up an' spavined on my feet."

  "Yes, yes, but we've lived clean, and exercised, and drank sprucetea, and--everything," cried the other.

  "I know, but I've had a touch before; it's in my blood I reckon. Toomuch salt grub; too many winters on the coast. She never took me sosudden an' vicious though. Guess the stuff's off."

  "Don't talk that way," said Captain, sharply. "You're not going todie--I won't let you."

  "Vat's the mattaire?" came a leering voice and, turning they beheldKlusky, the renegade. He had entered silently, as usual, and nowdarted shrewd inquiring glances at them.

  "George has the scurvy."

  "Oi! Oi! Oi! Vat a peety." He seemed about to say more butrefrained, coming forward rubbing his hands nervously.

  "It ain't possible that a 'sour dough' shall have the scoivy."

  "Well, he has it--has it bad but I'll cure him. Yes, and I'll savethis whole ---- camp, whether they want it or not." Captain spokestrongly, his jaws set with determination. Klusky regarded himnarrowly through close shrunk eyes, while speculation wrinkled hislow forehead.

  "Of course! Yes! But how shall it be, eh? Tell me that." Hiseagerness was pronounced.

  "I'll go to St. Michaels and bring back fresh grub."

  "You can't do it, boy," said George. "It's too far an' there ain't adog in camp. You couldn't haul your outfit alone, an' long beforeyou'd sledded grub back I'd be wearin' one of them gleamin' orioles,I believe that's what they call it, on my head, like the pictures ofthem little fat angelettes. I ain't got no ear for music, so I'llhave to cut out the harp solos."

  "Quit that talk, will you?" said Captain irritably. "Of course, oneman can't haul an outfit that far, but two can, so I'm going to takeKlusky with me." He spoke with finality, and the Jew started, gazingqueerly. "We'll go light, and drive back a herd of reindeer."

  "By thunder! I'd clean forgot the reindeer. The government wasaimin' to start a post there last fall, wasn't it? Say! Mebbe youcan make it after all, Kid." His features brightened hopefully."What d' ye say, Klusky?"

  The one addressed answered nervously, almost with excitement.

  "It can't be done! It ain't possible, and I ain't strong enough topull the sled. V'y don't you and George go together. I'll stay--"

  Captain laid a heavy hand on his shoulder.

  "That'll do. What are you talking about? George wouldn't last twodays, and you know it. Now listen. You don't have to go, youinfernal greasy dog, there are others in camp, and one of them willgo if I walk him at the muzzle of a gun. I gave you first chance,because we've been good to you. Now get out."

  He snatched him from his seat and hurled him at the door, where hefell in a heap.

  Klusky arose, and, although his eyes snapped wildly and he trembled,he spoke insidiously, with oily modulation.

  "Vait a meenute, Meestaire Captain, vait a meenute. I didn't say Ivouldn't go. Oi! Oi! Vat a man! Shoor I'll go. Coitenly! Youhave been good to me and they have been devils. I hope they die."He shook a bony fist in the direction of the camp, while his voicetook on its fanatical shrillness. "They shall be in h---- before Ihelp them, the pigs, but you--ah, you have been my friends, yes ?"

  "All right; be here at daylight," said Captain gruffly. Anger cameslowly to him, and its trace was even slower in its leaving.

  "I don't like him," said George, when he had slunk out. "He ain't onthe level. Watch him close, boy, he's up to some devilment."

  "Keep up your courage, old man. I'll be back in twelve days."Captain said it with decision, though his heart sank as he felt theuncertainties before him.

  George looked squarely into his eyes.

  "God bless ye, boy," he said. "I've cabined with many a man, butnever one like you. I'm a hard old nut, an' I ain't worth whatyou're goin' to suffer, but mebbe you can save these other idiots.That's what we're put here for, to help them as is too ornery to helptheirselves." He smiled at Captain, and the young man left himblindly. He seldom smiled, and to see it now made his partner'sbreast heave achingly.

  "Good old George!" he murmured as they pulled out upon the river."Good old George!" As they passed from the settlement an Indian cameto the door of the last hovel.

  "Hello. There's a Siwash in your cabin," said Captain. "What is hedoing there ?"

  "That's all right," rejoined Klusky. "I told him to stay and vatcht'ings."

  "Rather strange," thought the other. "I wonder what there is towatch. There's never been any stealing around here."

  To the unversed, a march by sled would seem simplicity. In realitythere is no more discouraging test than to hit the trail, dogless andby strength of back. The human biped cannot drag across the snow forany distance more than its own weight; hence equipment is of thesimplest. At that, the sledge rope galls one's neck with acontinual, endless, yielding drag, resulting in back pains peculiarto itself. It is this eternal maddening pull, with the pitifulcrawling gait that tells; horse's labour and a snail's pace. Thetoil begets a perspiration which the cold solidifies midway throughthe garments. At every pause the clammy clothes grow chill, forcingone forward, onward, with sweating body and freezing face. Inextreme cold, snow pulverizes dryly till steel runners drag as thoughslid through sand. Occasional overflows bar the stream from bank tobank, resulting in wet feet and quick changes by hasty fires to savenumb toes. Now the air is dead under a smother of falling flakesthat fluff up ankle deep, knee deep, till the sled plunges alongbehind, half buried, while the men wallow and invent ingenious oaths.Again the wind whirls it by in grotesque goblin shapes; wonderfulstorm beings, writhing, whipping, biting as they pass; erasing bankand mountain. Y
et always there is that aching, steady tug of theshoulder-rope, stopping circulation till the arms depend numbly; andalways the weary effort of trail breaking.

  Captain felt that he had never worked with a more unsatisfying teammate. Not that Klusky did not pull, he evidently did his best, buthe never spoke, while the other grew ever conscious of the beady,glittering eyes boring into his back. At camp, the Jew watched himfurtively, sullenly, till he grew to feel oppressed, as with a senseof treachery, or some fell design hidden far back. Every morning hesecured the ropes next the sled, thus forcing Captain to walk ahead.He did not object to the added task of breaking trail, for he hadexpected the brunt of the work, but the feeling of suspicionincreased till it was only by conscious effort that he drove himselfto turn his back upon the other and take up the journey.

  It was this oppression that warned him on the third day. Leaning ashe did against the sled ropes he became aware of an added burden, asthough the man behind had eased to shift his harness. When it didnot cease he glanced over his shoulder. Keyed up as he was thisnervous agility saved him.

  Klusky held a revolver close up to his back, and, though he hadunconsciously failed to pull, he mechanically stepped in the other'stracks. The courage to shoot had failed him momentarily, but asCaptain turned, it came, and he pulled the trigger.

  Frozen gun oil has caused grave errors in calculation. The hammercurled back wickedly and stuck. Waiting his chance he had carriedthe weapon in an outer pocket where the frost had stiffened thegrease. Had it been warmed next his body, the fatal check would nothave occurred. Even so, he pulled again and it exploded sharp anddeafening in the rarefied morning air. In that instant's pause,however, Captain had whirled so that the bullet tore through theloose fur beneath his arm. He struck, simultaneously with thereport, and the gun flew outward, disappearing in the snow.

  They grappled and fell, rolling in a tangle of rope, Klusky fightingwith rat-like fury, whining odd, broken curses. The larger mancrushed him in silence, beating him into the snow, bent on killinghim with his hands.

  They grappled and fell, rolling in a tangle of rope.]

  As the other's struggles diminished, he came to himself, however, anddesisted.

  "I can't kill him," he thought in panic. "I can't go on alone."

  "Get up!" He kicked the bleeding figure till it arose lamely. "Whydid you do that?" His desire to strangle the life from him wasover-powering.

  The man gave no answer, muttering only unintelligible jargon, hiseyes ablaze with hatred.

  "Tell me." He shook him by the throat but received no reply. Norcould he, try as he pleased; only a stubborn silence. At last,disgusted and baffled, he bade him resume the rope. It was necessaryto use force for this, but eventually they took up the journey,differing now only in their order of precedence.

  "If you make a move I'll knife you," he cautioned grimly. "That goesfor the whole trip, too."

  At evening he searched the grub kit, breaking knives and forks, andthose articles which might be used as means of offence, throwing thepieces into the snow.

  "Don't stir during the night, or I might kill you. I wake easy, andhereafter we'll sleep together." Placing the weapons within hisshirt, he bound the other's wrists and rolled up beside him.

  Along the coast, their going became difficult from the rough ice andsoft snow, and with despair Captain felt the days going by. Kluskymaintained his muteness and, moreover, to the anger of his captor,began to shirk. It became necessary to beat him. This Captain didrelentlessly, deriving a certain satisfaction from it, yet marvellingthe while at his own cruelty. The Jew feigned weariness, and beganto limp as though foot-sore.

  Captain halted him at last.

  "Don't try that game," he said. "It don't go. I spared your lifefor a purpose. The minute you stop pulling, that minute I'll sinkthis into your ribs." He prodded him with his sheath knife. "Getalong now, or I'll make you haul it alone." He kicked him intoresentful motion again, for he had come to look upon him as ananimal, and was heedless of his signs of torture--so thus theymarched; master and slave. "He's putting it on," he thought, butabuse as he might, the other's efforts became weaker, and his agonymore marked as the days passed.

  The morning came when he refused to arise.

  "Get up!"

  Klusky shook his head.

  "Get up, I say!" Captain spoke fiercely, and snatched him to foot,but with a groan the man sank back. Then, at last, he talked.

  "I can't do it. I can't do it. My legs make like they von't vork.You can kill me, but I can't valk."

  As he ceased, Captain leaned down and pushed back his lips. Theteeth were loose and the gums livid.

  "Great Heavens, what have I done! _What have I done_!" he muttered.

  Klusky had watched his face closely.

  "Vat's the mattaire? Vy do you make like that, eh? Tell me." Hisvoice was sharp.

  "You've got it."

  "I've got it? Oi! Oi! I've got it! Vat have I got?" He knewbefore the answer came, but raved and cursed in frenzied denial. Histongue started, language flowed from him freely.

  "It ain't that. No! No! It is the rheumatissen. Yes, it shall beso. It makes like that from the hard vork always. It is thecold--the cold makes it like."

  With despair Captain realized that he could neither go on, draggingthe sick man and outfit, nor could he stay here in idleness tosacrifice the precious days that remained to his partner. Each onehe lost might mean life or death.

  Klusky broke in upon him.

  "You von't leave me, Mistaire Captain? Please you von't go avay?"

  Such frightened entreaty lay in his request that before thinking theother replied.

  "No, I won't. I made you come and I'll do all I can for you. Maybesomebody will pass." He said it only to cheer, for no one travelledthis miserable stretch save scattering, half-starved Indians, but thepatient caught at it eagerly, hugging the hope to his breast duringthe ensuing days.

  That vigil beside the dying creature lived long in Captain's memory.The bleak, timberless shores of the bay; their tiny tent, crouchedfearfully among the willow tops; the silent nights, when in theclear, cold air the stars stared at him close and big, like eyes ofwolves beyond a camp fire; the days of endless gabblings from thesinking man, and the all pervading cold.

  At last, knowledge dawned upon the invalid, and he called hiscompanion to his side. Shivering there beneath the thin tent,Captain heard a story, rambling at first, filled with hatred andbitterness toward the men who had scoffed at him, yet at the last helistened eagerly, amazedly, and upon its conclusion rose suddenly,gazing at the dying man in horror.

  "My God, Klusky! Hell isn't black enough for you. It can't be true,it can't be. You're raving! Do you mean to say that you let thosepoor devils die like rats while you had potatoes in your cabin, freshones? Man! Man! The juice of every potato was worth a life.You're lying, Klusky."

  "I ain't. No, I ain't. I hate them! I said they should crawl ontheir bellies to me. Yes, and I should wring the money out. Ahundred dollars for von potato. I stole them all. Ha! ha! and Ikept them varm. Oh, yes! Alvays varm by the fire, so they shall begood and fine for the day."

  "That's why you left the Indian there when we came away, eh? To keepa fire."

  "Shoor! and I thought I shall kill you and go back alone so nobodyshall make for the rescue. Then I should have the great laugh."

  Captain bared his head to the cold outside the tent. He was dazed bythe thought of it. The man was crazed by abuse. The camp had paidfor its folly!

  Then a hope sprang up in him. It was too late to go on and returnwith the deer; that is, too late for George, and he thought only ofhim; of the big, brave man sitting alone in the cabin, shunned by theothers, waiting quietly for his coming, tracing the relentless dailymarch of the disease. Why didn't the Jew die so he could flee back?He had promised not to desert him, and he could not break his word toa dying man, even though the wretch deserved damnation.
But whycouldn't he die? What made him hang on so? In his idle hours hearranged a pack for the start, assembling his rations. He could notbe hampered by the sled. This was to be a race--he must travel longand fast. The sick man saw the preparations, and cried weakly, thetears freezing on his cheeks, and still he lingered, lingeredmaddeningly, till at last, when Captain had lost count of the days,he passed without a twitch and, before the body had cooled, thenorthward bluffs hid the plodding, snow-shoed figure hurrying alongthe back trail.

  He scarcely stopped for sleep or food, but gnawed raw bacon andfrozen bread, swinging from shoe to shoe, devouring distance with thesteady, rhythmic pace of a machine. He made no fires. As darknesssettled, rendering progress a peril, he unrolled his robe, andburrowed into some overhanging drift, and the earliest hint of dawnfound him miles onward.

  Though the weather was clear, he grew numbed and careless under thestrain of his fatigue, so that the frost bit hungrily at hisfeatures. He grew gaunt, and his feet swelled from the snow-shoethongs till they puffed out his loose, sealskin boots, and every stepin the morning hours brought forth a groan.

  He was tortured by the thought that perhaps the Indian had carelesslylet go the fire in Klusky's cabin. If so, the precious potatoeswould freeze in a night. Then, if the native rebuilt it, he wouldarrive only to find a mushy, putrifying mass, worse than useless.The uncertainty sickened him, and at last, as he sighted the littlehamlet, he paused, bracing his legs apart weakly.

  He searched fearfully for traces of smoke above Klusky's cabin.There were none. Somehow the lone shack seemed to stare malignantlyat him, as he staggered up the trail, and he heard himself muttering.There were no locks in this land, so he entered unbidden. The placewas empty, though warm from recent habitation. With his remainingstrength he scrambled up a rude ladder to the loft where he fumbledin the dark while his heart stopped. Then he cried hoarsely and,ripping open the box, stuffed them gloatingly into pockets and shirtfront. He dropped from the platform and fled out through the opendoor, capless and mittenless; out and on toward the village.

  His pace slackened suddenly, for he noted with a shock that, likeKlusky's cabin, no smoke drifted over the house toward which he ran,and, drawing near, he saw that snow lay before the door; clean,white, and untrodden. He was too dazed to recall the light fall ofthe night previous, but glared blankly at the idle pipe; at the coldand desolate front.

  "Too late!" he murmured brokenly. "Too late!" and stumbled to thesnow-cushioned chopping block.

  He dared not go in. Evidently the camp had let George die; had nevercome near to lift a hand. He was afraid of what lay within, afraidto face it alone. Yet a dreadful need to know pulled him forward.Three times he approached the door, retreating each time in panic.At last he laid soft hands upon the latch and entered, averting hiseyes. Even so, and despite the darkness inside, he was conscious ofit; saw from his eye corners the big, still bulk that sat wrapped andpropped in the chair by the table. He sensed it dazedly,inductively, and turned to flee, then paused.

  "Ye made it, boy! It's the twelfth to-day." George's voice cameweakly, and with a great cry Captain sprang to him.

  "Bout all in," the other continued. "Ain't been on my feet for twodays. I knowed you'd come to-day, though; it's the twelfth."

  Captain made no reply, for he had knelt, his face buried in the bigman's lap, his shoulders heaving, while he cried like a little boy.