Classic Audiobook Collection - Snowdrift by James B. Hendryx ~ Full Audiobook [adventure]

Episode Date: January 30, 2023

Snowdrift by James B. Hendryx audiobook. Genre: adventure The story revolves around Carter Brent, an alcoholic and gambler who had struck gold many times in the Yukon, but gambled and drank it away in Dawson; and Snowdrift, the half-breed who had spent her life with a wandering band of Indians in the frozen north country. Snowdrift had been raised by Wananebish, yet never knew who her father was, and yet Wananebish had somehow been able to send her to be schooled at a nearby mission. The paths of this unlikely pair would cross in the barren lands of the Yukon where Brent had hopes of finding more gold, but it was well known that there was no gold in the region between Dawson and the MacKenzie. But Brent had that certain knack for striking gold, and due to his way of life, also had a certain knack for gambling and drinking it away. Plenty of action follows, while Brent performs his search with little or no money, runs across Snowdrift, and while a band of fellow gamblers who know of his luck follows closely on his trail, he must get his prize back to Dawson. For ad-free listening try our premium subscription Chapters (Approximate) (00:00:00) Chapter 01 (00:13:35) Chapter 02 (00:30:13) Chapter 03 (00:35:17) Chapter 04 (00:52:53) Chapter 05 (01:02:45) Chapter 06 (01:10:35) Chapter 07 (01:12:30) Chapter 08 (01:47:18) Chapter 09 (02:07:38) Chapter 10 (02:29:34) Chapter 11 (02:46:17) Chapter 12 (03:05:47) Chapter 13 (03:34:44) Chapter 14 (03:55:17) Chapter 15 (04:14:40) Chapter 16 (04:34:51) Chapter 17 (05:02:59) Chapter 18 (05:27:47) Chapter 19 (05:53:03) Chapter 20 (06:06:13) Chapter 21 (06:35:40) Chapter 22 (07:13:32) Chapter 23 (07:45:03) Chapter 24 (08:14:15) Chapter 25 (08:42:23) Chapter 26 (09:03:12) Chapter 27 (09:36:17) Chapter 28 (10:05:31) Chapter 29 (10:26:22) Chapter 30 (10:47:56) Chapter 31 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

snowdrift by james b hendricks a prologue part one murdo mcfarland the hudson's bay company's trader at lashing water-post laid aside his book and glanced across the stove at his wife who had paused in her sewing to hold up for inspection a very tiny shirt of soft wool i tell you it's there it's bound to be there he announced with conviction just waiting for the man that's man enough to go and get it margot nodded abstractly and deftly snipped a thread that dangled from a seam of a little sleeve she had heard this same statement many times during the three years of their married life and she smiled to herself as moler her father who was the company's factor at lashing water laid aside his well-thumbed invoice with a snort of disgust she knew her two men well did margot and she could anticipate almost word for word the heated argument that was bound to follow without rising she motioned to tom shirts the company indian to light the great swinging lamp and as the yellow light flooded the long low trading-room she resumed her sewing while molare hitched his chair nearer the stove and whittled a pipeful of tobacco from a plough there you go again with your tom rot and your foolishness exploded the old frenchman as he threw away his match and crowded the swelling tobacco back into the bowl of his pipe always babbling about the gold always wanting to go and find out for yourself it ain't there but i'm telling you it is there insisted macfarlane

where is it then why ain't it been got because the right man ain't gone after it an year o the right man i suppose still lacking of twenty-five years and been four years in the bush telling me that's been forty years in the fur country and older than ye before ever i seen it you'll do better to forget this foolishness and stick to the fur like me i've lived like a king in one post or another and when i'm old i'll retire on my pension and when i'm old if i find the gold i'll ask pension of no man it ain't so much for myself that i want gold it's for them for margot there and the we margot and yon he nodded toward the door of the living-room where the year-old baby lay asleep molare shrugged margot has lived always in the bush she needs no gold and the little one needs no gold gold cost lives come margot speak up would ye send your man to die on the barons for the gold that ain't there margot paused in her sewing and smiled i am not sending him into the barons she said if he goes i'm going to the barons she said if he goes i'm going to the barons she said if he goes i'm going to the barons I go, and the little Margo, too. If one dies, we all die together. But there must be gold there. Has not Murdo read it in books? And we have heard rumors of gold among the Indians.

Red in books, sniffed Moller. Rumors among Indians. Better stick to fur, boy. You take to it natural. There's no better judge of fur in all the traders, I've had. Before long, the company'll make ye a factor. As young Mirdo McFarland filled and lighted his pipe, his eyes rested with burning intensity upon his young wife. When finally he spoke, it was half to himself, half to Mollaire. When the lass and I were married, back yon, in the booming of the bells of St. Anne's, i vowed me a vow that i'd do the best twas in me to do for her and i vowed it again when a year later the bells of st anne's rang out at the christening of the wee little margot is it the best a man can do to spend his life in the buyin of fur for a wage when gold would pay for a kingdom lies hid in the sands for the taken

moler's reply was interrupted by a sound from without and the occupants of the room looked at each other in surprise for it was february and the north lay locked in the iron grip of the strong cold since mid-afternoon the north wind had roared straight out of the arctic driving before it a blue-white smother of powder-dry snow particles that cut and seared the skin like white-hut steel fire mycfarlane was halfway across the floor when the door opened and a man powdered white from head to foot stepped into the room in a swirl of snow fine as steam with his hip he closed the door against the push of the wind and advancing into the room shook off his huge bare-skin mittens and unwound the heavy woollen scarf that encircled his parka hood and muffled his face to the eyes The scarf, stiff with ice from his frozen breath, crackled as it unwound, and little ice chips fell to the floor. Ah, it's Downey, who else? Lad, lad, what a night to be bucking the storm, cried the traitor.

Corporal Downey, of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police, grinned as he advanced to the stove. It was buck the storm to lash and water post, up in a black spruce camp till it was over. She looks like a three-day storm, and I prefer lashing water. You're well in time for supper, corporal, welcomed Mollaire, and the longer the storm lasts, the better. For now we'll have days and nights of real whist. We've tried to teach Tom Shirts to play, but he knows no more about it now than he knows about the Ten Commandments, and cares less.

So we've been at it three-handed. But three-handed wist is like a three-legged dog. It limps. Nisaka, the squaw, looked in from the kitchen to announce supper, and after ordering Tom to attend to the corporal's dogs, Mollaire clapped his hands impatiently to attract the attention of McFarlane and Downey, who were beating the snow from the latter's moose-hide parka.

come insisted the old man your outfit'll have plenty time to dry out the supper'll be cold and we're losing time we've wasted a hand of cards already is the gold bug still buzzing in your bonnet mac asked downy as molare flourished the keen bladed carving-knife over the roasted caribou haunch ay answered the young scotchman and when the rivers run free in the river's run free in the spring i'll be goin to get it a long moment of silence followed the announcement during which the carving-knife of molera was held suspended above the steaming roast the old man's gaze centered upon his son-in-law's face and in that moment he knew that the younger man's decision had been made and that nothing in the world could change it the words of margot flashed through his brain if he goes i go and the little margot too if one dies we all die together his little daughter the light of his life since the death of her mother years before and the tiny wee margot who had snuggled her way into his rough old heart to cheer him in his old age going away far and far away into the god knows where of bitter cold and howling blizzard and all on a fool's errand the keen blade bit the roast to the bone raised dripping red juice and bit again mon dieu what a fool breathed the old man and as if in final appeal turned to corporal downy who had known him long and who had guessed what was passing in his mind tell him downy you know the north beyond the barons tell him he is a fool

and downy who was not old in years but very wise in the ways of men smiled he liked young murdo mcfarland but he was a scotchman himself and he knew the hard-headed of the breed. Well, a man ain't always a fool because he goes hunting for gold. That's a cordon. Where is the gold, Mac? And how do you know it's there? It's there, all right, gold and copper, too. Didn't Captain Knight try to find it? And Samuel Hearn? Yes, broke in Mollair, and Knight's bones are bleaching on marble island with his ships on the bottom of the bay, and Hearn came back empty-handed. That's why the gold is still there, answered McFarlane. Whereabouts is it, insisted Downey.

Up in the Copper Mine River country, to the north and east of Bear Lake. How do you know? The engines had chunks of it. That's what sent Knight and Hearn after it. How long ago? Captain Knight started in 1719, and Hearned about fifty years later. "'Gosh!' exclaimed Downey. "'Ain't that figure in quite a ways back?'

"'Gold don't rot. If it was there then, it's there now. It's never been brought out.' "'Yes, if it was there. But maybe it ain't there and never was. What then?' i talked with an engine a year back that said he had seen an engine from the north that had seen some eskimos that had dishes made of yellow metal he was probably lyin observed downy or the engine that told him was lying i've been north to the coast a couple of times and i never seen no injuns nor eskimos eaten out of no gold dishes yet maybe it's because you've stuck to the mackenzie where the posts are have you ever crossed the barren straight north between the mackenzie and the bay no answered downy dryly and i hope to god i don't never have to you've got a good thing here with the company mac if i was you i'd stick to it anyways till i've seen an engine with some gold i never seen one yet and i don't never expect to and speaking of engines reminds me i passed a camp of em this afternoon a camp of em exclaimed molare in surprise who were they my engines are all on the trap lines these are from the north somewheres i couldn't savvy their lingo they ain't much good i guess their non-treaty in

they're non-treaty engines wanderers they wanted to know where a post was and i told em they'll probably be into trade when the storm lets up that evening old molare played whist badly his heart was not in the game for try as he would to keep his mind on the cards in his ears was the sound of the dull roar of the wind and his thoughts were of the future of the long day and nights to come when his loved ones would be somewhere far in the unknown north and he would be left alone with his company indians in the little post unlashing water end of a preface part one recording by rogermaline a prologue part two of snowdrift a story of the land of the strong cold by james b hendricks this livervox recording is in the public domain recording by Roger Maline Snowdrift by James B. Hendricks A prologue Part 2 All night the storm roared unabated And as is the way of Arctic blizzards

The second day saw its fury increased During the morning the four played whist There had been no mention of gold And old Mollaire played his usual game with the result that when Nisaka called them to dinner, he and McFarlane held a three-game lead over Downey and Margot. The meal over, they returned to the cards. The first game after dinner proved a close one,

each side scoring the odd in turn, while the old Frenchman, as was his custom, analyzed each hand as the cards were being shuffled for the next deal. Finally he scored a point and tied the score. Then he glared at his son-in-law. And ye'd have finessed your ten-spot through on my lead of hearts. We'd have made two points in game, he frowned. How was I to know?

McFarlane paused abruptly in the midst of his deal and glanced in surprise toward the door which swung open to admit four Indians who loosened the blankets that covered them from head to foot and beat the snow from them as they advanced toward the stove three of them carried small packs of fur the fourth was a young squaw straight and lithe as a panther and as she loosened the moss-bag from her shoulders a thin wail sounded from its interior a baby cried margot as macfarlane made his way to the counter his eyes upon the packs of fur. She stooped and patted her own little one, who was rolling about upon a thick blanket spread on the floor. The squaw smiled, and fumbling in the depths of the bag, drew forth a tiny red-brown mite, which ceased crying and stared stolidly at the cluster of strange

white faces. "'What a terrible day for a baby to be out!' continued the white woman, as she pushed a chair near to the stove. Again, the squaw smiled, and seating herself, turned her back upon the occupants of the room and proceeded to nurse the tiny atom. Meanwhile, McFarlane was trying by means of the Cree language to question the three bucks who stood in solemn line before the counter, each with his pack of fur before him. Downey tried them with the Blackfoot tongue, and the jargon, while old Mollaire and Tom Shirts added half a dozen dialects from nearer the bay. But no slightest flicker of comprehension crossed the face of any one of them. Presently the young squaw arose and placed her

baby upon the blanket beside the white child, where the two little mites sat and stared at each other in owlish solemnity. As she advanced toward the counter, McFarlane addressed her in Cree, and to the surprise of all she spoke to him in English. We buy food, she said, indicating the packs of fur. Where did you come from? queried the traitor. And how is it that you talk English and the rest of them can't talk nothing? We come from far to the northward, she answered. I have been to school at the mission.

These are dog ribs. they have not been to school i am of the yellow knives my man was drowned in a rapids he was named bon truge he was a dog-ribb so i live with these why don't you trade at your own post asked mcfarland suspiciously is it because you have a debt there that you have not paid no we have no debt at any post we are only a small band we move about all the time we do not like to stay in one place like the rest we see many new rivers and many lakes and we go to many places that the others do not know we have no debt at any post we trade as we go and pay with skins for what we buy one of them wanderin bands observed downy i've run across two or three of em here and there they camp a while somewhere and then seems like they just naturally get restless and move on the squaw nodded the police is right we do not like to stay and trap in one place we do not like to stay and trap in one place I have seen many new things, and many things that even the oldest man has not seen." McFarland opened the packs and examined their contents, fur by fur, laying them in separate piles,

and paying for each as he appraised it in brass tokens of made beaver. The three bucks looked on in stolid indifference, but McFarland noted that the eyes of the squaw followed his every movement. As a general rule, the agents of the Hudson's Bay Company deal fairly with the Indians in the trading of the common or standard skins, and McFarlane was no exception. It was in a spirit of fun to see what the squaw would do that he counted out 30 made beaver in payment for a large otter skin. The Indian woman shook her head. No, that is. good otter he is worth more and with a smile the scotchman counted ten additional tokens into the pile whereat the squaw nodded approval and the trading proceeded

when at last it was finished the squaw took entire charge of the purchasing pausing only now and then to consult one of the other of the indians in their own tongue and in her selection of only the essentials macfarlane realized that he was the dealing with that rarest of northern indians one who possessed sound common sense and the force of character to reject the useless trinkets so dear to the indian heart while the bucks were making up their packs the squaw plunged her hand into the bottom of the moss bag from which she had taken the baby and drew out a single skin for a long time she stood holding the skin in one hand while with the other she stroked a little its softly gleaming surface. McFarlane and Mollaire gazed at the skin in fascination, while Margot rose from the blanket where she had been playing with the two babies, and even Corporal Downey, who knew little of skins, crowded close to feast his eyes on the jet-black pelt whose hairs gleamed with silver radiance. In all the forty years of his trading, Mollaire had handled fewer than a dozen such skins, a true black fox, taken in its prime,

so that the silvered hairs seemed to emit a soft radiance of their own, a skin to remember and to talk about. Then the squaw handed the pelt to McFarlane and smiled faintly as she watched the trader examine it almost hair by hair. "'Where did you get it?' he asked. I trapped it far to the northward in the barren grounds upon a river that has no name. It is a good skin. Did you trap it yourself? Yes, I am a good trapper. My man was a good trapper, and he showed me how.

These are good trappers, too, she indicated the three Indians. And all the rest who are with us. there are thirty of us counting the women and children but we have not had good luck that is all the fur we have caught she pointed to the skins macfarlane had just bought those and the little black fox when the storm stops we will go again into the barren grounds and we must have food or if we have bad luck again some of us will die why do you go to the barren grounds asked mcfarland the trappin is better to the eastward or to the westward the squaw shrugged my man he has been to school a little but mostly he had worked far to the westward along the coast of the sea among the white men who dig for gold and he heard men talk of the gold that lies in the barren grounds and northward to the coast of the frozen sea so he went back to the country of his people far up on the mackenzie and he told the men of the gold and how it was worth many times more than the fur but the old men would not believe him and many of the young men would not but some of them did and these he persuaded to go with him and hunt for the gold it was when they were crossing through the country of my people that i saw him and he saw me and we were married

that was two years ago and since then we have travelled far and have seen many things then my husband was drowned in a rapids and i have taken his place i will not go back to my people they were very angry when i married bontruges for the yellow knives hate the dog-ribs even if they were not angry i would not go back for my husband said there is gold in the barren grounds he did not lie so we will go and get the gold there's your chance mac grinned corporal downy you better throw in with em and get in on the ground floor but macfarlane did not smile instead he spoke gravely to the woman and have you found any gold in the barrens the squaw shrugged and glanced down at the babies when she looked up again her eyes were upon the little fox-skin how much she asked macfarlane considered holding the pelt he stroked its glossy surface with his hand here was a skin of great value he had heard many traders and factors boast of the black and the silver-gray fox skins they had bought at ridiculously low price and they were men who did not hesitate to give full value for the common run of skins. Always, with the traders,

the sight of a rare skin arouses a desire to obtain it, and to obtain it at the lowest possible figure, and McFarland was a trader. He fixed upon a price in his mind. He raised his eyes, but the squaw was not looking at him, and he followed her glance to the blanket where the two babies, the red baby and the white baby, his own baby and Margot's, were touching each other gravely with fat, pudgy hands. He opened his lips to mention the price,

but closed them again as a new train of thought flashed through his mind. How nearly this woman's case paralleled his own! The imagination of each was fired by the lure of gold, and both were scoffed at by their people, for daring to believe that there was still gold in the earth to be had for the taking. Then there was the matter of the babies. When finally McFarlane spoke, it was to mention a sum three times larger than the one he had fixed upon in his mind, a sum that caused old Mollaire to snort and sputter and to stomp angrily up and down the room. the squaw nodded gravely you are a good man she said simply you have dealt fairly some time maybe you will know that wananabish does not forget two hours later when the price of the pelt had been paid and the supplies all made into packs and carried to the toboggins that had been left before the door the indians wrapped their blankets about them and prepared to depart

as the indian woman wrapped the baby in warm woollens margot urged her to remain until the storm subsided but the woman declined with a smile no these are my people i will go with them where one goes i'll go but the baby there is a terrible storm to take a baby into the baby is warm she does not know that it storms she is warm she is a terrible storm to take a baby into the baby is warm she does not know that it storms she is a baby is a little stormy She is one of us. Where we go, she goes, too. As the Indians filed through the door into the whirling white smother, the young squaw stepped to the counter for a last look at her black fox skin. She raised it in her hand, drew it slowly across her cheek, stroked it softly, and then returned it to the counter,

taking deliberate care to lay it by itself apart from the other skins. then she turned and was swallowed up in the storm as macfarlane closed the door behind her you could have bought it for half the price growled old molare as his son-in-law returned to the card-table i answered the younger man as he resumed his cards but the company has still a good margin of profit they're heading for the barons and if as she said they have bad luck some of them would die and you know who would be the first to go it would be the babies i'm glad i'd done as i did i'll sleep better nights and i'm glad too added margot as she reached over and patted her husband's hand and so is papa way down in his heart but he loves to have people think he is a cross old bear and bears must growl corporal downy grinned at the twinkle that appeared in old molare's eyes and the game proceeded until nascica called them to supper mcfarlane paused at the counter and raised the fox skin to the light and as he did so a very small heavy object rolled from its soft folds and thudded upon the boards slowly mcfarlane laid down the skin and picking up the object carried up the object carried it close under the swinging lamp, where he held it in his open palm.

Curiously, the others crowded about and stared at the dull yellow lump, scarcely larger than the two halves of a split pea. For a long moment there was silence, and then McFarland turned to Corporal Downey. "'What was it, you said?' he asked, "'About sticking to my job until I saw an engine with some gold. End of A Prologue Part 2. Recording by Roger Maline. A Prologue Part 3 of Snowdrift, A Story of the Land of the Strong Cold, by James B. Hendricks.

This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline. Snow Drift by James B. Hendricks. A prologue, Part 3. the north wind moaned and sowed about the eaves of the low log trading-post on lashing water old molare rose from his place by the stove crossed the room and threw open the door seconds passed as he stood listening to the roar of the wind in the tree-tops heedless of the fine powdering of stinging snow particles that glistened like diamond points upon his silvery hair and sifted beneath his shirt-collar then he closed the door and returned to his chair beside the stove corporal downy watched in silence while the old man filled his pipe he threw away the match and raised his eyes to the officer it was a year ago de you mind and just such a storm when that squaw came bringing her black fox skim and her nugget of damned gold it would be about a year agreed downy gravely

nodding his head. I made this patrol in February. It's just a year, the 13th of the month. I'll not be forgetting it. And have you had no word? The old factor shook his head. No word. They left in May, with the rivers not yet free of running ice. Two light canoes. Margot could handle a canoe like a man. You'll probably hear from him on the break-up this spring. Maybe they'll give it up and come back. Mollaire shook his head. You don't know, Mirdo McFarlane, he said.

He'll never give up. He swore he would never return to Lashing Water without gold. He's Scotch and stubborn as the seven-year itch. I'm Scotch, grinned Downey, hoping to draw the old man. into an argument and turn his thoughts from the absent ones. But he would not be drawn. For a long time he smoked in silence, while outside the wind howled and moaned

and sucked red flames high into the stovepipe. "'She'll be two years old now,' Mollaire said, and may be talking a bit. Maybe they've taught her to say, Grandpair. Don't you think she might be talking a little? I don't know much about them. Do they talk when they're two? The old factor pondered. Why, it seems to me she did, the other Margo.

But it's a long time ago, yet it seems like yesterday. I'm getting old, and my memory plays me tricks. Maybe it was three instead of two when she began to say words. Do you mind, Downie, a year ago? We played whist? Two-handed cribbage is all right, suggested the corporal. But the old man shook his head, and for a long, long time, the only sound in the room was the irregular tapping of contracting metal,

as the fire died down unheeded in the stove. The old man's pipe went out and lay cold in his hand. The bearded chin sagged forward into the breast of his woolen shirt, and his eyes closed. Beyond the stove, Corporal Downey drowsed in his chair. Suddenly, the old man raised his head. What was that? he asked sharply. Downey listened with his eyes on the other's face.

I hear nothing, he answered, but the booming of the wind. The peculiar startled look died out of Mollaire's eyes. yes he answered it is the wind i must have been dozen but it sounded like bells i've heard the bells of st anne's boom like that tolin when someone died stiffly he rose from his chair and fumbled upon the counter for a candle which he handed to downy we'll be going to bed now he said it's late End of A Prologue, Part 3. Recording by Roger Maline. A Prologue Part 4 of Snowdrift, A Story of the Land of the Strong Cold, by James B. Hendricks.

This Libravox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline. Snow Drift by James B. Hendricks. A prologue, Part 4. bunk built against the wall of a tiny cabin of logs five hundred miles to the northward of lashing water-post the sick woman turned her head feebly and smiled into the tear-dimmed eyes of the man who leaned over her it's all right murdo she murmured the pain in my side seems better i think i slept a little murdo macfarlane nodded yes margot you have been asleep for an hour in a few days now i'm thinking you'll be sittin up and in a week's time you'll be on your feet again the woman's eyes closed and by the tightening of the drawn lips her husband knew that she was enduring another paroxysm of the terrible pain outside the wind tore at the eaves the sound muffled by its full freighting of snow and on the wooden shelf above the man

head the little alarm clock ticked brassily once more margot's eyes opened and the muscles of the white pain-racked face relaxed the breath rushed in quick jerky stabs between the parted lips that smiled bravely we are not children murdo you and i she whispered we must not be afraid to face this thing we have found much happiness together that will be ours always nothing can rob us of that we have had it and now you must face a great unhappiness i am going to die in your eyes i have seen that you too know this when you thought i slept to day to-night not later than to-morrow i must go away i am not afraid to go only sorry we would have had many more years of happiness murdo you and i and the little one the low voice faltered and broke and the dark eyes brimmed with tears the man's hands clenched till the nails bit deep into the palms a great dry sob shook the drooped shoulders god he breathed hoarsely and it's all my fault for bringing you into this damned waste of snow and ice and bitter cold no murdo it's not your fault i was as anxious to come as you were i am a child of the north and i love the north i love its storms and its sunshine i love even the grim cruelty of it its relentless snuffing out of lives in the guarding of its secrets strong men have gone to their death fighting it and more men will go why then should not i who am a woman

go also but it would have been the same if we had stayed at lashing water i know what this sickness is i have seen men die of it before nash of the mountain and nakoto a company indian it is the appendicitis and no doctor could have got to lashing water in time any more than he could have got here they sent the fastest dog team on the river when nash was sick and before the doctor came he was dead it is not your fault my husband it is no one's fault there is a time when each of us must die my time is now that is all she ceased speaking and with an effort that brought little beads of cold sweat to her forehead she raised herself upon her elbow and pointed a faltering forefinger toward the little roughly made crib that stood close beside the bunk promise me murdo she gasped promise me upon your soul that you will see that she-that she shall go to school more than i have gone for there are many things i do not know i have read in books things i do not understand ay girl the deep voice of macfarlane rumbled through the room as he eased his wife back on to the pillow i promise the dark eyes closed the white face settled heavily on to the pillow and as mcfarlane bent closer he saw that the breathing was peaceful and regular it was as though a great load had been lifted from her mind and she slept with her hand still clasped in his the man's tired body sagged forward until his head rested beside hers

mcfarlane awoke with a start somewhere in the darkness a small voice was calling mamma daddy i cold for a moment the man lay trying to collect his befuddled senses just a minute baby he called daddy's comin as he raised to a sitting posture upon the edge of the bunk his fingers came in contact with his wife's hand the hand that he suddenly remembered had been clasped in his rapidly his brain cleared he must have fallen asleep the fire had burned itself out in the stove and he shivered in the chill air margot's hand must have slipped from his clasp as they slept it was too cold for her hand to lie there on top of the blankets and her arm protected only by the sleeve of her nightgown He would slip it gently beneath the covers and then build up a roaring fire. A low whimpering came from the direction of the crib. Daddy, I cold! Just a minute, baby, till Daddy lights the light.

He reached for the hand that lay beside him there in the darkness. As his fingers clutched it, a short, hoarse cry escaped him. The hand was icy cold. too cold for even the coldness of the fireless room the fingers yielded stiffly beneath his palm and the arm lay rigid upon the blanket mcfarland sprang to his feet and as he groped upon the shelf for matches his body was shaken by great dry sobs that ended in low throaty moans clumsily his trembling fingers held the tiny flame to the wick of the candle and as the light flickered a moment and then burned clear he crossed to the crib where the baby had partly wriggled from beneath her little blankets and robes wrapping her warmly in a blanket he drew the rest of the covers over her i want to get in bed with mamma came plaintively from the small bundle mcfarlane choked back a sob don't don't little one he cried Then, lowering his voice to a hoarse whisper, he bent low over the crib.

Sh, don't disturb Mama. She's asleep. I want something to eat. I want some gravy and some toast. Yes, you wait till Daddy builds the fire, and then we'll be nice and warm, and Daddy'll get supper. Silently, McFarlane said about his work. He kindled a little. a fire, put the tea kettle on, and warmed some caribou gravy, stirring it slowly to prevent it scorching while he toasted some bread upon the top of the stove. Once or twice he glanced toward the bed. Margot's face was turned away from him, and all he could see was a wealth of dark hair massed upon the pillow. That and the hand that showed at the end of the nightgown sleeve.

White as snow and cold as snow it looked against the warm red of the blanket. McFarlane crossed and drew the blanket up over the hand and arm, covering it to the shoulder. Bending over, he looked long into the white face. The eyes were closed. McFarland was glad of that, and the lips were slightly parted as though in restful slumber. Goodbye, Margot. Lass. His voice broke thickly. He was conscious of a gnawing pain in his throat, and two great scalding tears rolled down his cheeks, and dropped to the mass of dark hair where they

glistened in the steady glow of the single candle like tiny globes of fire. He raised the blanket to cover the still face, lowered it again, and crossed to the table where he had laid out a tin cup for himself and a little thick yellow bowl into which he crumbled the toast and poured the gravy over it. Then he warmed a tiny blanket, wrapped the baby in it, and, holding her on his lap, fed her from a spoon. Between the slowly portioned spoonfuls, he drank great gulps of scalding tea. There were still several spoonfuls left in the bowl when the tiny mite in his arms snuggled warmly against him. Tell me a tori, demanded the might.

McFarland told the tory, and another, and another. And then, in response to an imperious demand, he sang a song. It was the first time McFarlane had ever sung a song. It was a song he had often heard Margot sing, and he was surprised that he had unconsciously learned the words which fell from his lips in a wailing monotone. McFarland's heart was breaking, but he finished the song.

"'I sleepy,' came drowsily from the blanket. "'I want to kiss Mama.' "'Shh! Mama's asleep. Kiss Daddy, and we'll go to bed.' "'I want to kiss Mama,' insisted the baby. McFarlane hesitated with tight-pressed lips. Then he rose and carried the baby to the bedside. See, Mama's asleep, he whispered, pointing to the mass of dark hair in the pillow.

Just kiss her hair and we won't wake her up. He held the baby so that the little pursed lips rested for a moment in the thick mass of hair. Then he carried her to her crib and tucked her in. She was asleep when he smoothed the little. the robe into place. For a long time he stood looking down at the little face on the pillow. Then he crossed to the table where he sat with his head resting upon his folded arms, while the minutes ticked into hours and the fire burned low. As he sat there with closed eyes, MacFarlane followed the thread of his life from his earliest recollection. His childhood on the

little hillside farm, the long hours that he struggled with his books under the eye of the stern-faced schoolmaster, his apprenticeship on the shop of the harness maker in the small Scotch town, his year of hard work about the docks at Liverpool, his coming to Canada and hiring out to the Hudson's Bay Company, his assignment to lashing water as Mollaire's clerk, his meeting with margot when she returned home from school at the mission and the wonderful days of that first summer together then his promotion to the position of trader his marriage to margot step by step he lived again that long journey from lashing water to st anne's for it was old molare's wish that his daughter should be married in the old gothic church where years before he had been married he had been married in the old gothic church where years before he had had married her mother. McFarrelin raised his head and listened, his wide staring eyes fixed upon the black square of the window. That sound, it was only the moan and the muffled roar of the wind.

But for a moment it had sounded like the tone of a deep-throated bell, like the booming of the bells of St. Anne's. Slowly the man lowered his head to his arms and groped for the third. thread of his thought where he had left it. Lingeringly, he dwelt upon the happiness that had been theirs, the coming of the little Margot, the infinite love that welled in their hearts for this soft little helpless thing, their delight in her unfolding, the gaining of a pound, the first tooth, the first half-formed word, the first step. He remembered, too, their distress at her tiny ills, real and fancied. Then his own desire to seek gold, not for himself, but that these two loved ones might

enjoy life in a fullness undreamed by the family of a fur trader. He recollected Mollaire's opposition, his arguments, his scoffing, and his prediction that by the end of the year he would be back at Lashingwater, buying fur for the company. and he relected his own retort, that without the gold he would never come back. And here, in this little thick-walled cabin, far into the barren grounds, he had come to the end of the long, long trail. McFarlane raised his head and stared at the crib. But was it the end?

He knew that it was not, and he groped blindly, desperately to picture the end, if it were not for her for this little one who lay asleep there in the crib the end would be easy the man's glance sought the rifle that rested upon its pegs above the window it was out of the question to think of returning to lashing water if he would the baby could not stand five hundred miles of grueling winter trail he could not keep her here and leave her alone while he prospected he could not remain in the cabin all winter and care for her he must hunt to live and game was scarce and far afield he shuddered at the thought of what might happen if he were to leave her alone in the cabin with a fire in the stove or worse of what might eventually happen if some accident befell him and he could not return to the cabin mcfarlane sat bolt upright he suddenly remembered that a few days before from a high hill some thirty miles to the westward he had seen an indian village nestled against a spruce swamp at a wide bend of a river it was a small village of a dozen or more tepees and he had intended to visit it later why not take the baby over there and give her into the keeping of some squaw if he could find one like neseca all would be well for nisaka's love for the little margot was hardly less than his own and surely in a whole village there must be at least one like her

mcfarlane replenished his fire and groping upon the shelf found a leather-covered notebook and pencil the guttered candle flared smokily and he replaced it with another and for an hour or more he wrote steadily filling page after page of the note-book with fine-lined writing when he had finished he thrust the notebook into his pocket and again buried his face in his arms End of a preface, Part 4. Recording by Roger Maline. A Prologue, Part 5 of Snowdrift, A Story of the Land of the Strong Cold, by James B. Hendricks. This Libravox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline.

Snow Drift by James B. Hendricks. A prologue, Part 5. toward morning the storm wore itself out and before the belated winter dawn had tinted the east macfarlane sat out for the indian village the cold was intense so that his snow-shoes crunched on the surface of the flinty wind-driven snow mile after mile he swung across the barrens that lay trackless and white and dead skirting towering rock-ledges and patches of scraggly timber The sun came out, and the barons glared, dazzling white. McFarlane had left his snow-goggles back in the cabin, so he squinted his eyes and pushed on. Three times that day he stopped and built a fire at the edge of a thicket

and heated thick caribou gruel, which he fed by spoonfuls to the tiny, rober-wrapped little girl that snuggled warm in his pack-sack. darkness had fallen before he reached the high hill from which he had seen the village he scanned the sweep of waste that lay spread before him its shapes and distances distorted and unreal in the feeble light of the glittering stars he hardly expected a light to show from a village of windowless tepees in the dead of winter and he strove to remember which of those vague splotchy outlines was the black spruce swamp against which he had seen the tepees suddenly the silence of the night was broken by the sharp jerky yelp of a stricken dog the sound issued from one of the dark blotches of timber and was followed by a rabble of growls and snarrow macfarlane judged the distance that separated him from the vague outline of the swamp to be three or four miles but the shrill sounds cut the frozen air so distinctly that they seemed to issue from the foot of the hill upon which he stood a dull spot of light showed for a moment rocketed through the air and disappeared amid a chorus of yelps and howls

an indian disturbed by the fighting dogs had thrown back the flap of his tepee and hurled a lighted brand among them swiftly mcfarlane descended the slope and struck out for the black spruce swamp an hour later he stood upon the snow-covered ice of the river while barking snarling and growling the indian dog pack crowded about him it seemed a long time that he stood there holding the dogs at bay with a stout spruce club at length dark forms appeared in front of the tepees and several indians advanced toward him dispersing the dogs with blows and kicks and commands in hoarse gutterels mcfarlane spoke to them in cree and getting no response he tried several of the dialects from about the bay he had advanced until he stood among them peering from one to another of the flat expressionless faces for some sign of comprehension but they returned his glances with owlish blinking of their smoke-reddened eyes mcfarlane's heart sank these were the people in whose care he had intended to leave his little daughter suddenly as a ray of starlight struck a slant one of the flat bestial faces a flash of recognition lighted macfarlane's eyes the man was one of the four who had come to trade a year before at last lashing water. Where is the squaw? he cried in English,

grasping the man by the shoulder and shaking him roughly. Where is Wananabish? At the name, the Indian turned and pointed toward a tepee that stood slightly apart from the rest, and a moment later McFarlane stood before its door. Wananabish, he called, and again, Wananabish. Yes, came the answer. What does the white man want?

It is McFarlane, the traitor at Lashingwater. Do you remember a year ago you sold me a black fox skin? I remember. Did I not say that Wananabish would not forget? Wait, and I will let you in, for it is cold. The walls of the tepee glowed faintly as the squaw struck a light. He could hear her moving about inside, and a few minutes later she threw open the flap and motioned him to enter. McFarlane blinked in surprise as she fastened the flap behind him. Instead of the filthy, smoke-reaking interior he had expected, the tepee was warm and comfortable,

its floor covered thickly with robes, and instead of the open fire in the center with its smoke vent at the apron, of the tepee he saw a little yukon stove in which a fire burned brightly without a word he removed his pack-sack and tenderly lifting the sleeping baby from it laid her on the robes then seating himself beside her he told her simply and in few words what had befallen him the squaw listened in silence and for a long time after he finished she sat staring at the flame of the candle. What would you have me do? she asked at length. Keep the little one and care for her until I return, answered the man. I will pay you well. The Indian woman made a motion of dissent.

Where are you going? To find gold. Was it fancy, or did the shadow of a peculiar smile tremble for an instant upon the woman's lips? and if you do not return what then if i do not return by the time of the breaking up of the rivers answered the man you will take the baby to lashing-water post to molare the factor who is the father of her mother as he spoke macfarlane drew from his pocket the leather notebook and a packet wrapped in parchment deerskin and tied with buckskin thongs he handed them to the squaw take these he said and deliver them to molare with the baby in the book i have instructed him to pay you for her keep but this molare is an old man suppose by the time of the breaking up of the rivers he is not to be found at lashing water he may be dead or he may have gone to the settlements if he has gone to the settlements you are to find him if he is dead macfarlane hesitated if molare is dead he repeated you are to take care of the baby until she is old enough to enter the school at some mission

i'm scotch and no catholic but her mother was catholic and if the priests and the sisters make as good woman of hers they did of her mother i could ask no more give them the note-book in which i have set down the story as i have told it to you the packet you shall open and take out whatever is due you for her keep it contains money keep some for yourself and give some to the priests to pay for her education the squaw nodded slowly it shall be as you say and if for any reason we move from here before the breaking up of the rivers i will write our direction and place it inside the caribou skull that hangs upon the great split stump beside the river macfarlane rose may god use you as you use the little one he said i'll be going now before she wakes up it will be going now before she wakes up it will be will be better so. He stooped and gazed for a long time at the face of the sleeping baby. A hot tear splashed upon the back of his hand, and he brushed it away and faced the squaw in the door of the teepee. Goodbye, he said gruffly, until the rivers break up in the spring.

The Indian woman shook her head. Do not say it like that, she answered. for those were the words of my man when he too left to find gold and when the river broke up in the spring he did not come back to me for the grinding ice-cakes caught his canoe and he was crushed to death in a rapids end of a prologue part five recording by roger maline a prologue part six of snowdrift a story of the land of the strong cold by james b hendricks this libervox recording is in the public domain recording by roger maline snow drift by james b hendricks a prologue part six for four long nights and four short days macfarlane worked at the digging of a grave it was a beautiful spot he chose to be the last resting-place of his young wife a high spruce-covered promontory that jutted out into a lake the cabin and its surroundings had grown intolerable to him so that he worked furiously attacking the iron hard ground with fire and ice-chisel and spade at last it was done and placing the body of his wife in the rough pole coffin he placed it upon his sled and locking the dogs in the cabin hauled it himself to the promontory

and lowered it into the grave. Then he shoveled back the frozen earth and erected a wooden cross upon which was burned deep her name and returning to the cabin slept the clock around. If McFarlane had been himself, he would have heated the signs of approaching storm,

but he had become obsessed with desire to leave that place with its haunting memories, where every mute object seemed to whisper to him of his loved ones. He was talking and mumbling to himself, as he harnessed his dogs and headed into the north at the breaking of a day. Three hours after McFarlane hit the trail, he left the sparsely timbered country behind and struck into a vast treeless plain, whose glaring white surface was cut here and there by rugged ridges of basalt, which terminated abruptly in ledges of bare rock. at noon he made a fireless camp ate some pilot bread and caribou meat the air was still ominously dead and motionless to one who knew the north

but macfarlane gave no heed nor did he even notice that though there were no clouds in the sky the low-hung sun showed dull and coppery through a steel-blue fog he bolted his food and pressed on before him was no guiding landmark he laid his course by the compass and held straight north across the treeless rock-ribbed plain the man's lean face looked pinched and drawn for a week he had taken his sleep in short fitful snatches in his chair beside the cabin stove or with his back against a tree while he waited for the fire to bite of few inches deeper into the frozen ground as he toiled at the lonely grave on and on he mushed at the head of his dogs his eyes glowing fever bright stared fixedly from between red-rimmed lids straight into the steel-blue fog-bank that formed his northern horizon and as he walked he talked incessantly now arguing with old moler who predicted dire things and refused to believe that there was gold in the north now telling margot of his hopes and planning his future and again telling stories to little margot of goldilocks and the three little bears and of where the caribou got their horns the blue fog thickened from somewhere far ahead sounded a low whispering roar the roar of mighty wind muffled by its burden of snow when the first blast struck mcfarlane tottered in his tracks then lowering his head leaned against it and pushed on following the gust was a moment of calm

behind him the dogs whimpered uneasily mcfarlane did not hear them nor did he hear the roar of the onrushing wind around a corner of a rock ledge a scant two hundred yards ahead of him appeared a great gray shape running low the shape halted abruptly and circled wide it was followed by other shapes gaunt and gray and ugly between whose back-curled lips white fangs gleamed the wolf pack forty strong was running before the storm heading southward for the timber whining with terror mcfarlane's dogs crowded about his legs in a sudden rush the man went down and struggled to his feet cursing and laying about him with clubbed rifle then the storm struck in all its fury macfarlane gasped for air and sucked in great gulps of powdery snow that bit into his lungs and seared his throat with their stinging cold he choked and coughed and jerking off his mitten clawed with bare fingers at his throat and eyes while behind him down wind the great gray caribou wolves stopped in their wild flight by the scent of meat crowded closer and closer in a panic macfarlane's dogs whirled and dragging the sled behind them bolted macfarlane staggered a few steps forward and fell then on hands and knees he crawled back groping and pawing the snow for his mitten and bowing the snow for his mitten and bowing and rifle the sharp frenzied yelps as the dog team plunged into the wolf pack sounded faint and far the man threw up his head he pulled off his cap to listen and the wind whipped it from his numbed fingers

but macfarlane did not know moments of silence followed during which the man strained his ears to catch a sound that eluded him when the last shred of flesh had been ripped from the bones of the dogs the gaunt gray leader of the pack raised his muzzle and sniffed the wind he advanced a cautious step or two and sniffed again then seating himself on his haunches he raised his long-pointed muzzle to the sky and gave voice to the long-drawn cry of the kill and the shapes left the fang scarred bits of bone and sniffed upwind at the man-sent. As the sound of the great wolf-cry reached his ears above the roar of the wind, McFarlane's face lighted with a smile of infinite gladness. "'The bells!' he muttered.

"'I heard them. Do you hear them, Margot, girl? It's for us, the booming of the bells of St. Anne's. And with the words on his lips, McFarland pillowed his head on the snow and slept. End of A Prologue Part 6. Recording by Roger Maline. A Prologue Part 7 of Snowdrift, a story of the Land of the Strong Cold by James B. Hendricks. This Librevox recording is in the public domain.

Recording by Roger Maline. Snowdrift by James B. Hendricks. a prologue part seven years afterward after old molare had been gathered to his fathers and laid in the little cemetery within the sound of the bells of st anne's corporal downy one day came upon a long deserted cabin far into the barren grounds upon the shore of a nameless lake he closed the rotting door behind him and methodically searching the ground came at length upon the soft solitary grave upon the high promontory that jutted into the lake unconsciously he removed his hat as he read the simple inscription burned deep into the little wooden cross his lips moved margot girl he whispered if if the whispered thickened and choked him he squared his shoulders and cleared his throat roughly ah hell he breathed and turning walked slowly back to his canoe and shoved out into the water and during the interval of the years the little band of non-treaty indians the homeless and the restless ones moved on and on and on end of a prologue part seven recording by roger

chapter one of snowdrift a story of the land of the strong cold by james b hendricks this librovoc's recording is in the public domain recording by roger maline snowdrift by james b hendricks chapter one coarse gold as carter brent pushed through the swinging doors of the ore dump saloon the eyes of the head bartender swept with approval from the soles of the high-laced boots to the crown of the jauntily tilted stetson what'll it be this morning mr brent he greeted little eye-opener the young man grinned as he crossed to the bar how did you guess it the bartender set out decanter and glasses well after last night thought maybe you'd have a kind of fuzzy taste in your mind mouth. Fuzzy is right. My tongue is coated with fur, dark brown fur, thick and soft. What time was it when we left here? Must have been around two o'clock. But how does it come you ain't on the works this morning? Never knew you to lose a day on account of a hangover. Heard a couple of the S&R's tunnels got flooded last night.

Brent poured a liberal drink and downed it at a swallow. Yes, he answered dryly, and that's why I'm not on the works. I'm hunting a job, and the S&R is hunting a new mining engineer. Jepson fired you, did he? Well, you should worry. I've heard him talking in here now and then, some of the big guns, and they all claim you,

you're one of the best engineers in Montana. They say if you'd buckle down to business, you'd have him all skinned. Buckle down to business, eh? The trouble with them is that when they hire a man, they think they buy him. It's none of their damn business, what I do evenings. If I'm sober when I'm on the job, and on the job six days a week, and sometimes seven, they're getting all they're paying for they sure are agreed the other with emphasis have another shot he shoved the decanter toward the younger man and leaned closer say mr brent you ain't uh you don't need a little change do you if you do just say so you're welcome to it the man drew forth a roll of bills but brent shook his head head. No thanks. You can cash this check for me, though. Jepson was square enough about it, paid me in full to date, and threw in a month's salary in advance. I don't blame him any.

We quit the best of friends. When he hired me, he knew I liked a little drink now and then, so I took the job with the understanding that if the outfit ever lost a dollar because of my boozing, I was through right then. What was it flooded the tunnels? Water, grinned Brent. Oh, laughed the bartender. I thought maybe it was booze. You'd have thought so all the more if you'd been there this morning to hear the temperance lecture that old Jepsen threw in Gratis, along with that extra month's pay.

About the tunnels, we get our power for. from anaconda, and something happened to the high-tension wire, and the pumps stopped, and there wasn't any light, and number four and number six are wet tunnels anyway, so they filled up and drowned two batteries of drills. Then, instead of rigging a steam pump and pumping them out through number four, one of the shift bosses rigged a 15-inch rotary in number six and started her going full tilt with the result that he ran the water down against that new piece of railroad grade and washed about fifty feet of it into the river and left the track hanging in the air by the rails the damn fool oh i don't know he did the best he could a shift boss isn't hired to think what did old jeepsin fire you for he didn't think you climb up and cut the high-tension wire did he or did he expect you to sit around nights and keep the juice flowing brent laughed

not exactly but they tried to find me and couldn't so when i showed up this morning old jepson sent for me and asked me where i was last night i could have lied out of it easy enough he would have accepted any one of a half a dozen excuses but lyons poor business so i told him i was out havin a hell of a good time and wound up about three in the morning with a pretty fair snootful bet he thinks a damn sight more of you than if you'd have lied at that but there's plenty of jobs for you you've got it in your noodle what they need and what they've got to pay to get you might drop around and talk to gunnison of the little elizabeth's got to get you might drop around and talk to gunnison of the little elizabeth's he was growling in here the other night because he couldn't get hold of an engineer gonna do a lot of cross-tunnel work or something said he was afraid he'd have to send back east and get some pilgrim or some kid just out of college hold on a minute there's a bird down there among them hard rock men that looks like he was figuring on starting something i'll just step down and put a flea in his ear brent's eyes followed the other as he made his way toward the rear of the long bar where three or four bartenders were busy serving drinks to a crowd of miners he noticed casually that the men were divided into small groups and that they seemed to be talking excitedly among themselves and that the talk was mostly in whispers the ore dump was essentially a mining-man saloon its proprietor Patsy Kelleher, was an old-time miner who, having struck it lucky with pick and shovel,

had started a modest little saloon and later had opened the ore dump, in the fitting up of which he had gone the limit in expensive furnishings. It was his boast that no miner had ever gone out of his door hungry or thirsty, nor had any man ever lost a cent by unfair means within his four walls. Rumor had it that Patsy had given away thousands. Be that as it may, the ore dump had for years been the mecca of the mining fraternity. Millionaire mine owners, managers, engineers, and on down through the list to the humblest hunk were served at its long bar, which had, by common usage, become divided by invisible lines of demarcation. The mine owners, the man-owners, the managers, the engineers, and the independent contractors, four gathered at the front end of the bar,

the hunks and the whops and the guineas at the rear end, while the long space between was a sort of no-man's land, where drank the shift bosses and the artisans of the mines, the hard-rock men, the electricians, and the steam-fitters. Combinations of capital running into millions had been formed at the front, end and combination of labor at the rear while in no man's land great minds had been tied up at the crooking of a finger on this particular morning carter brent was the only customer at the front end of the bar he poured another drink and watched it glow like a thing of life with soft amber lights that played through the crystal clear glass as a thin streak of sunlight struck a slant the bar the liquor in his stomach was taking hold he felt warm with a glowing tingling warmth that permeated to his finger-tips in his mind was a vast sense of well-being the world was a great old place to live in he drank the whiskey in his glass and refilled it from the cut-glass decanter poor old jeepsin fired the best engineer in montana

that's what his friend the bartender had just told him and he got it from the big guns well it was jeepsin's funeral he and the s nr would have to stagger along as best they could he would go and see gunnison no to hell with gunnison brent's fingers closed about the roll of bills in his trousers pocket he had plenty of money he would wait and pick out a job he needn't worry he always was sure of a good job hadn't he had five in the two years since he graduated from college there were plenty of mines and they all needed good engineers brent smiled as his thoughts drifted lazily back to his four years in college he wished some of the fellows would drop in they were a bunch of damned good sports he muttered to himself and we sure did roll em high speedy bennett was always the first to go under about two drinks and we'd lay him on the shelf to call for when needed then came mcgivern then sullivan and about that time little morse would begin flapping his arms around and proclaiming he could fly then after a while there wouldn't be any one left but morrie and me good old morrie they canned him in his senior year and they've been canning me ever since brent paused in his soliloquy and regarded the men who had been whispering among themselves toward the rear of the room there were no small groups now and no whispering with tense faces they were crowding about a man who stood with hands palm down upon the bar he wondered what it was all about from his position at the

head of the bar, he could see the man's face plainly. Also he could see the faces of the others, the lined, rugged faces of the hard rock and the vapid, loose-lipped faces of the wops, and of all the faces, only the face of the man who stood with his hands on the bar betrayed nothing of tense expectancy. Why were these others crowding about him, and why was he the only man of them all who was not holding in check by visible effort some pent-up emotion. Brent glanced again into the weather-lined face, with its drooping sunburned mustache, and its skin-tanned to the color of old leather, a strong face, one would say, the face of a man who had battled long against odds and won.

One what, he wondered. For an instant, the man's eyes. met his own, and it seemed to Brent as though he had read the question, for surely, behind the long, drooping mustache, the lips twisted into just the shadow of a cynical grin. The head bartender stepped to the back bar, and, from beside a huge gilded cash register, he lifted a set of tiny scales which he carried to the bar and set down directly before the man with the sunburned mustache. In front of the bar, men crowded closer, craning their necks, and elbowing one another as their feet made soft shuffling sounds upon the hardwood floor.

One of the man's hands slipped into a side pocket of his coat, and when it came out, something thudded heavily upon the bar. Brantz saw the object plainly, as the bartender reached for it, a small buckskin pouch its surface glazed with the grease and soot of many camp-fires he had seen men carry their tobacco in just such pouches but this pouch held no tobacco it had thumped the bar heavily and lay like a sack of sand the bartender untied the strings and stood with the pouch poised above the scales while his eyes roved over the scales while his eyes roved over the eager, expectant faces of the crowd. Then he placed a small weight upon the pan of the scales and poured something slowly from the pouch into the small scoop upon the opposite side.

From his position, Brent could see the delicate scales oscillate and finally strike a balance. The bartender closed the pouch and handed it back to the owner. Then he picked up the same. scales and returned them to their place beside the cash register while in front of the bar men surged about the pouch owner clawing and shoving to get next to him and all talking at once nobody paying the slightest attention to the bartenders who were vainly trying to serve a round of drinks the head bartender returned to his position opposite brent and reaching for the decanter poured himself a drink drink up and have one on the stranger he'd just set him up to the house brent swallowed the liquor in his glass and refilled it what's the excitement he asked a man don't ordinarily get as popular as he seems to be just because he buys a round of drinks does he didn't you see it it ain't the round of drink it's wait he stepped to the back bar and lifting the scoop from the scales set it down in front of brent

that's what it is gold yes sir pure gold just as she comes from the sand nuggets and dust it's been many a year since any of that stuff has been passed over this bar for the drink i've been here seven years and it's the first i've took in except now and then a few colors that some ombre washed out of some dry coolly or creek bed fine dust that's cost him the shoveling and panin of tons of gravel patsy keeps the scales sittin around for a curiosity that and because the old-timers like to see him handy kind of reminds him of the early days and starts him gassin' but this here's the real stuff look at that boy he poked with his finger at an irregular nugget the size of a navy bean looks like a chunk of slag and that ain't all he's got a bag full of em i held it in my hand and it weighed pounds as brent stood looking down at the grains of yellow metal in the little scoop a strange uneasiness stirred deep within him. He picked up the nugget and held it in the palm of his hand. One side of it was flat as though polished by a thousand years of waterware, and the other side was rough and fire-eaten, as though fused by a mighty heat. Brent had seen plenty of gold,

coined gold, gold-fashioned by the goldsmith's art, and gold in bricks and bricks and and ingots, in the production of which he himself had been a factor. Yet never before had the sight of gold moved him. It had been merely a valuable metal which it was his business to help extract from certain rocks by certain processes of chemistry and expensive machinery. Yet here in his hand was a new kind of gold, gold that seemed to reach into the very heart of him

with a personal appeal. raw gold gold that had known the touch of neither chemicals nor machinery but that had been wrestled by the bare hands of a man from some far place where the fires of a glowing world and the glacial ice drift had fashioned it the vague uneasiness that had stirred him at sight of the yellow grains flamed into a mighty urge at its touch he too would go and get gold and he would go and get gold and he would go and get gold and he would get it not by process of brain but by process of brawn not by means of chemicals and machinery but by slashing into the sides of mountains and ripping the guts out of creeks carefully he returned the nugget to the scoop and as he raised his eyes to the bartenders he moistened his lips with his tongue where did he get it he asked huskily god man if i'd known that i wouldn't be standing here would i he jerked his thumb toward the rear of the room where the men were frenzedly crowding the stranger that's what they all want to know lord if he'd let the word slip what a stampede there'd be every man for himself and the devil take the hindmost out of every hundred that's in an a stampede about one makes a stake and ten gets their ante back and the rest goes broke they all know what they're goin up against but the damned fools every one of em would stake all's all's all's all's all's all's all's all's allin'n't all's all's all's all's all's all's all'n't

all they've got and their life throwed in to be in on it it's the lure of gold muttered brent i've heard of it but i never felt it before are they damned fools wouldn't you wouldn't i what wouldn't you go along with the rest hell yes and so would anyone else that's got any red guts in em brent poured himself a drink and shoved the decanter toward the other let's liquor he said and then maybe if we can get that fellow away from the crowd where we can talk the bartender interrupted the thought before it was expressed no chance take a look at him believe me there's one ombre there's one ombre that there's one ombre that ain't going to spill nothing he don't want to. And when a man makes a strike like that, he don't hang around bars running off at the chin about it. Not what you could notice, he don't. Far as I can see, we got just one chance. It's a damn slim one, but you can't always tell what's running in these birds' heads. He asked me if Patsy Kelleher was running this dump, and when I told him he was, he had me sussie.

send for him. Said he wanted to see him Pronto. And then he kind of throwed his eyes around over the faces of the boys, and he says, You're all friends of Patsy's? He's seen in a minute how Patsy stood ace high with them all, and then he says, Well, just kind of stick around till Patsy gets down here, and it might be I'll explode something amongst his friends that'll clean this dump out. Now, you might take that two ways, but he don't look like one of these, what you might

call anarchists, does he? And when he said that, he laughed, and he says, belly up to the bar, and I'll buy a little drink, and I'll pay for it with coarse gold. Well, you've seen how much drinking they've done, and here's Patsy now. Brent turned and nodded greeting as the proprietor of the ore dump entered the door. "'Is it yourself that's sent for me, Mr. Brent, you spalpine?' he grinned. "'Being a gentleman yourself, you'll be knowing. I'd still be at me newspaper and cigar. What's on your mind that you'll be dragging a man from the bosom of his family before lunch?'

"'It ain't him,' explained the bart. bartender. It's the stranger. I told him you didn't never show up till after dinner, but—' Lunch, damn it, lunch! Kelleher's fist smote the bar, and as he scowled into the face of his head bartender, Brent detected a twinkle in the deep-set blue eyes. Didn't the old woman beat that same into my own head, awake after we'd moved into the big house? And she'd done it with a tree-calf concourse. to shakespeare's wild gold edges that sets on the par living-room table tis a handy and useful weapon a worthy substitute as the feller says to the plebeian rolling pin and frying pan

them tree calves has got a hide on em like the bottom of a sluice box i bet they could make ann bulls out of the hide of a full-grown tree bull go on now and trot out of the hide of a full-grown tree bull go on now and trot out of the hide of a full-grown tree bull go on now and trot out this side of a ill-fared magpie that must be at his chatterin' before the break of day at a motion from the bartender the crowd parted to allow the stranger to make his way to the front surged together behind him and followed ranging itself in a semicircle at a respectful distance thus with the two principles brent found himself included within this semicircle of excited faces the two eyed each other for a moment in silence the stranger with a smile half veiled by his sunburned mustache and kelleher with a frankly puzzled expression upon his face as his thick fingers toyed with the heavy gold chain that hung cable-like from pocket to pocket of his gaily colored vest i figured you wouldn't know me the stranger's grin widened as he noted the look of perplexity and no more i don't retorted the other unconsciously tilting his high silk hat at an aggressive angle over his right eye let's get the cards on the table who are you and what you got in your head that you couldn't keep there till after lunch i'm mcbride brent saw that the name conveyed nothing to the other whose puzzled frown deepened you're m'bride the tone was good-naturedly sarcastic well you'd have still been m'bride this afternoon ave you'd been let live that long but who the devil's m'briad that i should come tearing down to look into the ugly mug of him the stranger laughed nine years ago mcbride was the night telegraph operator over in the yards that was before you moved up here

you was still in the little dump over on fagin street and you'd done most of the work yourself used to open up mornings there wasn't no big diamonds shining in the middle of your bald-faced shirt them days i doubt an you owned a bald-faced shirt excepted except maybe for sundays anyhow you'd be opening up in the morning when i'd be goin off trick and i most generally stopped in for a couple of drinks or so and one morning when i downed three or four i noticed you kind of given me the once over there wasn't no one else in the place and you come over and leaned your elbows in the bar and you says you're goin kind of heavy on that stuff son you says what the hell's the difference i says i ain't got only six months to live and i might as well enjoy what i can of it are they goin to hang you in six months you asks have you got your sentence i've got my sentence i says but it ain't hangin the doctor's sentenced to me it's the con to hell with the doctors you says they don't know it all we'll fool him. All you need is to get out in the mountains and lay off the hooch. I laughed at you. Me, go to the mountains, I says.

Why, man, I ain't hardly got strength to get to my room and back to the job again, and couldn't even make that if it wasn't for the hooch. That's right, you says, from the job to the room and the room to the job, you'll last maybe six months. but I'm doubting it. But the mountains is different. And then you goes on and talks mountains and gold till you got me interested, and you offers to grubstake me for a trip to the Cootinay country. You claimed it was a straight business proposition, fifty-fifty if I made a strike, and you put up the money against my time. The stranger paused and smiled as a subdued ripple of whisperings went from

man to man, as he mentioned the Cootinet. Then he looked Keleher squarely in the face. There wasn't no gold in the Cootin, eh, he said simply, or leastwise I couldn't find none. I figured someone had been stringing you. Patsy Keleher shifted the hat to the back of his head and laughed out loud as his little eyes twinkled with merriment. i get you now son he said i mind the white face ave you and the chest bowed in like the bottom of a wash-bowl and your shoulders struck out befront you like the horns of a cow he paused as his eyes ran the lines of sinewy leanness and came to rest upon the sun-bronzed face so you made a failure of the trip have you a plum-climed clean failure, and I'm out the couple of hundred it cost me for the grub steak. "'It cost you more than five hundred,' interrupted the other.

"'I was in bad shape, and there was things I needed that other men wouldn't have, that I don't need now.' "'Well, five hundred, thin. And how long has it been ago?' "' Nine years.' Kelleher laughed. who was right me or the damned doctors you've lived eighteen times as long as they was goin to let you live already and have me eyes deceive me right you ain't ordered no coffin yet no i ain't ordered no coffin i come here to hunt you up and pay you back keller laughed there ain't nothin to pay son you don't owe me a cent a grub steak's a grub

steak and no one ever yet said patsy keller welched on a bargain besides i guess you got all i sent you after i know damn well there wasn't no gold in the cootinay none that a tenderfoot lunger can find mcbride laughed sure i knew after i'd been there six months what you'd done it for i doped it all out but as you say a grubbs a grub steak, and no time limit on it. And no one ever said Jim McBride ever welched on a bargain, neither. I ain't never been just ready to come back and settle with you, till now. I drifted north, and farther north, till I wound up in the Yukon country. I prospected around there, and had pretty good luck. I'd got back my strength and my health, till right now there ain't but damn few men in the big country that can hit the trail with jim mcbride but i wasn't never satisfied with what i was takin out i knowed there was something big somewhere's up there i could feel it and i played for the big stake others stuck by stuff that was panning em out wages i didn't they called me a fool and i let em

i struck up river at last and they laughed but they ain't laughing now me and a squaw man named carmack hunted moose together over on bonanza one day carmack was scratching around the roots of a big birch tree and just for fun he gets to monkeyin with my pan the man paused and brent could hear the suppressed breathing of the miners who had crowded close his eyes swept their faces and he saw that every eye in the house was staring into the face of mcbride as they hung upon his every word he realized suddenly that he himself was waiting in a fever of impatience for the man to go on then i come into camp and we both fooled with the pan but we didn't fool long god man we was shaking it out of the grass-roots we was shaking it out of the grass-roots coarse gold i stayed at it a month and i've filed on every creek within ten miles of that lone birch tree then i come outside to find you and settle he paused and his eyes swept the room these men friends of yurne he asked keller nodded well then i'm letting em in right here starts the biggest stampede the world's ever seen. Some of the old-timers that was already up there are into the stuff now, but in the spring the whole world will be getting in on it.

Kelleher was the only self-possessed man in the room. What'll she run to the pan? he asked. Run to the pan? God knows. We thought she was big when she hit an ounce. An ounce to the pan? cried Kelleher. man you're crazy the other continued and we thought she was little when she run a hundred dollars two hundred i've washed out six hundred dollars to the pan and i ain't no bedrock and then he began to empty his pockets one after another the little buckskin sacks thudded upon the bar ten fifteen twenty of them mcbride spoke to keller who stared with incredulous bulging eyes that's your share of what i've took out you're filed along with me as full partner in all the claims i've got these millions in them claims and more millions for the men that gets there first he paused and turned to the men of the crowd who stood silent with tense white faces and staring eyes glued

on the pile of buckskin sats beat it you gravel hogs he cried it's the biggest strike that ever was hit for seattle go by di e beach and over the chill-cote and take a thousand pounds of outfit or you'll die a hell of a lot of you'll die anyhow but some of you will win and win big over the chill-cote down through the lakes and down the yukon to dawson a high-pitched unnatural yell animal-like in its nervous excitement broke from a throat in the crowd and the next instant pandemonium broke loose in kelleher's and carter brent fought his way to the door through a howling mass of madmen and struck out for his boarding-house at a run end of chapter one recording by roger maline chapter two of snow A Story of the Land of the Strong Cold by James B. Hendricks. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline. Snow Drift by James B. Hendricks.

Chapter 2. On Dyee Beach In a drizzle of cold rain, 40 men stood on Dai'i Beach and viewed with disfavor the 40,000 pounds of sodden, mud-smeared outfit that had been hurriedly landed from the little steamer that was already plowing her way southward of the sixty-odd men who two weeks before had stood in patsy keller's ore-dumped saloon and had seen jim mcbride toss one after another upon the bar twenty buckskin pouches filled to bursting with coarse gold in his reckoning with kelleher these forty had accomplished the first leg of the north trade the next year and the next thousands and tens of thousands of men would follow in their footsteps for these forty were the forerunners of the great stampede from the outside a stampede that exacted merciless toll in the lives of fools and weaklings even as it heaped riches with lavish prodigality into the lapse of the strong jim mcbride had said that each man must carry in a thousand pounds of outfit. Well and good they had complied. Each had purchased his thousand pounds, had it delivered on board the steamer, and in due course had watched it dump upon the beach from the small boats.

Despite the cold drizzle throughout the unloading the forty had laughed and joked each other, and had liberally tendered flasks. But now, with the steamer of vanishing speck in the distance, and the rock-studded d'aii flats stretching away toward the mountains the laughter and joking ceased men eyed the trail moved aimlessly about and returned to their luggage the thousand-pound outfits had suddenly assumed proportions every ounce of it must be manhandled across a twenty-eight mile portage and over the chilcute pass now and then a man bent down and then a man bent down and gave a tentative lift at a bail or a sack. Muttered curses had taken the place of laughter, and if a man drew a flask from his pocket, he drank and returned it to his pocket

without tendering it to his neighbor. When Carter Brent had reached the seclusion of his room, after leaving Kelleher's saloon, he slipped his hand into his pocket and, withdrawing his roll of bills, counted them. He found exactly, three hundred and seventy-eight dollars which he rightly decided was not enough to finance an expedition to the gold country he must get more and get it quickly returning the bills in his pocket he packed his belongings left the room and a few minutes later was admitted upon signal to the gambling rooms of nick the greek where selecting a farrow layout he bought a stack of chips

at the end of a half-hour he bought another stack and thereafter he began to win when his winnings totaled one thousand dollars he cashed in and that evening at seven o'clock he stepped on to a train bound for seattle he was mildly surprised that none of the others from keller's were in evidence but when he arrived at his destination he grinned as he saw them swarming from the day coaches ahead. And now, on Dyee Beach, he stood and scowled as he watched the rainwater collect in drops and roll down the sides of his packages. He said there was injuns would pack this here, junk, complained a man beside him. Where in hell be they? Search me, grinned Brent. How much can you carry? Don't know, not a hell of a lot over them rocks. And he said this here Chilkoot was so steep you had to climb it instead of walk. Suppose we make a try, suggested Brent. A man ought to handle a hundred pounds.

A hundred pounds? You're crazy as hell. I ain't no damn burrow, me. Not no hundred pounds, no 28 mile and part of it cat climbing. About 25 miles more my size. You like to walk better than I do, shrugged Brent. Have you stopped to figure that a 25-pound pack means four trips to the hundred, forty trips to the thousand, and 40 round trips of 28 miles means something over 2200 miles of hiking? God! exclaimed the other in dismay it must be held to be educated if i'd figured that out i'd have stayed on the boat we're in a hell of a fix now and no ways to get back that grub'll be all at gettin it over the pass and when we get there we ain't nowhere's we got them lakes and river to make after that looks like by the time we hit this here bonanza place all the claims will be took up, or the gold will be rotted with old age.

You're sure a son of gloom, opined Brent, as he stooped and affixed his straps to a hundred-pound sack of flour. But I'm going to hit the trail. So long! As Brent essayed to swing the pack to his shoulders, he learned for the first time in his life that one hundred pounds is a matter not lightly to be juggled. the pack did not swing to his shoulders and it was only after repeated efforts and the use of other bales of luggage as a platform that he was at length able to stand erect under his burden the other man had watched without offer of assistance and brent's wrath flared as he noted his grin without a word he struck across the rock-strewn flat

hurry back taunted the other you ought to make about four trips by supper time before he had covered fifty yards brent knew that he could never stand the strain of a hundred pound pack while not a large man he was well built and rugged but he had never before carried a pack and every muscle of his body registered its aching protest at the unaccustomed strain time and again it seemed as though the next step must be his last then a friendly rock would show up ahead and he would stagger forward and sink against its side allowing the rock to ease the weight from his shoulders as the distance between resting-places became shorter the periods of rest lengthened and during these periods while he panted for breath and listened to the pounding of his heart's blood as it surged past his eardrums his brain was very active mcbride said a good packer could walk off with a hundred or a hundred and fifty pounds and he'd seen him pack two hundred he muttered he muttered he muttered and i've been an hour moving one hundred pounds and one mile and i'm so near all in that i couldn't move it another mile in a week i wonder where those indian packers are that he said we could get his eyes traveled back across the flats every inch of which had caused him bodily anguish and came to rest upon the men who still moved aimlessly among the rain sodden bales or stood about groups. Anyway, I'm the only one that has made a stab at it. A sound behind him caused him to turn his

head abruptly to see five Indians striding toward him along the rock-strewn trail. Brent wriggled painfully from his pack-straps as the leader, a big-framed giant of a man, halted at his side and stared stolidly down at him. Brent gained his feet and thrust out his hand. Hello there, old Nick a time. Want a job? I've got a thousand pounds of junk back there on the beach, counting this piece, and all you gentlemen have to do is to flip it up on your backs and skip over the chill-cute with it. It's a snap, and I'll pay you good wages. Do you speak English? The big Indian nodded gravely.

Me speak English. Me no name Nicky Tam. Name Camish. White man call Joe Pete. Brent nodded. All right, Joe Pete. Now, how much are you and your gang going to charge me to pack this stuff up over the pass? The Indian regarded the sack of flour. You Chichakko, he announced. Just as you say, grinned Brent. I wouldn't take that from everybody, whatever it means. But if you'll get that stuff over the pass, you can call me anything you want. You Boston man.

No, I'm from Tennessee, but we'll overlook even that. How much you pack it over the pass? Brent pointed to the flower and held up ten fingers. The Indian turned to his followers and spoke to them in guttural jargon. They nodded assent, and he turned to Brent. Top Chilkut, five cents pound, hundred pound, five dollar. Lake Linderman, three cent pound more. Hundred pound, all way, eight dollar.

You're all right. on agreed brent thousand pounds eighty dollars all the way the indian nodded and brent produced a ten-dollar gold piece which he handed to the man indicated that he would get the rest when they reached lake linderman the indian motion to the smallest of his followers and pointing to the sack of flour mumbled some words of jargon whereupon the man stepped to the pack removed brent's straps and producing straps of his own swung the burden to his back and started off at a brisk walk as brent led the way back to the beach at the head of his indians he turned more than once to glance back at the solitary packer but as far as he could see him the man continued to swing along at the same brisk pace at which he had started whereat he conceived a sudden profound respect for his hirelings the littlest runt of the bunch has got me skinned a thousand miles he muttered but i'll learn the trick a year from now i'll hit the trail with any of em back at the beach the indians were surrounded by thirty-nine clamoring, howling men who pushed and jostled one another in a frenzied attempt to hire the Packers. No, you don't, cried Brent. These men are working for me. When I'm through with them, you can have them,

and not before. Ugly mutterings greeted the announcement. Who the hell do you think you are? Divide them up. Give someone else a chance. others advanced upon the indians and shook sheaves of bills under their noses offering double and triple brent's price but the indians paid no heed to the paper money and inwardly brent thanked the lucky star that guided him into exchanging all his money into gold before leaving seattle despite the fact that he was next to useless as a packer brent was no weakling ignoring the mutterings he led the indians to his outfit and while they affixed their straps he faced the crowding men just stay where you are boys he said this stuff here is my stuff and for the time being the ground it's on is my ground the man who had sneered at his attempt to pack the flower crowded close and quick as a flash brent's left wrist caught him square on the point in the paw point of the chin, and he crashed backward among the legs of the others. Brent's voice never changed tone, nor by so much as the flutter of an eyelash, did he betray any excitement.

Any man that crosses that line is going to find trouble and find a damn quick. He's bluffing, cried a thick voice from the rear of the crowd. Let me up there. I'll show the damn dude. a huge hard rock man elbowed his way through the parting crowd his whisky reddened eyes narrowed to slits three paces in front of brent he halted abruptly and stared into the muzzle of the blue steel gun that had flashed into the engineer's hand come on invited brent if i'm bluffing i won't shoot you're twice as big as i am i wouldn't stand to show in the world in a rough-and-tumble but i'm not bluffing and there won't be any rough-and-tumble for a full half-minute the man stared into the unwavering muzzle of the gun you would shoot a man damn you he muttered as he backed slowly away and every man in the crowd knew that he spoke the truth three of the indians had put their straps to a hundred pounds apiece and were already strung out on the trail brent turned to see joe pete regarding him with approval and as he affixed his straps to a fifty-pound pack the big indian stooped and swung an extra fifty pounds on top of the hundred already on his back and struck out after the others

at the end of a half mile brent was laboring heavily under his load while joe pete had never for an instant slackened his pace what's he made of don't he ever rest thought brent as he struggled on the blood was pounding in his ears and his laboring lungs were sucking in the air and great gulps at length his muscles refused to go another step and he sagged to the ground and lay there sick and dizzy without energy enough left at his command to roll the pack from his shoulders after what seemed an hour the pack was raised and the indian who had gone ahead with his first pack swung the fifty pounds to his own shoulders and started off brent scrambled to his feet and followed a mile farther on they came to the others lying on the ground smoking and resting the packs laid to one side and brent made mental note of the fact that these packers carried much of the weight upon a strap that looped over their foreheads and that instead of making short hauls and then resting with their packs on they made long halls and took long rests with their packs thrown off they were at least three miles from the beach and it was nearly an hour before they again took the trail in the meantime joe pete had rigged a tump line for brent and when he again took the trail he was surprised at the difference the shifting of part of the load to his head made in the ease with which he carried it

two miles farther on they came upon the sack of flour where the indian had left it and joe pete indicated that this would be their first day's hall six hundred pounds of brent's thousand had been moved five miles and leaving the small indian to make camp the others together with brent returned for the remaining four hundred this time they were not molested by the men on the beach many of whom they passed on the trail laboring along under packs which for the most part did not exceed fifty pounds weight on the return brent insisted on packing his fifty pounds and much to his delight found that he was able to make the whole distance of three miles to the resting-place joe pete nodded grave approval of this feat and brent in whose veins flowed the bluest blood of the south felt his heart swell with pride because he had won the approbation of this dark-skinned packer of the north into this rest camp came the erstwhile head barkeeper at keller's and to him brent imparted the trail lore he had picked up also he exchanged with him one hundred dollars in gold for a like amount of bills and advised joe pete that when his present contract was finished this other would be a good man to work for day after day they packed and upon the last day of trail brent made four miles under one hundred pounds with only one rest much of the way through soft muskeg and he repeated the performance in the afternoon at linderman joe pete found an indian who agreed to run brent and his outfit down through the lakes and the river to dawson in a huge freight canoe

the first stampeters from the outside bought all available canoes and boats so that by the time of the big rush boats had to be built on the shore of the lake from timber cut green and whip-sawed into lumber on the spot also the price of packing over the chilcote jumped from five cents a pound to ten to twenty to fifty to seventy and even a dollar as men fought to get in before the freeze-up but that was a year and a half after brent floated down the yukon in his big birch canoe end of chapter two recording by roger maline chapter three of snowdrift a story of the land of the strong cold by james b hendricks this librovoc's recording is in the public domain recording by roger maline snowdrift by james b hendricks chapter three at the mission far in the northland upon the bank of a great river that disgorges into the frozen sea stands a little roman catholic mission the mission is very old having had its inception in the early days of the fur trade its little chapel boasts a stained-glass window a window fashioned in europe carried across the atlantic to hudson bay in a wooden sailing vessel and transported through three thousand miles of wilderness in canoes york boats and scows and over many weary miles of portage upon the backs of sweating indians upon its walls hang paintings works of real merit the labor of priestly hands long dead a worthy monument this mission to the toil and sift

self-sacrifice of the early fathers, and a living tribute to the labor of the grave, gray nuns. The time was July, late evening of a July day. The sun still held high above the horizon, and upon the grassed plateau about the buildings of the mission, children were playing. They were Indian children, for the most part, thick-bodied and swarthy-faced, but among them here and there could be seen the lighter skin of a half-breed. Near the door of one of the buildings sat a group of older Indian girls sewing. In the doorway the good father Ambrose stood with his eyes upon the upreach of the river. Like a silent gray shadow, Sister Mercedes glided from the chapel and seated herself upon a wooden bench drawn close behind the door. Her eyes

followed the gaze of the priest. No sign of the brigade, she asked. They have probably tied up for the night. Tomorrow maybe, or the day after, they will come. Ensued a long pause during which both studied the river. I think, continued the nun, that when the scows return southward, we will be losing snowdrift. A? The priest turned his head.

quickly and regarded sister Mercedes with a frown. Henry of the Whitewater? Think you he has... The sister interrupted. No, no, to school. She is nineteen now. We can do nothing more for her here. In the matter of lessons, as you well know, she is easily outstripped all others, and books. She has already exhausted our meager library. the priest nodded the frown still puckered his brow but his lips smiled a smile that conveyed more of questioning than of mirth intensely human himself father ambrose was no mean student of human nature and he spoke with a troubled mind to us here at the mission have been brought many children both of the indians and of the mettee and having absorbed to their capacity our teachings the indians have gone stolidly back to their tepees and to their business of hunting and trapping

carrying with them a measure of useful handicraft a smattering of letters and the precepts of the word the smile had faded from the clean-cut lips of the priest the smile had faded from the clean-cut lips of the priest and sister mercedes noted a touch of sadness in the voice as she watched a slanting ray of sunlight play for a moment upon the thinning silvery hair i have grown old in the service of god here at this mission and it is natural that i have sought diligently among my people for the outward and visible signs of the fruit of my labor and i have found with a few notable exceptions that in one year or two or three the handicraft is almost forgotten the letters are but a dim blur of memory and the word he shrugged who but god can tell it is the metis who are the real problem for it is in their veins that civilization meet savagery the clash and the conflict of races the antagonism that is responsible for the wars of the world is inherent in the very blood that gives them life and the outcome is beyond the ken or the conjecture of man i have seen i think every conceivable combination of physical and mental condition save the one most devoutly to be hoped for a blending of the best that is in each race that i have not seen unless it be that we are to see it in snowdrift sister mercedes smiled i do not believe that snowdrift is a half-breed i believe she is a white child

father ambrose smiled tolerantly still of that belief but it is impossible i know her mother she too was a child of this mission long before your time she is one of the few indians who did not forget the handicraft nor the letters the old man paused and shook his head sadly and until she brought this child here i believed that she had not forgot the handi-craft nor the letters the old man paused and shook his head sadly and until she brought this child here i believed that she had not forgotten the word for she continued to profess her belief and among her people she waged war upon the rum runners later i myself married her to a dog rib a man who was the best of his tribe then they disappeared and i heard nothing from her until she brought this child snowdrift to us here at the mission she told me that her husband had been drowned in a rapid and then she told me not in a confessional for she would not confess that this was her child and that her father was a white man but that he was not her husband she may have lied loving the child she may have feared that we would take her away or institute a search for her people she loves the child with the mother love but she did not lie if she had lied would she not lie would she not lie would she not not have said that after the death of her husband she had married this white man i would have believed her but evidently the idea of truth is more firmly implanted in her heart than other virtues so she told the truth knowing even as she did so the light in which she would stand before men and also the standing of her daughter oh it is a shame cried the nun but still i am

i do not believe it i cannot believe it snowdrift's skin where the sun and the wind have not turned it is as white as mine but her hair and eyes are the dark hair and the eyes of the indian and when she was first brought here have you forgotten that she fought like a little wild cat and that she ran away and trailed her band to its encampment could a white child have done that but after she had been brought back and had begun to learn she fought just as hard against returning to her tribe for a brief vacation she is a dreamer of dreams she loves music and appreciates its beauty and the beauty of art and the poets she can trail an animal through country that would throw many an indian at fault she hates the sordid she hates the rum-runners and the grum-runners and the green greasy smoke-blattin tepees of the indians in her heart there has been an awakening she longs for something better higher she has consented to go to the convent and at the same time we are in mortal dread lest she marry that prince of all devils henri of the white water why she even dresses like an indian the only one of the older girls who does not wear the clothing of white women that is because of her artistic temperament she loves the ease and comfort of the garments and she realizes their beauty in comparison to the ugliness of the coarse clothing and shoes with which we must provide them where is she now hunting father ambrose laughed and i predict that she will not return until she has brought down her caribou or her moose

would your white maiden of nineteen be off hunting alone in the hills with her rifle no by our very contentions we have established the dual nature of her in her the traits of civilization and savagery are not blended but each in turn dominate and order her thoughts and actions hers is what one might term an alternating ego and it is a thing that troubles me sore what will happen down there down at the convent where they will not understand her and where there is no hunting to what end will this marvellous energy exert itself for it will not remain pent up within her breast it will seek outlet and then who can tell answered the nun thoughtfully at least i shall be glad indeed to know that she will be far from the baleful influence of henri of the whitewater for devil that he is there is no gainsaying the fact that there is something attractive about him with his bold free manner and his handsome face and gay clothing he is a figure that might well attract a more sophisticated woman than our little snowdrift as yet though i think he has failed to rouse in her more than a passing interest if she cared for him she would not be away hunting while everyone else is eagerly watching for the brigade father ambrose shrugged tis past understanding the way of a maid with a man but see here she comes now

both watched the lithe form that swung across the clearing from the bush the girl was hatless her mass of black hair caught up and held in place by an ingenious twist of bark her face and full rounded throat that rose gracefully from the open collar of a buck-skin hunting shirt showed a rich hazel brown in the slanting rays of the sun. Buckskin gloves protected her hands from the ever-present mosquitoes. A knee-length skirt of heavy cloth, a pair of deer-skinned leggings tanned with the hair on, and Indian moccasins completed her costume. "'What luck?' greeted the priest. The girl paused before them, and flashing a smile, disclosed a set of teeth that gleamed like wet pearls good luck she answered a young bull caribou and two wolves that were just closing in on a cow with a young calf

every bullet went true i shot three times has the brigade passed the priest shook his head no not yet they will have camped before this for the night As he spoke, the girl's eyes strayed to the river, and the extreme reach of glistening water they held. "'Look!' she cried. "'They are coming now!' Around the bend into view shot a scow, and another, and another, until the whole surface of the river seemed black with the scows. The playing children had seen them too, and with wild whoops of delight they were racing for the the bank followed by the older indian girls and by father ambrose for the annual coming of the brigade is an event in the north bringing as it does the mail and the supplies for the whole year to these lonely dwellers of the far outlands sister mercedes remained seated upon her bench and standing her rifle against the wall snowdrift sat down beside her and in silence the two watched the

the scows swing shoreward in response to the strokes of the heavy steering sweeps and listened to the exchange of shouted greetings of all the rivermen the bravest figure was that of henri of the whitewater the two women could see him striding back and forth issuing orders regarding the mooring of scows and the unloading of freight they saw him pause suddenly in his restless pacing up and down down and eagerly scan the faces of the assembled group then his glance traveled back from the river and rested upon the two silent figures beside the door and with a wave of his hand he tossed the sack of mail to the waiting priest and stepping past him strode rapidly up the bank in the direction of the mission the face of sister mercedes hardened as she noted the flaunting air of the approaching man, his stocking cap of brilliant blue, his snow-white cap thrown open to reveal the flannel shirt of vivid red and black checks. With a royal bow, he swept the blue stocking cap from his head and saluted the two upon the bench. Ah ha! Greetings, ma'cher! From Henri of the whitewater to the fairest flower of the north, and her, ah! ha!

guardian angel, no? His lips flashed a smile, and he continued, But there are times when even a guardian angel is not desired to be. Come with me, snowdrift, and we will walk yonder to the edge of the bank, where we will still be within sight of the ever-watching eye of the church, but well out of hearing of its ever-listening ear. You see, Sister Rélezhuis, I am a respecter. of your little laws.

He laughed aloud. Ah, yes, Henri of the Whitewater is a great respecter of laws. Voila! Seating themselves upon the high bank of the river, the two watched the sun dip slowly behind the scrub timber. And as the twilight deepened, the man talked rapidly and earnestly, while the girl listened in silence.

And so, he concluded when the scows return in one month from now you shall leave this place forever we shall go away and be married and we will journey far far up the rivers to the cities of the white men and only upon occasion will we make flying trips into the north to the trade it is said that you trade hooch said the girl i will not marry any man who trades hooch i hate the traders of hooch ah ha ma cher yes i have now and then traded hooch you see i do not deny henri of the white water must have adventure but upon my soul if you do not want me to trade hooch i shall never trade another drop no when the scows return in a month i shall go with them answered the girl dispassionately but not to be married i am going to school to school mon dieu have you not had enough of school it is time you are finished with such foolishness you who are old enough to be the mother of children talking of going to school bah it is to laugh and where would you go to school to the convent at montreal the devil take these meddlers cried the man rising and pacing rapidly up and down before the girl then suddenly he paused, and looking down upon her, laughed aloud.

Ha, ha, you would go to Montreal? And what will you do when you get there? What will you say when they ask you who is your father? Eh? What will you tell them? The girl looked at him in wide-eyed surprise. Why? What do you mean?

I shall tell them the truth, that my father is dead. Why should I not tell them that my father is dead? father is dead. He was a good man. My mother has told me. Again, the man laughed. His laugh was of cruel derision. Such innocence! It is unbelievable. They will have nothing to do with you in the land of the white men. They will scorn you and look down upon you. You never had a father. The girl was upon her feet now, facing him with flashing eyes. It is a lie. I did have a father. And he was a good man. He was not like the father of you, old Boussard, the drunken and thieving old hanger on about the posts.

I, I grant you that the old devil is nothing to brag of. I do not point to him with the finger of pride, but he is nevertheless a producible father. He and my Indian mother were married. I at least am no infant natural, no batard. No one can poke at me the finger of scorn and draw aside in the passing, as from a thing unclean. The girl's face flamed red and tears of rage welled from her eyes. I do not know what you mean, she cried. But I do know that I hate you. I will find out what you mean,

and then maybe I will kill you. In her rage she sprang at the man's throat with her bare hands, but he easily thrust her aside, and sobbing she ran toward the mission. It was long after midnight that snowdrift emerged, from the room of sister mercedes the girl had gone straight to the nun and asked questions nor would she be denied their answers and so explaining comforting as best she could the good sister talked till far into the night

snowdrift had gone into the room an unsophisticated girl she came out from it a woman but a woman whose spirit instead of being crushed and broke by the weight of her shame, rose triumphant and defiant above that shame, for in her heart was bitter hatred against the white men, whose code of ethics brought shame upon the innocent head of one whose very existence was due to the lust of a man in her own race. Silently the girl crossed the clearing to the building in which was her room, and very silently she made up a pack of her belongings. Then, taking the pack and her rifle, she stole silently out the door

and, crossing the broad open space, entered the bush. At the edge of the clearing, she turned, and stood for a long time, looking back at the mission, with its little buildings huddled together in the moonlight, and then, with a choking sob

that forced itself past her tight, pressed lips, she turned and plunged into the timber. End of Chapter 3. Recording by Roger Maline. Chapter 4 of Snowdrift, a story of the Land of the Strong Cold, by James B. Hendricks. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline. Snow Drift by James B. Hendricks.

Chapter 4. ace in the hole on the outskirts of dawson city of the tents and log buildings brent pitched his own tent paid off his indian canoeman and within the hour was sucked into the mad maelstrom of carousal that characterized the early days of the big gold camp it was the city of men gone mad the saloon was the center of activity and saloons there were a plenty dick stole's place which was the big game of dawson the nugget of uproarious fame cutter malone's klondike palace where nightly revel raged to the nth power where bearded men and scarlet women gave over to debauch magnificent in its wild abandon and many others each with its wheels of chance its cards its music and its women and into the whirl of it carter brent plunged with a zest born of youth and of muscles iron hard from the grueling trail and into it he fitted as though to the man are born no invisible lines of demarcation divided the bars of dawson as they had divided kelleher's bar millionaires in blanket coats and mucklucks rubbed shoulders with penniless watery-eyed squaw men sourdows who spilled coarse gold from the mouths of sacks misfit fichaco's and painted women danced and sang and cursed and gambled the short nights through

the remnant of brent's thousand dollars was but a drop in the bucket and he was glad when it was gone three days after his arrival not that he particularly wanted to be broke but in the spending of it men had taken his measure the bills and the coined golds had branded him as a man from the outside a chichaco a tenderfoot an hour after he had tossed his last yellow disc upon the bar in payment for a round of drinks he had hired out to camillo bill waters to sluice gravel at an ounce a day an ounce was sixteen dollars thereafter for the space of a month he was seen no more in dawson then one day he returned he presented a slip of paper signed by camillo bill to the bartender at stoles and received therefore thirty ounces of gold raw gold in dust and nuggets he bought a round of drinks glorying in the fact that at last he too was spending coarse gold he bet ten ounces on an indian foot-race and won more drinks and an hour later he bet his pile on a seven a ten-spot a deuce and a king in a game of stud poker two players called the bet and he flipped over his whole card it was a seven spot and again he won he quit the game and danced for an hour and between dances he drank whisky he got the hunch that this was his lucky day and that he could win but the hunch called for quick big bets and not for long continued play he rode his hunch and at cutter malone's wheel he tossed fifty ounces on number twenty-one the ivory ball rolled slower and slower

hesitated on the ten and then with a last turn settled into twenty-one he pocketed twenty-eight thousand dollars with a grin the news of the bet spread swiftly and brent became a man of sorts four times more that night he placed big bets and three of the times he won one of these plays also in a game of stud earned him the name by which he became known in the name by which he became known in the number north. With a king and a queen showing in his hand, he mercilessly raised an exposed pair of jacks. Of the six other players in the game, five dropped out. The holder of the jacks stayed for the last draw and checked the bet. Brent laid fifty thousand dollars on his cards, a king, a queen, an eight spot, and a four spot. The other stared at the hand for a long, time. He was a man known for his nerve and his high play, and he knew that Brent knew this. Whispers of the big bet had gone about the room, and men and women crowded the table.

At length the other turned down his cards in token of surrender, and with a laugh Brent turned his whole card face up. It was the ace of diamonds, and an audible gasp hissed from twenty throats. thereafter brent was known as ace in the hole the next morning he deposited one hundred and thirty thousand dollars in dick stole's safe and his pockets still bulged with dust for two days and nights he drank and danced but not a card did he touch nor did he lay any bet when questioned he answered that his hunch was not working the sourdose respected him and treated him as an equal he spent dust lavishly but he did not throw it away then suddenly he bought an outfit and disappeared when the first snow flew he was back and into duck stole safe went many sacks of raw gold he drank harder than ever and spent gold more freely his fame spread to other camps and three men came up from circle to relieve him of his pile he was gambling regularly now and in a game of stud he caught them at the trick by means of which they had won forty thousand dollars from him many miners among them a goodly sprinkling of old-timers were watching the play and many of them had already detected the swindle but after the custom of the country they held their peace

brent never batted an eye upon discovering the trick but when a few moments later it was repeated things happened in stoles and they happened with the rapidity of light one minute after the trouble started there was an ominous silence in the room a circle of men stood and stared at the wreck of a table across which sagged the body of a man killed with his own gun another man with his jaw shattered lay on the floor and a third lay white and still across him with a wide red mark on his forehead where a sack of gold dust had caught him fair and over all stood brent with one leg jammed through the rungs of a broken chair the incident placed ace in the hole in the foremost ranks of the big men of the north he was regarded as the equal of such men as old battles camillo bill waters swift water bill and mcmahon sowerdose sought his acquaintance and chichaco's held him in awe when the snow lay deep he bought the best string of dogs he could find hired an indian musher and again disappeared he was back at christmas for a two weeks carousal and when he hit the trail again he carried with him several gallons of whisky the sourdough shook their heads and exchanged glances at this but a man's business is his own in july he sent his indian down for ten men to work his sluces and much whiskey. In September he came down himself,

and he brought with him a half million in gold. Others had cleaned up big during the summer, and that winter saw Dawson's highest peak of wild orgies and wild spending. Riding a hunch when he first hit town, Brent doubled and tripled his pile, and then, with Jimmy the Ruff, McMan, Camillo Bill, and a few others, they inaugurated such a campaign of reckless spending as the North had never seen and never again did see. Brent was never sober now, and men said he never slept. He was the youngest and by far the strongest of the spenders. The urge of the game was in his blood, and he rode it as he rode his hunches, to the limit of his endurance. All men liked him, open-hearted, generous to the fault,

and square as a die in his dealings, he spent his money like a prince. And where the men liked him, the painted women worshipped him. But they worshipped from afar. For despite the utmost blandishments of the most intriguing of them, he treated all alike, even Kitty, whom men call the queen of the Yukon, failed to hold him in thrall. This dancing girl who had taken the North by storm, who was the North's darling and beautiful plaything, whose boast it was that she had never sought any man,

fell violently in love with Brent. Men saw it, and marveled, for it was known in the camps that she had spurned men who had laid fortunes at her feet. It was not that he feared women, rather he sought them he danced with them froliced with them and then promptly forgot them his one real passion was gambling any game or device whereupon big bets could be laid found him an enthusiastic devotee and his luck became a byword in the north some time your luck will change warned the dancing girl as the two sat one evening in the early fall at a little table and stoles, and drank champagne which cost Brent fifty dollars the court.

And then you'll be broke, and— Brent, who had been idly toying with the rings upon her finger, returned the slender hand to the table. It can't change. It's a part of me. As long as I'm me, I'll be lucky. Look, I'll show you. You want to marry me. You've told me. You've told me. You've told me. me so. Well, I don't want to marry you or anyone else. Wouldn't know what to do with you if I did marry you. You want me to go back on the claim. Well, here's a bargain, just to show you that I can't lose. He pulled a buckskin sack full of gold from his pocket and held it before the girl's eyes. See this sack? It isn't very big. It can't cover many numbers.

numbers. I'm going to stand up in this chair and toss it onto the roulette table over there and play every number it touches. If I lose, I lose the dust. Stole will get that. But that isn't all I'll lose. I'll lose myself, to you. If one of the numbers that this sack falls on don't win, I marry you tonight, and we hit for the claim tomorrow. girl stared at him, fascinated. Do you mean that you'll quit gambling, and you'll sober up and—and live with me?" Again, Brent laughed. Yes, I'll quit gambling and sober up and live with you till—how does it go? Till death us do part?

Toss it! The words of the girl came short, with a curious in-drawing of the breath, and her fingers clutched at the edge of the table till the knuckles whitened. The men who were crowded about the wheel glanced toward the table at the sound, and standing in his chair, Brent waved them to fall back. Then he told him of his bet, while the dancing girl sat with parted lips. Her eyes fastened upon his face. The men at the wheel surged back to give room.

The proposition caused. their fancy. Ace in the hole, Prince of Gamblers, was betting himself, with the odds against him. And every man and woman in the room knew that if he lost, he would keep his word to the last letter. Carefully measuring the distance, Brent balanced the sack in his hand, then with a slow movement of his arm, tossed it onto the table. It struck almost squarely in the center, covering numbers thirteen, fourteen, sixteen, seventeen, nineteen, and twenty.

The croupier spun the wheel and sent the ivory ball spinning on its way. The men who had been playing and the men from the bar crowded close, their eyes in the whirling wheel. Brent sat down in his chair, lighted a cigarette, and filled the two empty shorthy. champagne glasses from the bottle. He glanced across at Kitty. She was leaning forward with her face buried in her arms. Her shoulders were heaving with quick, convulsive sobs. In Brent's heart rose suddenly pity for this girl.

What to him had been a mere prank, a caprice of the moment, was to her a thing of vital import. The black fox fur had found. fallen away from about her neck, exposing a bare shoulder that gleamed white in the light of the swinging lamp. She looked little and helpless, and Brent felt a desire to take her in his arms and comfort her. He leaned toward her, half rose from his chair, and then, at a sound from the table, he settled back. "'Number thirteen wins,' announced the croupier, and the room was.

was suddenly filled with the voices of many men the croupier scribbled a notation upon a piece of paper and together with the sack of dust laid it upon the table between brent and the girl a moment later she raised her head and stared dry-eyed into brent's face here little girl he said gently forgive me i didn't know you really felt that way here this is all yours take it the bet paid six to one the whayer will catch this slip at the bar with a swift motion of her hand the girl swept sack and slip to the floor oh i-i hope you die she cried hysterically and gathering her rap about her she sped from the room end of chapter four by Roger Maline. Chapter 5 of Snowdrift, a story of the Land of the Strong Cold, by James B. Hendricks.

This Libravox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline. Snowdrift by James B. Hendricks. Chapter 5. Luck Turns. Before the advent of the tin horns, who invaded the U.C. at the time of the big rush, a limit in a poker game was a thing unknown. Table stakes did not exist, nor did a man mention the amount he stood to lose when he sat in a game.

When a player took his seat, it was understood that he stood good for all he possessed of property, whatever or wherever it might be. If the play on any hand ran beyond his pile, all he had to do was to announce, the fact and the other players would either draw down to it, or if they wish to continue the play, the pot, including the amount of the short player's last bet, was pushed aside until the last call was made, the short player only participating in the portion of the pot so set aside. If, in the final showdown, his hand was the highest, he raked in this pot and the next high hand collected the subsequent bets. Stud poker was the play most favored by Brent, and when he sat in a game,

the table soon became rimmed with spectators. Other games would break up that the players might look on, and they were generally rewarded by seeing plenty of action. It was Brent's custom to trail along for a dozen hands or more, simply calling moderate bets on good hands, or to, or to, and to, and turning down his cards at the second or third card. Then, suddenly, he would shove out an enormous bet, preferably raising a pair when his own hand showed nothing. If this happened on the second or third card dealt, it invariably gave the other players pause,

for they knew that each succeeding bet would be higher than the first, and that if they stayed for the final call, they would stand to lose heavily, if not be actually wiped out. But they knew also that the bet was as apt to be made on nothing as on a good hand, and should they drop out, they must pass up the opportunity to make a killing. Another whim of Brent's was always to expose his whole card after the play, a trick that aggravated his opponents as much as it amused the spectators.

The result was that many players had followed, into the habit of dropping out of a game when ace in the hole sat in not because they disliked him personally but because as they openly admitted they were afraid of his play many of these spent hours watching his cards not a man among them but knew that he was as square as a die but every man among them knew that his phenomenal luck must sometime desert him and when that time came they intended to you to be in at the killing. For only Brent himself believed that his luck would hold, believed it was as much a part of himself as the color of his hair or his eyes. Among those who refused to play was Johnny Claw, from whom Brent had won $10,000 a month before on three successive hands, two cold bluffs, and a club in the hole, with four clubs showing, against Clarend. Claw's king in the hole with two kings showing.

Unlike the others who had lost to him, Claw nursed a bitter and secret hatred for him, and he determined that when luck did turn, he would profit to the limit of his pile. Johnny Claw was one of the few old-timers whom men distrusted. He was a squaw man who had trapped and traded in the country as far back as any man could remember.

with the coming of more white men and the establishment of saloons along the river claw had ceased his trapping and had confined his trading to the illicit peddling of hooch for the most part among the indians of the interior and to that uglier but more profitable traffic that filled the brothels and the dance-halls of the yukon with painted women from the outside so claw moved among his compeers as a man despised yet accepted, because he was of the north, and of the civilization thereof a component part. Brent's luck held until the night before Thanksgiving, then the inevitable happened. He began to lose. At the roulette wheel and the faro table, he lost $25,000, and later, in a game of stud, he dropped one hundred thousand more. the loss did not worry him any he drank a little more than usual during the play and his plunges came a little more frequently but the cards were not falling his way and when they did fall he almost invariably ran them up against a stronger hand

rumor that the luck of ace in the hole had changed at last spread rapidly through the camp and late in the afternoon of thanksgiving day when the play was resumed spectators crowded the table ten deep. Men estimated Brent's winnings at anywhere from one to five millions, and there was an electric thrill in the air as the players settled themselves in their chairs and counted their stacks of chips. The game was limited to eight players, and Camillo Bill Waters, arriving too late to be included,

promptly brought the seat of a prospector named Troy, paying therefore $20,000 in dust. We're after your hide, he grinned good-naturedly at Brent, and I'm back in the hunch that we're going to hang it on the fence this day. Come and get it, laughed Brent, but I'll give you fair warning that I wear it tight, and before you rip it off, someone's going to get hurt. Cards in hand, he glanced at the tense faces,

round the board. I've got a hunch that this game is going to make history on the Yukon, he smiled, and it better be opened formally with a good stiff round of drinks. While they waited for the liquor, his eye fell upon the face of Johnny Claw, who sat at the table, the second man from his right. I thought you wouldn't sit in a game with me, he said, truculently.

And I wouldn't be. neither while your luck was running, but it's different now. Your luck's busted, and you'll be busted. And I'm right here to get my money back, and some a yearn along with it. Brent laughed. You won't be in the game an hour, claw. I don't like you, and I don't like your business, and the best thing you can do is to cash in right now before the game starts. A moment of tense silence followed Brent's words, for among the men of the Yukon, open insult must be wiped out in blood.

But Claw made no move except to reach out and finger a stack of chips, while men shot sideways glances into each other's faces. The stack of chips rattled upon the cloth under the play of his nervous fingers, and Kitty, who had taken her position, directly behind Brent, with a small slippered foot upon a rung of his chair, tittered. Claw took his cue from the sound and laughed loudly, "'I'll play my cards and you play yorn, and I'll do my cashing in later,' he answered.

"'And here's the drinks, so let's liquor and get to going.' He downed his whiskey at a gulp, the bartender removed the empty glasses, and the big game was on. The play ran rather cautiously at first, even more cautiously than usual. But there was an unwanted tenseness in the atmosphere. Each man had bought $10,000 worth of chips, with the white chips at $100, the reds at $500,

and blues at a thousand, and each man knew that his stack was only a shoestring. after five or six deals camillo bill who sat directly across the table from brent tossed in a red chip on his third card which was a queen claw stayed the next man folded and brent who showed a seven and a nine spot raised a thousand the others dropped and camillo bill saw the raise claw whose exposed cards were a ten spot and a jack hesitated for a moment and tossed in a blue chip camillo bill's next card was an ace claw paired his jack and brent drew a six spot with a grin at brent claw pushed in a blue chip and without hesitation brent dropped in four blue ones raising claw three thousand camillo bill studied the cards tilted his whole card and glanced at its corner and raised brent two thousand claw also surveyed the cards you're holding a four straight damn high he snarled at brent but i've got mine my pair of jacks has got anything you've got beat and camillo ain't got no pair of queens or he'd have boosted your other bet

i'd order raise but i'll just stay and he dropped five blue chips into the pot camillo bill paired his ace with the last card claw drew a deuce and brent a ten spot camillo bill bet on a white chip claw stared at brent's cards for a few moments and merely called and brent laughed here's your white chip bill and i'll just lift it ten thousand I'm that much light in the pot for a minute. Camillo Bill called after a moment's deliberation, and Claw sat staring at the pot. He had just two blue chips left before him. I ain't got ten thousand, he whined. I figure I've got about five thousand outside this here stack,

and if I call for that and lose, I'm busted flat. His hand pushed the two. blue chips toward the pot, hesitated, and was quickly withdrawn. "'Dammed if I do,' he snarled. "'My jacks up ain't worth it. Not again luck like yearn.' He turned over his whole card, which was a deuce, and again Brent laughed and flipped his whole card over. It was the king of spades. "'I haven't got a damned thing, and I never did have. What have you got burnt?

buried, Bill, another ace? Camillo Bill grinned and shook his head. Nope, my down-card's a king, too. All I got is them pair of aces. Where's your guts, Claw? Claw glared at Brent, as the latter bought a new stack of chips, scribbled an IOU for ten thousand upon a scrap of paper, and tossed it across to Camillo Bill. Then, clutching his two chips, he rose from the table. "'You just done that to get me,' he growled.

"'I ain't got no show in this game. "'If you can't beat me yourself, "'you'll run me up again a better hand till I'm busted "'if you lose money doing it.' "'You've got it doped right, Claw,' said Brent, evenly. "'I told you you wouldn't last an hour, "'and if you'd have listened to you, to me, you'd have been eight thousand better off. Your hour isn't up yet. We've got plenty of

time to get the rest of it. You'll raise hell getting the rest of it, muttered the man as he walked toward the bar. Troy, who had sold his seat to Camilla Bill, slipped into the vacated chair. The incident served to liven the game up, and thereafter red and blue chips outnumbered the white ones in nearly every pot. There was no thought of stopping for supper, and when the game broke up long past midnight, Brent had lost $300,000. He turned to Kitty, who had never left her post at the back of his chair. Come on, girl, let's go find something to eat in some fuzzy water. He smiled. They sure had my number tonight, but... but I'll go after them tomorrow."

Brent ordered and drank three glasses of whiskey while waiting for the meal to be served, and after it was over, the girl leaned back in her chair and studied him as she sipped her champagne. "'You're different than you were a year ago,' she said." Brent laughed. "'Sure, I was a poor man, then.' The girl straightened in her chair and, interrupted him abruptly. And you'll never amount to a dam until you're a poor man again, she exclaimed,

with such feeling that Brent stared at her in surprise. What? What do you mean? I mean just what I said. A year ago, you were some man. Folks say you're a mining engineer, educated in a college. What are you now? You're a gam.

That's what you. you are, and the hooch is putting its mark on you, too, and it's a shame." "'What in the world is the matter with you, Kitty?' The man stared at her in surprise. "'The hooch don't hurt me any, and I only play for the fun of the game.' "'No, you don't. You play because it's got into your blood, and you can't help playing. And you'll keep on playing till you're busted, and it'll be a good thing when you're

you are. Your luck has changed now, and they'll get you. I am still playing on their money, retorted Brent a little nettled at the girl's attack. If they clean me out, all right. They'll only win the half-million I took out of my two claims. The rest of it I took away from them. Anyway, whose business is it? he asked sullenly. It ain't nobody's business but yours. It's, I wish to God it was mine. Everybody knows the hooch is getting you, and that is just what they all say. It's a shame, but it's his own business. I'm the only one that could say anything to you, and I'm—I'm sorry I did. They're right. It's my business and no one else's. If they think I'm so damned far gone, let them come and get my pile. I'll still be. I'll still have the claims, and I'll go out and bring in another stake and go after them harder than ever.

No, you won't. They'll get the claims, too. And you won't have the nerve, nor the muscles, to go out and make another strike. When you once bust, you'll be a bum, a has-been, right. I suppose, sneered Brent, thoroughly angry now, that I should marry you and hit out for the claim so we could keep what's left in the family, and you'd be the family. The girl laughed, a trifle hysterically. No, I wouldn't marry you on a bet, now. I was foolish enough to think of it once, but not now. I've done some thinking since that night you tossed that sack of dust on the board.

If you married me and did go back to where you were, if you quit the cards and the hood, hooch and got down to be what you ought to be, where would I stand? Who am I, and what am I? You would stick by your bargain, but you wouldn't want me. You could never go back outside, with me. And if you wouldn't quit the cards and the hooch, I wouldn't have you, not like you are now, flabby and muddy-eyed, and your breath so heavy with rot-gut you could light it with a match. No, that dream's busted, and inside of a week you'll be busted too. Setting down her glass, the girl quitted the table abruptly, leaving Brent to finish the bottle

of champagne alone, after which he sauntered down to Cutter Malone's Klondike Palace and made a night of it, drinking and dancing. The week that followed was a week of almost unbroken losses for Brent. In vain he plunged, betting his cards more wildly and more recklessly than ever before, in an effort to force his luck. But it only hastened the end, which came about midnight upon the Thursday following Thanksgiving day, at the moment he looked into the eyes of Camillo Bill Waters and called a bet of 50,000. That's good, he announced, as Bill showed aces up, and that just finishes me.

I held the claims at a million, and that's the last of it. End of Chapter 5. Recording by Roger Maline. Chapter 6 of Snowdrift, a story of the Land of the Strong Cold by James B. Hendricks. Libravox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline. Snowdrift by James B. Hendricks. Chapter 6.

The dealer it stole. On the morning after the final game of stud in which he had slipped the last dollar of his fortune across the green cloth, Brent threw back his blankets and robes and sat upon the edge of his bunk. He had long since discussed. carted his tent for a cabin, and his eyes took in the details of the rough furnishings, in the gray light that filtered through the heavily frosted window panes. He drew on his shirt and trousers and glanced at his watch. It was ten o'clock.

He built a roaring fire, broke the ice that had formed upon the surface of a huge pail of water, filled his coffee pot, and set his washpan beside it upon the stove. then he returned to his bunk and feeling beneath his pillow withdrew a flat quart bottle and took a long drink when the water had warmed in the pan he shaved before a small mirror that hung above his rude washstand twice during the process he returned to the bottle for a swallow of liquor kitty was right he confided to his reflection in the glass my luck did turn and now-i was right he confided to his reflection in the glass my luck did turn and now i'm broke he finished shaving and as he was about to turn from the washstand paused and thrusting his face close to the mirror subjected it to careful scrutiny eyes are a little muddy he grudgingly admitted and face a little pouchy and red but hell it isn't the hooch i don't drink enough to hurt me any it's being indoors indoors so much and the smoke two days on the trail will fix that i've got to slip out and make another strike and when i come back that bunch will be in for an awful cleaning he threw a handful of coffee into the pot and slice some bacon into a frying-pan and when the grease ran he broke a half-dozen eggs and scrambled them with the bacon she said i wouldn't have the nerve nor the mud

to hit out and locate another claim he grinned as he swallowed a draught of scalding coffee i'll show her he finished his meal washed the dishes and drew on his mucklucks and blanket coat as he opened the door he was met by a blast of wind-driven snow that fairly took his breath and drawing back into the room he shut the door i thought it was pretty dark in here for this time of day some blizzard he drew down the ear-flaps of his fur cap hunted up his heavy mittens and once more opening the door pushed out into the storm twenty minutes later he entered stowell's place and as he stamped the snow from his garments and beat it from his cap and mittens camillo bill greeted him from the bar hello ace in the hole i'm buying a drink the room was deserted except for the bartender who promptly set out bottle and glasses let's go over here suggested camillo bill when the empty glasses had been returned to the bar he led the way to a small table bring the bottle and glasses called brent over his shoulder and camillo bill seconded the order with a nod now he began as brent filled his glass let's get this here deal straightened out in the first place is them two claims of yearn worth a million brent flushed hotly but camillo bill forestalled his reply hold on now i didn't mean what you're thinking about and you ought to know me well enough to know i didn't when you said them two claims was worth a million

Not me, nor no one else questioned your word, did we? Well, what I'm getting at is, Are they worth more than a million, and how much more? Brent laughed. They're worth more than a million. How much more, I don't know. I took out half a million last summer, and I don't think I'm halfway to bedrock at the deepest.

Camillo Bill nodded. All right, that's what I want. wanted to know. You see, there's five or six of us holds your slips and markers that totals a million over and above what was in stole safe. I'll just cash them slips and markers and take over the claims." Brent shrugged. Go ahead. It don't make any difference to me how you divide them up." Camillo Bill grinned. It does make a hell of a lot of difference to you how we divide them.

up," he said. It's like this. I like your style. You're a tilicum, a natural-borne sourdough. Your white cleaned through. When you said there's so-and-so much and stole safe, the dust was there. And when you knowed your claims was worth more than a million, you says a million, instead of stretching it to two million, and maybe sticking someone.

Now, when I cashed them marching them margaret, you said a million, you said a million, instead of stretching it to two million, and maybe sticking someone. cash them markers that's out again the claims, and figure in the slips and markers I hold myself, I'll have a million invested, won't I? And that's what I won, a million, not a million and a half, or two million, just a million. Well, when I get that million back, you get the claims back, see? Brent stared at the man in amazement. What do you mean? I lost the claims, lost them fair and square. No, you didn't, interrupted the other. You lost just what your slips and markers says you lost, and not a damn scent more. The claims was only a sort of security for the dust. Collateral the banks would call it. Am I right or wrong? Brent drank the whiskey

in his glass, and, refilling it, shoved the bottle towards Camillo Bill, but the man shook his head. No more for me. Too much of that stuff ain't no good. But about them claims, am I right or wrong? You're the whitest damned white man that walks on two legs, if that's what you mean, answered Brent in a low voice. I'll make the claims over to you now. Don't say that, replied Camillo Bill. There was five or six of us that figured out this play. all friends a-yern. We all of us agreed to do what I'm doing. It was only a question of who could afford to carry the load till next fall. I can. Right's right, and wrong ain't deuce high, nowhere's. A million's a million, and it ain't two million, and you don't need to make over them claims to me neither. Just you sign a paper given me the right to go into him and take out a million,

and we'll tear up them slips and markers but what if there isn't a million in them i believe there is much more than a million but what if they're spotted and i just happen to hit the spots or what if bedrock shows a lot shallower than i think it will what if what if what if what if the claims peter out i ain't no better off if i'll hold title to em am i if they ain't good for the million what the hell difference does it make who owns em i'd rather someone else holds a bum claim than me any day he added with a grin and now that's settled what you goin to do while i'm gettin out my dust brent drank his liquor and reached for the bottle why i'm goin to hit out and locate another strike he said a trifle thickly regarded him thoughtfully. Where at? Why, I don't know. There are plenty of creeks.

Eldorado, Ophir, Doolittle. The other laughed. Listen here, he said. While you've been here in town rolling him high and sopping up hooch, there's been a hell of a change on the creeks. Ain't you stopped to notice that Dawson's more and twice as big

as he was in August? and that the country is gettin full of tin horns and chichaco's well it is and every creek's filed that's worth a dam and so's every one that ain't they ain't a claim to be took up no more on bonanza nor o'feer nor siwash nor el dorado nor alhambra nor sulphur nor excelsis nor christo nor do little nor hardly none on no pup nor dry wash that runs into him. All right, I'll go farther then, retorted Brent, pouring more liquor into his glass. I'll go beyond the last creek that's staked, and by God I'll find gold.

Camillo Bill shook his head. Look a here, you ain't in no shape to hit out on no long trip. You've laid up too long to tackle it, and you've drunk too much of that damned hooch. it ain't none o my business what you do or what you don't do maybe you ain't drinkin enough of it i don't know but that there's damn poor stuff to train on for a long trail in winter and i'm telling it to you that winter sure hit these diggings and hit em hard tell you what i'll do i've been nosin' round buying claims while you've been laying a bed daytime sleeping off the hooch i've a-o'hooch i've been laying a bed daytime sleeping off the hooch i've got more in what I can tend to alone. I'll give you two thousand a month to help me look after him, and you can sort of ease off the hooch and get broke in easy again. If you sleep nights

and keep outdoors daytimes and lay off the cards in the hooch, you'll be good as ever again spring. Not on your life, flared Brent. I'm as good a man right now as I ever was, and a damn sight too good a man to be anybody's pensioner. You know damned well that you don't need me at two thousand a month, or any other figure, except at an ounce a day, the same as anyone else gets. What the hell's the matter with everybody? A querulous note crept into Brent's voice. I tell you, I'm as good as a man as I ever was. Kitty told me the same thing, that I'm drinking too much. Whose business is it if I am?

But I'm not, and I'll hit the trail tomorrow and show you all. So long, said Camillo Bill, as he rose from his chair. I told you it wasn't no one's business but yearn, so they ain't no argument there. Only just you remember that I'm a friend of yearn, and so is kitty, and a man might have a damn sight worse friend than her. at that. Later in the day, Stowell accosted Brent as he stood drinking alone at the bar. They romped right up your middle, didn't they, the last week or so? Brent nodded. They cleaned me out. I played them too high for the cards I was holding.

What you figuring on doing now? Going to hit out and locate another claim when this storm lets up? You've got a long trip ahead. Everything's state. So they say, but I guess I'll find something somewhere. Why don't you take an inside job this winter? Hell of a lot of grief out there in the snow, with only a tent and a bunch of huskies. What kind of a job? I'm figuring on starting up a new layout, Farrow. How'd you like to deal? How'd you like to deal? just till spring when the weather lets up a little. You can't tell what you're staking under ten foot of snow anyhow. I never dealt Farrow. It won't take you long to learn. I only run one big game now, because I can't trust no one to deal another. But I could get plenty of

play on one if I had it going. I figure that the boys all like you, and you'd be a good card. they all know you're square and i'd get a good play on your layout what do you say it's a damn sight better than mushing out there in the cold what will you pay well how would five hundred a month and five per cent of the winnings of the layout do you wouldn't need to come on till around nine in the evening and stay till the play was through i'll throw in your supper and dinner at midnight and we'll throw in your supper and dinner at midnight and we'll throw you'll throw in your supper and dinner at midnight and we'll won't keep any bar tab. You're welcome to what drinks you want, only you've got to keep sober when you're on shift." Brent did not answer immediately. A couple of men came through the door in a whirl of flying snow, and he shivered slightly as the blast of cold air struck him. Stowell was right. There would be a hell of a lot of grief out there on the long snow trail. I guess, I'll take you up on that, he said. When do I start? It'll take me a day or so to get rigged up.

Let's make it day after tomorrow night. Meantime, you can do your eating and drinking here. Just make yourself at home. The boys will be tickled when they hear the news. It'll spread around the camp pretty lively that you're dealing Farrow at Stoles, and we'll get good play, see? during the next two days brent spent much time in stowles drinking at the bar and watching the preparation of the new lay-out over which he was to preside and to him there at different times came eight or ten of the sourdows of the yukon each with a gruff offer of assistance but carefully couched in words that could give no offence you'll be on your feet for long if you need any change in the means of the means you'll be on your feet for long if you need any change in the means time just holler imparted one said another here just slip this poke in your jeans i ain't needin it something'll turn up directly and you can slip it back then but brent declined all offers with thanks and to each he explained that he had a job and each when he learned the nature of the job either answered rather evasively or congratulated him in terms that somehow seemed lacking in enthusiasm. Old Beddles was the only man to voice

open disapproval. "'Hell!' he blurted. "'Anyone can deal feral. Anyone can gamble with another man's money and eat another man's grub and drink another man's hooch. But it's along the cricks and the gulches you'll find the regular he-man sourdows. At the words of this oldest son, settler of the Yukon, Brent strangely took no offense. Rather, he sought to excuse his choice of profession. I'm only doing it till spring, then I'm going to hit into the hills, and when I come back, we'll play them higher than ever, he explained. I'm a little soft now, and don't feel quite up to tackling the winter trail. Humph, grunted bettles. You won't be coming back, because you ain't never going to go. If you're soft now, you'll be a damn sight softer again,

spring. Dealing from a box and lapping up hooch ain't a-going to put you in shape for to chao moose meat and wrestle a hundred-pound pack. It'll sap your guts. But Brent laughed at the old man's warning, and the next evening took his place behind the layout with the card spread before him. as stowell had predicted brent proved to be a great drawing card for the gambling house play at his lay-out ran high and the table was always crowded but nearly all the players were chichaco's men knew to the country who had struck it lucky and were intent upon making a big splash among these tin horns and foreflusher's ace in the hole was a deity for among petty gamblers he was a prince of gamblers rumors and fantastic lies were rife at all the bars concerning his deeds he had cleaned up ten million in a summer on a claim he killed three men with three blows of his fist the queen of the yukon was all caked in on him and he wouldn't have her he tossed her a slip for half a million that he had won on a single bet at the wheel and because she was sore at him she grounded into the floor with her foot he had bet a million on an ace in the hole hence his name he had gambled away twenty million in a week

and so it went men fell over themselves to make his acquaintance that they might ostentatiously boast of that acquaintance at the bars one would casually mention that ace in the hole says to me the other day he says, Or, I was telling Ace in the Hole about one time, I and a couple of tarts down in Frisco, or, me and Ace in the Hole was eaten supper the other night, and he says to me, When he was off duty, men crowded to stand next to him at the bar. They plied him with drinks and invited him to dine,

all of which meant increased business for Stole. so that upon several occasions when brent was too drunk to attend to business stole himself dealt his game and said nothing it was inevitable that this sudden popularity should in a measure turn brent's head personally he detested the loud-mouthed fawning chichaco's but as his association with them grew his comradeery with the real sourdows diminished they did not openly or purposely cut him they still greeted him as an equal they drank with him and occasionally they took a fling at his game but there was a difference that brent was quick to notice and quick to resent but powerless to dispel he was a professional gambler now and they were mining men that was all only once since he had taken up his new vocation had he seen kitty she had come into stowles one evening and slipping behind the table stood at his elbow until the end of the deal as he shuffled the cards preparatory to returning them into the box she placed her lips close to his ear who were all your friends she whispered indicating the tin horns and chichaco's that rimmed the table table. Brent flushed slightly, and answered nothing.

"'So this is what you meant by hitting the trail when they broke you, is it?' "'Well, take it from me. It's a short trail, and a steep grade slanting down. And when you're in the toboggan, it ain't going to take long to hit the bottom, with a bump.' And before Brent could reply, she had slipped away and lost herself in the crowd. night after night although his eyes sought the crowd he never saw her again nor did he find her upon his excursions to the nugget or to cutter malone's klondike palace if she were purposely avoiding him she was succeeding admirably along in february brent was surprised one day to receive in his own cabin a visit from johnny claw what do you want he asked as the man stood in his doorway claw entered closing the door behind him he removed his cap and mittens and fumbling beneath his parka produced a sealed bottle of whisky which he set upon the table oh just dropped in for a little visit ben outside try a shot of this hooch better in anything stole's got

brent sat down upon the edge of his bunk and motioned the man to a chair didn't know you were so damned friendly with me that you would lug me in a bottle of fooch from the outside he said what's on your chest claw produced a corkscrew and opened the bottle then he poured a half tumbler into each of two glasses let's liquor he said offering one to brent good stuff ain't it brent nodded damned good but what's the idea idea is just this announced claw eyeing him shrewdly you damn near busted me but i ain't holding that against you he paused and brent who knew that he was lying waited for him to proceed you told me right plain out that you didn't like the business i was in that's all right too i suppose it ain't no hell of a good business but someone's got to bring em in or you bucks wouldn't have nobody to dance with but laying all that aside you're dealing the big game for stole yep well listen you're hitting the hoot's too hard for the suit stole at the end of the month you're out of a job see he's gonna let you out cause you're showing up too regular with a bun on. Says it's got to where you're crocked so often he might as well be dealing the game as self. Who did he tell this to? You? The other leered.

No, not to me. He don't like me no more in what you do. But I happen to hear him telling it to old Bettles and Camillo Bill. That's right, says Bettles. Fire him and maybe. we can get him into the hills. I'm afraid not, says Camillo Bill. Leastways not till spring. And at the rate he's going, by that time he'll be counting bees. It's a shame, says Bettles. There's a damn good man gone wrong. He is a damn good man, says Stowell. Ain't many I'd trust to deal that big game. He's square as hell, but the hooch has got him. the hell it has said brent with a short laugh they're damned fools i don't drink enough to hurt me any i'm as good a man as i ever was sure you be assented claw what little you drink wouldn't hurt no one what's it any of their business you don't need no guardian to tell you when to take a drink he paused and refilled brent's glass

you're square as hell says stowell but what's a-getting you he's goin to fire you ain't he well well why not get even with em and at the same time clean up big for yourself they ain't no chance to get caught what do you mean brent's voice rassed at trifle harshly but claw did not notice i got it all doped out cold deck him and i'll play again the fixed deck and make a cleanin and we'll split you mean i mean this me and you will fix up a deck and i'll copy off how the cards lays then you slip em into the box and start the deal and i'll lay the bets of course knowing how they'll fall i can win whenever i want to no one'll ever believe it's a frame up cause they know you're square and likewise they know you hate me and they wouldn't figure we'd get together i'll make the play strong by comin in for a night or two before we spring it and bragging that i've got a system then i'll have my slip a paper and i'll look at it and make bets and of course i'll lose cause they ain't no system and the next night i'll do the same and the third night will slip in the fixed deck and then my system'll win and all the time i'll be sneering at you like i hated your guts the sentence was never finished in a blind rage brent hurled himself upon the man and both crashed to the floor together the fight was fast and furious while it lasted but flabby and

and with his brain befuddled with liquor. Brent was no match for the other, who, a year before, he could have killed with his bare hands. He got in several good blows at the start, which slowed up his antagonist and rendered him incapable of inflicting serious damage later, when Brent, winded and gasping,

was completely at his mercy. A referee would unhesitatingly have declared a Claw's fight, for when he slipped from the cabin it was to leave brent nursing two half-closed and rapidly purpling eyes with nose and lips to match when four days later he showed up at stowles the latter called him aside and weighing out what was coming to him in dust informed him that his services were no longer required End of Chapter 6. Recording by Roger Maline. Chapter 7 of Snowdrift, a story of the land of the strong cold by James B. Hendricks. This Libervox recording is in the public domain.

Recording by Roger Maline. Snowdrift by James B. Hendricks. Chapter 7. Where do I go from here? From Stoles, Brent drifted to the north. Nugget, where for a month he dealt Farrow on percentage in a limit game, for with the tin horns and the Chichakos had come also limits and table stakes. Here, the Queen of the Yukon passed and repassed his layout a dozen times in an evening, on her way to and from the dance hall in the rear, but never by even so much as a look did

she admit that she recognized him. On the afternoon of his first payday, he sat in a table-stakes game of stud, and a run of luck netted him $700. Whereupon he promptly went on a spree that lasted three days, and when he again showed up for duty, another dealer was presiding over his layout. The next day, Cutter Malone called him into a little back room and sounded him out. "'Hear how you're out of a job,' quoth Cutter, as he set two glasses and a bottle upon the little table between them. Brent nodded, and the other continued, "'Wan to keep on dealing?'

"'Why, yes, I guess so. I'm going to hit the trail right after the breakup, but until that comes I might as well be doing something.' "'Well, I got a good percent proposition for you. you'll draw quite a little trade you done it at stoles and then swung the heft of it over to the nugget is it a limit game asked brent what percentage will you pay malone filled the glasses from the bottle and having drank combed at his black beard with his fingers well that's a cordon this here game i'm figuring on is a sure thing that is a course lots of turns has got to lose, but in the long run she wins big. What do you mean a sure thing?

Cutter grinned craftily. Do you ever hear tell of a double-slotted box? Well, I've got one, and... Brent interrupted him with a short laugh. What you mean is that because I've got the reputation for being square, you want to use me for a decoy, and when they come... in, rob them on a percentage. Well, that's a-talking it out kind of plain.

You can go to hell, exclaimed Brent, and that's taking it out kind of plain, too. Cutter laughed. Don't get sore about it. Business is business, and I'm into it to get the money, one way and another. If you don't want a deal, how about going behind the bar? That's a square enough game. He paused and grinned.

And I wouldn't mind for once to having someone handle in my dust that I wouldn't feel like friskin every time he went out the door to see how much of it had stuck to him. And so, Brent began tending bar in the notorious Klondike Palace, and Kitty, as she faced him for the first time with her dancing partner and called for a drink, addressed him in words that to her. partner meant nothing. Your toboggan is going good now, ain't it, ace in the hole? You're most there now, most of the bump that lays at the end of the trail.

And Brent served the drinks and answered nothing. The Klondike Palace was the wildest and most notorious of all the dives of the big camp. Unlike Stoles and the nugget, everything downstairs was in one big room. the bar occupied a whole side the gambling tables and devices were in the rear and the remainder of the wide floor space was given over to dancing at the rear of the bar a flight of stairs led upward to the rooms of the painted women and it was concerning one of these painted women that three weeks later brent had his first run in with cutter malone it was bitter cold and snowing thickly and Brent, with lowered head, was boring through the white smother on his way to work. He paused in the light that shone dully through the heavily frosted windows of Malones, and was about to push open the door, when from the thick darkness around the side of the building

he heard a woman scream. It was a sharp, terrible scream that ended in a half-muffled shriek. and without an instant's hesitation brent dashed around the corner the klondike palace was located well upon the edge of the big camp beyond it being only a few scattered cabins scarcely fifty feet from the street he came upon a man standing over a woman who was cowering in the snow neither saw him and even as he looked the man struck with a coiled dog-whip again the woman screamed and the man jumped upon her and started to kick her first with one foot then with the other as she lay in the snow like an avalanche brent hurled himself upon the man his fist catching him squarely upon the side of the head and sending him sprawling without waiting for him to get up brent jerked the woman to her feet and pushed her toward the street he saw then that she was one of the girls who roomed over malones and that she was clad in the thinnest of silk stockings and the flimsyest of semi-transparent gowns one of her high-heeled slippers had been lost in the snow scarce able to stand the girl staggered whimpering toward the light turning upon the man who had regained his feet brent found himself looking into the muzzle of a forty-five so close was the man that even in the darkness he could see his face it was johnny claw and brent saw that the recognition was mutual

claw's thick lips writhed back in a grin of hate and brent could hear his breath sucking heavily between his clenched teeth eye to eye they stared as brent's lips moved in a sneer well you damned pimp why don't you shoot to his intense surprise the gun wavered dropped to the man's side and jamming it into the pocket of his fur coat clawed pushed past him toward the street, mumbling thick curses. Later that night, when business was a little slack during a dance, Malone motioned him aside. Say, what the hell be you butting another folks' business for? What do you mean? You know what I mean? What did you go knocking Johnny Claw down for, when he was given that damn violet what was coming to her,

holding out on him. Giving her what was coming! My God, man! He would have kicked her to death there in the snow. That's what he would have done. Well, what if he did? She's hisn, ain't she? A surge of swift anger almost overcame, Brent.

His fists clenched, and it was with difficulty that he refrained from striking Malone down where he stood. Instead, he leaned a trifle closer to the man. Just let this stick to you, Malone, he said. What passes between me and claw, or me and anyone else, when it isn't on your premises and on your time, is my business, see? Malone laughed shortly, and with a shrug turned away,

while Brent served drinks to a couple who had left the dance and sauntered. to the bar. The couple were kitty and a strapping young Chichaco called Moosehide Charlie, the name referring to an incident that had occurred early in the winter, when he had skinned out a moose and, finding himself far from camp and no blankets, had wrapped himself in the green hide and gone to sleep. In the morning he awoke to find himself encased in an iron-hard coffin of frozen moose-hide, unable to move hand or foot. Luckily a party of hunters found him and spent half a day thawing him out over a roaring fire.

Said Kitty to Moose Hyde Charlie, as she sipped at the liquid by courtesy, was called Port Wine. That's Johnny Claw over there by the door. He's one, two, three with Cutter Malone. Some say they're partners. Her companion swallowed. his liquor and glanced indifferently toward the object of the girl's remarks it ain't

worrying me none who he's partners with i don't like the looks of him nohow shh warned kitty what a man learns in this country don't hurt him any i was just telling you so if you ever happened to run foul of claw you'd know enough to keep your eye on malone too guess i ain't going to run foul of him. Come on, let's dance. Kitty had not even favored him by so much as a glance, but as Brent removed the glasses from the bar, he smiled. The days were rapidly lengthening on the Yukon. At noon each day the sun was higher in the heavens, and its increased heat was heralded by little streams of snow water that trickled over the ice of the creeks. One evening, when the grip of winter had broken and the feel of spring was in the air,

Moose Hyde Charlie stood at the bar drinking with Johnny Claw. It was too early for the dancers, and three or four of the girls sat idly along the opposite wall. As Brent served the drinks, he noticed that Claw appeared to be urging the younger man into a deal of some kind. He caught a word now and then, of reference to dumps, loosings and waterheads. Moose-hide seemed to be holding out. He was a man who drank little, and after two drinks he turned from the bar, shaking his head. Come on, urged Claw. Have another. No, two or three's my limit. I don't aim to get drunk. Drunk hell, laughed Claw. I don't either. You've only had.

two. Make it three, and I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll throw off a little on that claim. I ain't got time to fool with it no ways.' Moose-hide returned to the bar. Well, one more, then, and that's all. But you'll have to throw off more and just a little on that property for me to touch it. Claw filled his glass and pushed the bottle toward the other, and as Moose-hide Charlie measured his liquor, out of the tail of his eye, Brent saw claw pour something from a small vial into his own glass and returned the vial swiftly to his pocket. The next moment he was talking earnestly to

moose-hide, who, as he listened, toyed with his glass, rubbing into patterns the few drops of liquor he had spilled upon the bar. Cutter Malone had himself carried a tray of drinks to be served at one of the poker tables in the rear, and just at this moment, tray and glasses struck the floor with a loud crash. Moosehide Charlie turned quickly at the sound, and as he did so, Brent saw Johnny Claw deftly switch the glasses upon the bar. Malone returned, grumbling at his clumsiness, for another tray of drinks, and Claw raised his glass. I guess we can deal all right. Let's drink and then we'll slip into the back room there and figure it out. As Moose Hyde picked up the glass before him, Brent reached out swiftly and took it from his fingers.

He looked into it for a second and tossed its contents onto the floor. Better fill her up again, he said. There was a fly in it. a fly on the yukon with the river still frozen and the sodden snow three feet deep on the ground moose hyde stared and before brent could move cutter malone had floored him with a blow from a heavy bottle the truth flashed upon moosehide charlie one blow of his fist settled claw while with his other hand he reached across the bar and jerked a gun from the hand of his hand from the hand of his hand cutter malone the poker players rose from their chairs and started for the bar but moose hide motioned them back with the gun just go on with your game boys he said meaningly don't mind me and as they settled into their places he stepped around the bar keeping malone covered kitty who had been chatting with the girls on the opposite side of the room darted across the the floor and brushing past Moose Hyde knelt beside Brent. Just raise up his head, girl, and throw some water in his face, ordered Moose Hyde,

and pour a little liquor down his throat. If he can't swallow it, it'll make him gag and bring him to. Then he turned to Malone. And you, you damn crook, you get busy and weigh out what's coming to him, and weigh a damn quirk. And weigh a damn crook. quick and weigh it right cause if it ain't right i'm a comin back here with about forty or ninety of my friends and i'm telling it to you we'll gut this damn joint and you along with it brent only partially revived under the water and choking whisky and between them they managed to get him out the door and on to moose-hide sled then they hauled him to his cabin and put him to bed where he lay for two weeks, delirious with fever, while Kitty stayed day and night at his side and nursed him. Another week passed, during which the girl came daily and cooked his meals, and made him get up for a little while each day while she aired and rearranged his blankets. At length came a day when he

rose and dressed himself and stayed up till evening. You won't be needing me anymore. said the girl simply as she stood in the doorway late in the afternoon she pointed to two small buckskin sacks which she had laid upon the table there's your pay that was coming to you from cutter malone and a sack that moose hide charlie left for you moose hide charlie he don't owe me anything says he owes you a whole lot and he wanted me to give you that he's gone off on a t'allie charlie he's gone off on a t'allie trip up Indian River. Brent picked up the sack, which was a dozen times the weight of the other, and extended it toward the girl. Give this back to him, he said shortly. I don't need it. Kitty did not take it. You do need it, she said. How long will that pinch of dust last you? And what are you going to do when it's gone? It don't make any different. It don't make any different. what I do when it's gone. Whatever I do, I won't live on charity. And he tossed the sack past

her through the doorway, where it buried itself in the snow. You're a fool, ace in the hole, she said quietly. A damn fool. The man nodded slowly. That's right, I reckon. Anyway, we won't quarrel about it. Will you do me just one more face? What is it? Take this dust and get me a bottle of hooch, a quart bottle, two of them. No, I won't. Brent rose to his feet. I'll have to go myself, then, he said as he cast his eyes about for his hat. You ain't able. You're weak as a cat, and you'd fall down in the snow. I'll get up again, then.

He found the hat and put it on. I'll go. The words were hurled at him, and he handed her cutter Malone's sack. Never mind that. Take it, or I won't touch the hooch. Reluctantly, she took it, and in half an hour she was back, and without a word, deposited two quart bottles upon the table. will you drink with me brent asked as he drew the cork no i'm going now brent rose to his feet and held out his hand

good-bye kitty he said gravely i know what you've done for me and i won't forget it you'll come to see me sometimes no i hate you and if you could see yourself for you-you can see yourself the way I see you, knowing what you are and what you ought to be, you would hate yourself." Brent flushed under the sting of the words. "'I'm as good a man as I ever was,' he muttered, defiantly. The girl sneered. "'You are, like hell. Why, you ain't even got a job now. You're a bum.

You hit the bump that I told you was at the end. of your trail. Now, where do you go from here?" And before Brent could reply, she was gone. Where do I go from here? he repeated slowly, as he sank into a chair beside his table and swallowed a stiff drink of whiskey. And where do I go from here? he babbled meaninglessly, three hours later, when, very drunk, his head settled slowly forward upon on his folded arms and he slept. of Camillo Bill. With the rapidly lengthening days, the sodden snow thawed and was carried away by the creeks which were running waste deep on top of the ice. New snow fell, lay dazzling white

for a day or two, and then under the ever-increasing heat of the sun, it too turned sodden and sullen and gray, and added its water to the ever-increasing torrent of the creeks. bare patches of ground showed upon south slopes the ice in the creeks let go and was borne down by the torrents in grinding jamming flows then the big river broke up wild geese and ducks appeared heading northward wild flowers in a riot of blazing color followed up the mountain sides upon the heels of the retreating snow banks and with bewildering swiftness the yukon country leaped from winter into summer from his little cabin carter brent noted the kaleidoscopic change of seasons and promised himself that as soon as the creeks receded into their normal beds he would hit the gold trail he ate little drank much and spent most of his days in reading from some books left him by a wandering englishman who had come in overland from the northwest territories where for a year or more he had prowled aimlessly among the hudson's bay posts and the outposts of the mountain the books were for the most part government reports geological and geodetical upon the Canadian north.

She said, I am a bum, he muttered to himself one evening as he laid aside his book, and in the gathering darkness walked to the door and watched the last play of sunlight upon the distant glittering peaks. But I'll show her, I'll show her where I'll go from here. I'm as good a man as I ever was. This statement that he had at first made to others he now found necessary to make to himself. A dozen times a day he would solemnly assure himself that he was as good a man as he ever was

and that when he got ready to hit the trail he would show them. The sunlight faded from the peaks and as he turned from the doorway, his eyes fell upon his pack-straps that hung from their peg on the wall. Reaching for his hat, he stepped to the door and peered out to make sure that no one was watching. Then he stooped and fixed his straps to a half-sack of flour, which he judged would weigh about 50 pounds. After some difficulty, he got the pack onto his back and started for the bank of the river, a quarter of a mile away.

A hundred yards from the cabin, he stopped for breath. his shoulders ate and the muscles of his neck felt as though they were being torn from their moorings as he pushed his forehead against the tump line with the sweat starting from every pore he essayed a few more steps stumbled and in clumsily catching his balance his hat fell off as he stooped to recover it the weight of the pack forced him down and down until he was flat on his belly with his face in the mud. For a long time he lay, panting, until the night breeze chilled the sweat on his skin, and he shivered. Then he struggled to rise,

gained his hands and knees, and could get no farther. Again and again he tried to rise to his feet, but the weight of the pack held him down. He remembered that between the Chilkut and Lake Linderman he had risen out of the mud with a hundred pounds on his shoulders, and thought nothing of it. He wriggled from the straps, and carrying and resting, staggered back to his cabin and sank into a chair. He took a big drink and felt better.

It's the fever, he assured himself. It left me weak. I'll be all right in a day or so. I'm as good a man as I ever was, only, little out of practice. After that, Brent stayed closer than ever to his cabin until the day came when there was not enough to dust left in his little buckskin sack to pay for a quart of hooch. He bought a pint, and as he drank it in his cabin, decided he must go to work until he got strong enough to hit the trail. Houses were going up everywhere, houses of boards that were taking the place of the tents and the cabins of the previous year. Work there was a plenty, and the laborers were few.

Chichakos were pouring in by the thousands and staking clear to the mountain tops, but none of them could work. Crazed by the lure of gold, they pitted the hillsides and valleys and muck-like gnomes in their wild scramble for riches. Brent worked for a week in a sawmere. and then quit, bought some hooch and some necessary food, and retired to his cabin to

re-read his reports, and laugh at the efforts of the hillside miners. The old-timers were scattered out in the hills, and the tin horns and chichakos who had worshipped at his shrine were dispersed, or had forgotten him. Life moved swiftly in the big camp. Yesterday's hero would be forgotten to Marry. and the name of ace in the hole meant nothing to the newcomers occasionally he met one of the old-timers who would buy him a drink and hurry on about his business spasmodically brent worked at odd jobs he fired a river steamboat on a round trip to fort gibbon always he promised himself pretty soon now he would be ready to hit the trail stampedes were of almost daily occurrence but brent was never in on them and so the summer wore on and still he had not hit the trail

i'll just wait now for snow he decided late in august then i'll get a good dog team together and make a real rush there's no use hitting out with a polling boat the creeks are all staked and backpacking is too hard work for a white man man? I'm as good a man as I ever was, and when the snow comes, I'll show them. Brent's wardrobe was depleted until it consisted of a coarse blue jumper and ragged overalls drawn over the underclothing, laced and tied together in a dozen places. He had not shaved for a month. Later in October, Camillo Bill came to his cabin. He stood in the doorway and stared into the dirty interior where Brent, with the unwashed dishes of his last meal shoved back, sat reading. Hello, Camillo, greeted the owner of the cabin as he rose to his feet and extended his hand.

Come in and sit down. Camillo Bill settled himself into a chair. Well, I'll be damned, he exclaimed under his breath. brent rinsed a couple of murky glasses in the water pail and reached for a bottle that sat among the dirty dishes have a drink he invited extending a glass to his visitor camillo bill poured a taste of liquor into the glass and watched brent with shaking hand slop out a half a tumblerful and drink it down as one would drink water he swallowed the liquor and returned the glass to the table "'Take some more,' urged Brent. "'I've got another quart under the bunk.' "'No thanks,' refused the other, curtly.

"'I heard you as down and out, but, by God, I wasn't looking for this.' "'What's the matter?' asked Brent, flushing beneath his stubby beard. "'What do you mean?' "'Wrighteous indignation blazed from Camillo Bill's eyes. "'Mean! You know, do you? damn well what I mean, he thundered. Look around this shack. Look in the looking glass up there.

You're living here worse than a dog lives. You're worse than a squaw man. Brent rose to his feet and drew himself proudly erect. Ragged and unshaven as he was, the effect was ludicrous. But Camilla Bill saw nothing of humor as he stared at the wreck of his friend. brent spoke slowly measuring his words no man not even you can insult me and get away with it i'm as good a man as i ever was and i'll prove it if you'll step outside you couldn't prove nothing to nobody no way kitty told me you'd gone to hell but i didn't know you'd gone on plumb through brent sank weakly into his chair and began to whimper. "'I'm as good a man as I ever was,' he sniveled.

"'Shut up!' Camillo Bill's fist struck the table. "'It makes me mad to look at you. You're a hell of a looking object. You won't winter through. They'll find you froze some morning halfways between here and some saloon. I won't be here when winter comes. I'm going to hit the trail when snow-floor. lies with a dog outfit. Where do you aim to go? Over beyond the Mackenzie, over in the Copper Mine River country.

There's gold over there, and there aren't a million Tichakos gouging for it. Camillo Bill roared with laughter. Over beyond the Mackenzie. Picked you out the roughest and the furthest place to go there is. And nothing there when you get there. only you'd never get there you ain't got the strength nor the guts to cross indian river let alone the mackenzie and besides where do you aim to get your outfit i'll work in the sawmill till i'd get enough or anyone will grub stake me you will i will like hell and no one else won't neither you'd never buy nothin but hooch if they did

a gleam of hope flashed into brent's eyes say he asked how about my claims you must have taken out your million by this time camillo bill smiled and his eyes never wavered as they met brent's gaze peter'd plumb out he said that's what i come to tell you about they ain't an ounce left in em did you get yours asked Brent Dully. If you didn't, just let me know how much you're shy, and I'll make it good. When I make my strike over beyond the McKenzie. This time the other did not laugh. His fists clenched, and he muttered under his breath,

All gone to hell, puffed and bloated and rotten with hooch, and still square is a brick schoolhouse. For a long time, he was a big schoolhouse. he sat silent, staring at the floor. Brent poured himself another drink. "'How much are you shy?' he repeated. The words roused Camillo Bill from a brown study. "'Huh?' he asked.

"'I said, how much are you shy of that million?' "'Oh, I don't know yet. I ain't cleaned up the tailing of the dump. It ain't going to be far off, though. I'll let you know later. He got up and crossed to the door. So long, he said, and without waiting for Brent's Adieu, struck out at a fast walk for Stowles,

where he found old beddles and swift-water bill drinking at the bar with Moose Hyde Charlie, who was telling of a fresh strike on a nameless creek to the westward. Camillo Bill motioned the three to a small table, and when they were seated he ordered the drinks. We got a job to do, he announced, plunging straight into his subject, and we got to do it through. Meaning which? asked Bettles.

Meaning to kidnap a man and hide him out for a year, and make him work like hell every minute he ain't sleeping or eating. That sounds like a hell of a contract. O Pined Swiftwater, Bill. Who's going to keep him working? And what at? And what for. For the good of his soul, grinned Camillo.

The spark of a man's there yet, and a damn good man. But if we all don't get down and blow like hell, the spark's going out. Clear as Mulligan, grinned Moosehide Charlie. Camillo Bill looked into the faces of his face of his. companions. Anyone saw Ace in the Hole lately? he asked. Betel's shook his head and Swiftwater Bill spoke up. I seen him about a month ago. Bought him a drink. He's on the toboggan. Moose Hyde Charlie broke in. I ain't seen him since spring when he saved me from getting doped and Cutter Malones. Cutter floored him with a bottle and Kitty and

I got him home, and she looked after him until he got better. I gave her a sack of dust to give him, but he wouldn't take it. Throwed it out in the snow, and Kitty dug it out and brung it back. If you all is figuring on getting up a stake for him, let me in. I'll go as high as the next." Camillo Bill shook his head. "'Nothing doing on the steak stuff. He wouldn't take it, and if he did, it would be the worst thing we could do to him. He'd blow it all in for Hooch. I went over to his cabin just now to turn back his claims.

I've took out my million and only worked one of them. And it ain't worked half out. There must be two or three million in them yet. Kitty told me the Hooch had got him right, but she didn't tell it strong enough. He's in a hell of a shape, and thinks he's as good a man as he ever was. He's dirty and ragged and bloated with hooch and broke,

and yet, by God, he's a man. When I seen how things was, I decided not to say anything about the claims, because if he got hold of him now, he'd blow him in as fast as he could get out the dust. But after a while he asked me, and I told him they'd petered out. he never batted an eye but he says did you get out your million cause he says if you didn't just tell me how much you're shy and i'll make it good

he thinks he's goin somewhere over beyond the mackenzie when the snow comes but hell he ain't in no shape to go nowhere's what we got to do was just naturally steal em and put him in a cabin somewhere's way out in the hills and hire a couple of guards for him and keep him working for a whole damn year it'll nearly kill him at first but it'll put him back where he was if it don't kill him and if it does it's better to die working than to freeze to death drunk like mcmah did i got the place to put him said swift water the claim's no good but it's way to hell and gone from here and there's a cabin on it just the ticket agreed camillo we'd better send out quite a bunch of hooch so we can kind of taper off suggested moose hide charlie taper hell cried bettles if you taper off you taper on again i know the way to quit is to quit we'll figure that out laughed camillo the best way is to ask the doc i'll tend to that and i'll get a guard hired and see about grub and tools and stuff we'll meet here a week from to-night and pull the deal off and swift water he can go along for guide only you don't want to let him see you i'll get guards that he don't know and that don't know him we'll have to pay em pretty good but it's worth it old bettles nodded he was a damn good man wants and he'll be again exclaimed camillo if he lives through it his heart's right and so they parted little thinking that when they would gather for the carrying out of their scheme

Brent would have disappeared as completely as though the earth had swallowed him up. End of Chapter 8. Recording by Roger Maline. Chapter 9 of Snowdrift, a story of the Land of the Strong Cold by James B. Hendricks. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline. Snow Drift by James B. Hendricks. Chapter 9

returns to the band. As Snowdrift plotted mile after mile in her flight from the mission, her brain busied itself with her problem, and the first night beside her little campfire she laid her plans for the future. In her heart was no bitterness against old Wanadabish, only compassion that resolved itself into an intense loyalty and a determination to stay with her and to lighten the burden that the years were heaping upon her. For she knew of the old woman's intense love for her, and the hardships she willingly endured to keep her in school at the mission, the blame was the white man's blame,

the blame of the man who was her father. Her face burned hot and her eyes flashed as her hatred of white men grew upon her. Gladly would she have opened her veins and let out the last drop of white blood that coursed the length of them. At least she could renounce the white man's ways, his teachings, and his very language. From now on, she was Indian. And yet again came that fleeting, elusive memory. Always, ever since she had been a little girl, there had been the memory. And when it came,

she would close her eyes and press her hands to her head and try and try in vain to grasp it, to bring the picture clean cut to her mind then the memory would fade away but it would return again in a month a year always it would return a log cabin wind-tossed waters a beautiful white woman who held her close a big man with a beard upon his face like mctavish the factor at first she had told one onubish of the memory but she had laughed and said that it was the wives of the different factors and traders at the posts who were wont to make much of the little girl when the band came to trade the explanation never quite satisfied snowdrift but she accepted it for want of a better was it a flash of memory from another existence there was the book she had borrowed from father ambrose the peculiar book that she did not understand and that father ambrose said he did not understand and did not want to understand for it was all about some heathenish doctrine she wondered if it could not be possible that people lived over and over again as the book said and if so why couldn't they remember maybe last time she had been a white girl and this time she was a half-breed and the next time she would be an indian she wouldn't wait till next time she was an indian now she hated the white men and so it went as hour and hour she worked her plans for the future she knew that wananabish was getting old that she was losing her grip on the band many of the older ones had died

died, and many of the younger ones had deserted, and those who were left were dissatisfied and always grumbling. There were only eighteen or twenty of them all told now, and they preferred to hang about along the rivers, trapping just enough fur to make a scanty living, and pay for the hooch that the free-traders brought in. They were a degenerate lot, and old Wananabish had grown weary in trying to get them back into the barons where there was gold. they scoffed at the gold there had been so little of it found in so many years of trying yet she had not been able to get them to leave the vicinity of the river but now to the river had come across news of the great gold strike beyond the mountains to the westward snowdrift reasoned that if there were gold to the westward there would be gold also to the eastward especially as when onubish knew that it was there had even found some of it long years ago maybe they would go now far back into the barons far far away from henri of the whitewater upon the fourth day after her departure from the mission the girl walked into the camp of the little band of non-treaty indians straight to the tepee of wananabish she went to the only mother she had ever known the old squaw received her with open arms and with much wondering for upon her last

visit to the mission the good sister mercedes had told her that snowdrift would go and continue her studies at the great convent in the far-away land of the white man it was the thing she had most feared to hear yet by not so much as the flicker of an eyelash did she betray her soul hurt all the long years of deception during which mcfarlane's note-book had lain wrapped in its waterproof wrappings and jealously guarded in the the bottom of the moss bag had gone for naught for it was to guard against the girls going to the land of the white man that the deception had been practised none but she knew that no drop of indian blood coursed through the veins of the girl and she knew that once firmly established among her own people she would never return to the north at that time she had almost yielded to the impulse to tell the truth to them and to spread the proofs before them almost but not quite for as long as the girl believed herself to be half indian there was a chance that she would return and so the squaw had held her peace and now here was the girl herself here in the tepee and she had brought her all her belongings wananabish plied her with questions but the girl's answers were brief and spoken in the indian tongue a thing that greatly surprised and troubled the old woman for since babyhood the girl had despised the speech of the indians the two prepared supper in silence and in silence they ate it and for a long time they sat close together and silent beside the mosquito smudge of punk and green twigs the eyes of the old squaw closed and she crooned softly from pure joy for here beside her was the only being in the world that she loved

her own baby the tiny red mite she had deposited that day upon the blanket in the far-away post at lashing water had died during that first winter the crooning ceased abruptly and the black beady eyes flashed open but why was she here and for how long she must know why did not the girl speak the silence became unbearable even to this woman who all her life had been a creature of silence abruptly she asked the question are you not going to the land of the white men and quick as a flash came the answer in the indian tongue i hate the white men the suppressed passion behind the words brought a low inarticulate cry to the lips of the squaw she reached for the sheath-knife at her belt and the sinews upon the back of the hand that grasped it stood out like whip-cords the black eyes glittered like the eyes of a snake and the lips curled back in a snarl of hate so that the yellow fangs gleamed in the wavering light of a tiny flame that flared from the smoldering fire words came in a hoarse croak who is he i will cut his heart out then the hand of the girl was laid soothingly upon her arm and again she spoke words in the indian tongue no no not that the old squaw's muscles relaxed as she felt the arm of the girl steal about her shoulder the knife slipped back into its sheath as her body was drawn close against the girls for a long time they sat thus in silence and then the girl rose for she was very tired at the door of the tepee she paused

there are some good white men she said tell me again was my father a good white man still seated beside the fire the old squaw nodded slowly. A good white man, yes, he is dead. The eyes of the girl sought with the penetrating glance the face beside the fire. Was there veiled meaning in those last words? Snowdrift thought not, and entering the tepee, she crept between her blankets. When the sound of the girl's breathing told that she slept, old Wananabish stole noiselessly into the tepee, and emerging a moment later with the old

moss bag, she poked at the fire with a stick and threw on some dry twigs and seated herself in the light of the flickering flames. She thrust her hand into the bag and withdrew a packet from which she undid the wrappings. Minutes passed as she sat staring at the notebook of McFarlane and at the package of parchment deerskin still secure in its original wrapping for never had the squaw touched a dollar of the money left in her care for the maintenance and education of the girl poor as she was when onabish had kept snowdrift in school had clothed and fed her solely by her own efforts by the fruits of her hunting and trapping all during the years she had starved and saved and driven shrewd bargains that the girl might receive education, even as she herself had received education. And now, to-night, she knew that the girl had been suddenly made to realize that she was one of those born out of wedlock, and the shame of it was heavy upon her. The old woman's heart beat warm,

as she realized that the girl held no blame for her. Only an intense hatred for the white men, one of whose race had wrought the supposed wrong. For a long time, Wananabish sat beside the fire, her heart torn by conflicting emotions. She knew right from wrong. She had not the excuse of ignorance of the ethics of conduct, for she, too, had been an apt pupil at the mission school, and for nearly nineteen years she had been living a lie.

And during those years, right had struggled against love a thousand times and always love had won the savage selfish love that bade her keep the object of her affections with her in the northland upon the death of her baby soon after the visit of macfarlane her whole life centered upon the tiny white child in the spring when the band moved she had left false directions in the caribou skull beside the river and instead of heading for lashing water to deliver the babe to old molare she had headed northward and upon the third day had come upon the remains of a sled and a short distance farther on a rifle and a sheath-knife the same that now swung at her own belt and which bore upon its inside surface the legend murdo mcfarland a thousand times she had been upon the point of telling the girl of her girl of her parentage, and turning over to her the packet, but always the fear was upon her that she would forsake the north and seek the land of her own people. Years before, when she had entered the girl at the mission, she had smothered the temptation to tell all, and to deliver the packet to the

priest. But instead, she invented the story of her illegitimate birth and accepted the shame. She knew from the first that Sister Mercedes doubted the tale that she believed the girl to be white, but she stoutly held to her story, nor deviated from it so much as a hair's breath during years of periodical questioning. But now, what should she do now that the girl herself was suffering under the stigma of her birth?

Should she tell her the truth and deliver to her the packet of her father? If she did, would not the girl turn upon her with hatred, even as she had turned against the people of her own race? Should she remain silent, still living the lie she had lived all these years, and thus keep at her side the girl she loved with the savage mother love of a wild beast? Was it not the girl's right to know who she was, and if she so willed to go among her own people and to go among them with unsullied name clearly this was her right wananabish admitted the right and the admission strengthened her purpose slowly she rose from the fire and with the packet and the notebook in her hand stepped to the door of the tepee and stood listening to the breathing of the sleeping girl she would slip the packet beneath the blankets and

and then and then she herself would go away and stay until the girl had gone out of the north then she would come back to her people her eyes swept the group of tepees that showed dimly in the starlight back to her people a great wave of revulsion and self-pity swept over her as she saw herself old and unheeded working desperately for the betterment of the little band of degenerates waging almost single-handed in the losing battle against the whisky runners suddenly she straightened and the hand clutched tightly the packet if snowdrift stayed might not the band yet be saved what is it the white men say when they seek excuse for their misdeeds ah yes it is that the end justifies the means as she repeated the old sophistry a gleam of hope lighted her eyes and she returned again to the fire at least the girl would remain at her side and would care for her in her old age only a few more years and then she would die and after that carefully she rewrapped the packet and returned it to the moss bag as always before the savage primal love triumphed over the ethics and with a great weight lifted from her mind the old squaw sought her blankets heart and soul during the remaining days of the summer snowdrift threw herself into the work of regenerating the little band of indians news of the great gold strike on the yukon had reached the mackenzie and these rumors the girl used to the utmost in her arguments in favor of a journey into the barons

at first her efforts met with little encouragement but her enthusiasm for the venture never lagged and gradually the opposition weakened before the persistence of her onslaughts when the brigade passed northward henri of the whitewater had promised the indians he would return with hooch and it was in anticipation of this that the young men of the band were holding back when in august word drifted up the river that a patrol of the mountain from fort simpson had come upon a certain cache and that henri of the whitewater was even then southward bound under escort the last of the opposition vanished without hooch one place was as good as another and if they should find gold why they could return and buy much hooch from some other whisky runner but they asked how about debt already they were in debt to the company and until the debt was paid they could expect nothing and a long trip into the barons would call for much in the way of supplies mctavish the bearded trader at fort good hope listened patiently until the girl finished her recital and then his thick fingers toyed with the heavy inkstand upon his desk i dunno what to say to you lass he began the company holds me to account for the debt i give and half the band is already in my debt your mother old wananabish is good for all she wants and so are you. For you're a good, lass. Some of the others are good, too, but there be some

amongst them that I would not trust for the worth of a buckshot. They've laid around the river too long. They're a worthless hooch-guzzling outfit. They're no good. But that's just why I want debt, cried the girl, to get them away from the river. There's no hooch here now, and they will go. i myself will stand responsible for the debt the scotchman regarded the eager face gravely where would you take them he asked way to the eastward beyond bare lake there is a river the trapping is good there and there is gold the copper mine interrupted mctavish always there has been talk of gold on the copper mine but no gold has been found there however as ye say the trappin should be good your engines be no guide along the river they're lazy in no account an getin'n getin worse there's a bare chance you can save em yet if you get em far into the barrens i'm goin to give you that chance if you'll guarantee the debt i'll outfit em no finery and frippery mind you just the necessities for the winter in the bush bring em along lass and the sooner you get started the better for tis a long trail you've set yourself and may good luck go with you

and so it was that upon the first day of september the little band of indians under the leadership of snowdrift and wananabish loaded their goods into canoes and began their laborious assent of hare indian river end of chapter nine recording by roger maline chapter ten of snowdrift a story of the land of the strong cold by james b hendricks This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline. Snowdrift by James B. Hendricks. Chapter 10 The Dinner at Reeves's. With the rush of the Chichakos had come also the vanguard of big business. Keen-eyed engineers and bespectacled metallurgists, accompanied by trusted agents of Wall Street,

who upon advice of the engineers and the metallurgists paid out money right and left for options first over the pass in the spring came reeves and hawsen who struck into the hills and passing up the rich gold in the grass-roots claims concentrated upon a creek of lesser promise by the first of july their findings upon this creek justified the report to the principals in the states that roused those officials of the newly organized northern dredge company from their stupor of watchful waiting into a cauldron of volcanic activity fowler the little purchasing agent sat at his desk and for fourteen straight hours dictated telegrams pausing only to refer to pages of neatly typed specifications with the result that within twenty-four hours upon many railroads carloads of freight began to move toward a certain dock in seattle at which was moored a tramp steamer waiting to receive her cargo a sawmill from the washington forests steel rails and a dinky engine from pittsburg great dredges from ohio tools iron cement from widely separated states and the crowning item of all a mississippi river steamboat jerked bodily from the water and dismantled ready to be put together in a matter of hours at the mouth of the yukon late in august that same steamboat her decks and two barges piled high with freight nosed into the bank at dawson and through out her mooring line while down her plank swarmed the Northern Company's skilled artisans,

swarmed also into the waiting arms of her husband, Reba Reeves, wife of the Northern Dredge Company's chief engineer and general manager of operation. Reeves led his wife to the little painted house that he had bought and furnished and turned his attention to the problem of transporting his heavy outfit to the creek of his selection. for a month thereafter he was on the works night and day snatching his sleep where he could now and then at home but more often upon the pile of blankets and robes that he had thrown into a corner of the little slab office on the bank of the creek early in october upon one of his flying visits his wife reminded him that he had promised to send a man down to bank the house for the winter don't see how i can spare a man right now little girl he answered i am hiring every man i can find that will handle a pick or a shovel or drive a nail or carry a board i've still got three miles of flume to put in and half a mile of railroad grade to finish and the snow will hit us any time now you can't work your old dredges in the winter anyhow why don't you wait till spring

When spring comes, I want to be in shape to begin throwing out the gravel the minute the ground thaws, and I don't want to be bothered building flume and railroad. But dearest, the floor is so cold. We can't live in this house in the winter unless it is banked. All the neighbors have their houses banked three or four feet high, and if the ground freezes, we'll never get it done. Reeves's brow puckered into a frown. That's right, he admitted.

Tell you what I'll do. I'll come down Saturday afternoon and stay over Sunday and bank it myself. Maybe I can find someone to help me. There's an old tramp that lives in a cabin, a piece back from the river. One of my foreman has hired him three or four times, but he's no good. won't work more than two or three days at a stretch. He's a drunkard, and can't stay away from the booze. Maybe, though, if I stay right on the job with him till it's finished,

I can get a day's work out of him. Anyway, I'll try. Of the books left by the Englishman, the one that interested Brent most was a volume from which the title page had long since disappeared, as had the lettering upon its back. if indeed any had ever existed it contained what appeared to be semi-official reports upon the mineral possibilities of the almost unexplored territory lying between the mackenzie and the bax fish river but more particularly upon the copper mine river and its tributaries to these reports was added a monograph which treated exhaustively of the expeditions of herne into the north

in search of gold and also of the ill-fated expedition of old captain knight this book held a peculiar fascination for brent and he read and re-read it pouring over its contents by the hour as he dreamed his foolish dreams of some day carrying on herne's explorations to ultimate success upon the night following the visit of camillo bill brentz sat beside his dirty table with his stinking oil lamp drawn near and his favorite book held close to catch the sullen light that filtered through its murky smoke-blackened chimney this night the book held a new interest for him all along he had cherished the hope that when camillo bill should turn back his claims there would still be a goodly amount of gold left in the gravel but camillo bill said that the claims had petered out and camillo bill was square all that was left for him to do then was to hit for the copper mine and not so much for himself for he stood in honor bound to see that camillo bill lost nothing through cashing those slips and markers upon his assurance that the claims were worth a million the book settled slowly to brent's lap he poured a drink and idly turned its pages as his drunken imagination pictured himself mushing at the head of a dog team through those unknown wastes and at the end of the long trail finding gold gold gold he turned to the inside of the front cover and stared idly at the name penned many years ago the ink was faded and brown and the name almost elizabeth's

was faded and brown and the name almost illegible so that he had to turn it a slant to follow the faint tracery murdo mcfarland lashing water he read i wonder where lashing water is and who was this murdo mcfarland and where is he now did he find hernes lost gold or did he did he did he a loud knock upon the door roused Brent from his dreamy speculation. "'Come in!' he called, and turned to see Reeves standing in the doorway. "'Hello!' greeted the intruder, plunging straight into the object of his visit. "'I'm up against it, and I wonder if you won't help me out.' He paused, and Brent waited for him to proceed. "'I'm Reeves of the Northern Dredge Company, and I've got ever,

every available man in dawson out there in the works trying to finish three miles of flume and a half mile of railroad before snow flies i can't spare a man off the works but i've got to bank my house so i decided to stay home myself to-morrow and tackle it if you'll help me and if we get a good early start i think we can finish the job by night i wouldn't care a rap if it were not for my wife wife. She's from the south, and I'm afraid of those cold floors. What do you say? Will you do it? I'll pay you well. Yes, answered Brent, and he noticed that the other's eyes had strayed, in evident surprise to the pile of books upon the table among the dirty dishes. All right, that's fine. What time can I expect you? Daylight, answered Brent. you have a drink he indicated the bottle that stood beside the pile of books but reeves shook his head no thanks i've got to tackle some work to-night that i've been putting off for weeks see you in the morning

seated once more in his chair with his book brent poured himself a drink from the south he whispered and raising the murky glass to his lips swallowed the liquor his eyes closed and into his brain floated a picture dim and indistinct at first but gradually taking definite form a little town of wide tree-shaded streets a weather-stained brick courthouse standing in the center of a grassed square and facing it across the street a red brick schoolhouse the schoolhouse doors swung open and out raced a little boy swinging his books at the end of a strap he was a laughing clear-eyed little boy and he wore buckled slippers and black velvet knickers and a wide collar showed dazzling white against the black of the velvet jacket other children followed barefooted little boys whose hickory shirts many sizes too large for the little bodies bulged grotesquely about their galluses and little boys shod in stiff hot-looking black shoes and stockings and little girls with tight-braided draughtily with tight-braided pigtails hanging down their backs and short starched skirts, who watched with envious eyes as the velvet-clad boy ran across to the hitch rail that flanked the courthouse sidewalk, and mounted a stocky little

calico Shetland pony, and rode down the tree-shaded street at a furious gallop. On the outskirts of the town, the pony swerved of its own accord between two upstanding stone posts and into a broad avenue that swept and graceful curves between two rows of huge evergreens that led from the white turnpike to a big brick house the roof of whose broad gallery was supported upon huge white pillars up the avenue raced the pony and up the dozen steps that led to the gallery just at the moment that the huge bulk of a round-eyed colored mammy blocked the doorway of the hall Here, you rascal, you! cried the outraged negress, flourishing her broom. Get your circus hoss off in my clean gallery floor, for I busts him wide open with this broom. Lord sakes, even Miss Callie see you here. She going to raise your hair for sure. You're caught of Brent, you get!

The broom swished viciously, and Brent opened his eyes with a jerk. The first fitful gusts of a northerner were whipping about the eaves of his cabin, and, shivering slightly, he crawled into his bunk. All the forenoon the two men worked side by side with pick and shovel and wheelbarrow, piling the earth high above the baseboards of Reeves's white-painted house. Brent spoke little, and he worked, as it seemed to him, he had never worked before. The muscles of his back and arms and fingers ate,

and in his vitals was the gnawing desire for drink. But he had brought no liquor with him, and he fought down the desire and worked doggedly, filling the wheelbarrows as fast as Reeves could dump them. At noon, Reeves surveyed the work with satisfaction. "'We've got it,' he exclaimed. we're a little more than half through and none too soon the wind had blown steadily from the north carrying with it frequent flurries of snow we'll knock off now just step into the house brent shook his head no i'll slip over to the cabin i'll be back by the time you're through dinner reeves who had divined the man's need stepped closer

come in won't you i've got a little liquor that i brought from the outside i think you'll like it without a word brent followed him into the kitchen where reeves set out the bottle and a tumbler just help yourself he said i never use it and passed into the next room eagerly brent poured himself half a tumblerful and gulped it down and as he returned the glass to the table he heard the voice of reeves you don't mind if he eats with us do you he's worked mighty hard and-the sentence was interrupted by a woman's voice why certainly he will eat with us see the table's all set i saw you comin so i brought the soup in hurry before it gets cold at the man's words brent's eyes had flashed a swift glance over his disreputable garments his lips had tightened at the corners and as he had waited for the expected protest they had twisted into a cynical smile but at the woman's reply the smile died from his lips and he took a furtive step toward the door hesitated and unconsciously his shoulder stiffened and a spark flickered for a moment in his muddy eyes why not it had been many a long day since he had sat at a table with a woman that kind of a woman like a flash came reeves's words of the night before she's from the south if the man should really ask him to sit at his table why not accept and carry it through in his own way

the good liquor was taking hold brent swiftly dashed some more into the glass and downed it at a swallow then reeve stepped into the room you are to dine here he announced we both of us need a good hot meal and a good smoke and my wife has your place all laid out at the table i thank you answered brent may i wash reeves who had expected an awkward protest started at the words and indicated the basin at the sink as brent subjected his hands and face to a thorough scrubbing and carefully removed the earth from beneath his finger-nails reaves eyed him quizzically brent preceded his host into the dining-room where mrs reeves waited standing beside her chair reeves stepped forward my wife mr his voice trailed purposely but instead of mumbling a name and acknowledging the introduction with an embarrassed bob of the head brent smiled let us leave it that way please mrs reeves allow me and stepping swiftly to her chair he seated her with a courtly bow he looked up to see reeves staring in open-mouthed amazement. Again he smiled and stepped to his own place, not unmindful of the swift glance of surprise that passed between husband and wife. After that, surprises came fast. Surprise at the ease and grace of manner with which he comported himself,

gave place to surprise and admiration at his deft maneuvering of the conversation to things of the outside, to the literary and theatrical successes of a few years back and to the dozen and one things that makes dinner small talk the reeves's found themselves consumed with curiosity as to this man with the drunkard's eye the unkempt beard and the ragged clothing of a tramp whose jests and quips kept them in constant laughter all through the meal mrs reeves studied him there was something fine in the shape of the brow in the thin well-formed nose in the occasional flash of the muddy eyes that held her you are from the south aren't you she asked during a pause in the conversation brent smiled yes far from the south very far i am from the south too and i love it continued the woman her eyes upon the man's face. From Plantersville, Tennessee. I've lived there all my life.

At the words, Brent started perceptibly, and the hand that held his coffee cup trembled violently so that part of the contents splashed onto his napkin. When he returned the cup to its saucer, it rattled noisily. The woman half rose from her chair. Carter, Brent!

she cried and reeves staring at his wife in astonishment saw the tears glistened in her eyes the next moment brent had pulled himself together you win he smiled regarding her curiously but you will pardon me i'm sure i've been away a long time and i'm afraid oh you wouldn't recognize me i was only sixteen or seven when you left plantersville you had been away at college and you came home for a month i'm reba moorhouse indeed i do remember you laughed brent why you did me the honor to dance with me at colonel pinkney's ball but tell me how are your mother and father and fred and emily i suppose dr moorhouse still shoots his squirrels square in the eye eh mother died two years ago and dad has almost given up his practice she smiled so he'll have more time to shoot squirrels fred is in college and emily married charlie harrow and they bought the old melcher place out in the pike brent hesitated a moment and-and my father have you seen him lately yes indeed general brent and dad are still the greatest of cronies he hasn't changed a bit since i can first remember him old uncle jake still drives him to the bank at nine o'clock each morning he still eats his dinners at the planters hotel and then makes his rounds of the lumber yard and the coal yard and the tobacco warehouse or else uncle jake drives him out to inspect some of the farms

and back home at four o'clock. No, to all appearances, the general hasn't changed. But Dad says there is a change in the last two or three years. He would give everything he owns, just to hear from you. Brent was silent for a moment. But he must not hear, yet. I'll make another strike one of these days, and then, did you make a strike asked reeves brent nodded yes i was on the very peak of the first stampede did you by chance ever hear of ace in the hole

reeves smiled yes notorious gambler wasn't he were you here when he was made a big strike somewhere and then gambled away ten or twenty million didn't he and then i never did hear what became of him brent smiled yes he made a strike then i suppose he was just what you said a notorious gambler his losses were greatly exaggerated they were not over two million at the outside a mere trifle laughed reeves whatever became of him just at this moment he is seated at a dining-table talking with a generous host and a most charming hostess are you ace in the hole so designated upon the yukon smiled brent mrs reeves leaned suddenly forward oh why don't you why don't you brace up let liquor alone and brent brent interrupted her with a wave of the hand theoretically a very good suggestion he smiled but practically it won't work personally i do not think i drink enough to hurt me any but we will waive that point if i do it is my own fault he was about to add that he was as good a man as he ever was but something saved him that sophistry and when he looked into the face of his hostess his muddy eyes twinkled humorously at least he said i have succeeded in eliminating one fault i have not gambled in quite some time

and you never will gamble again brent laughed i didn't say that however i see very little chance of doing so in the immediate future promise me that you never will she asked you might at least promise me that if you won't give up the other what assurance would you have that i would keep my promise parried the man quick as a flash came the reply the word of a brent unconsciously the man's shoulder straightened he hesitated a moment while he regarded the woman gravely yes he said i will promise you that if it will please you upon the word of a brent he turned abruptly to reeves we had better be getting at that job again or we won't finish it before dark he said and with a bow to mrs reeves you will excuse us i know the woman nodded and as her husband was about to follow brent from the room nodded and as her husband was about to follow brent from the room room, she detained him. Who is he? asked Reeves, as the door closed behind him. Who is he? exclaimed his wife.

Why, he's Carter Brent, the very last of the Brent's. Anyone in the South can tell you what that means. They're the bluest of the blue bloods. His father, the old general, owns the bank, and about everything else that's worth. owning in plantersville and half the county besides and oh it's a shame a shame we've got to do something you've got to do something he's a mining engineer too i recognized him before he told me and when i mentioned plantersville did you see his hand tremble i was sure then oh can't you give him a position reeves considered why yes i could use a good mining engineer but he's too far gone he couldn't stay away from the booze i don't think there's any use trying

there is i tell you the blood is there and when the blood is there it is never too late didn't you notice the air with which he gave me his promise not to gamble upon the word of a brent he would die before he would break that promise you see but he wouldn't promise to let liquor alone the gambling in his circumstances is more or less a joke but when he gets on his feet again it won't be a joke she insisted you mark my words he is going to make good i can feel it and that is why i got him to promise not to gamble if you can make him promise to let liquor alone you can depend on he will let it alone you'll try won't you dear yes little girl i'll try smiled reeves kissing his young wife but i'll tell you beforehand you are a good deal more sanguine of success than i am and he passed out and joined brent who was busily loading a wheelbarrow end of chapter ten recording by roger maline chapter eleven of snowdrift a story of the land of the strong cold by James B. Hendricks. This Libravox recording is in the public domain.

Recording by Roger Maline. Snowdrift by James B. Hendricks. Chapter 11. Joe Pete Several times during the afternoon, as they worked side by side, Reeves endeavored to engage Brent in conversation, but the latter's replies were short, the verge of curtness, and Reeves gave it up and devoted his energy to the task in hand. The fitful snow flurries of the afternoon settled into a steady fall of wind-driven flakes

that cut the air in long horizontal slants and lay an ever-thickening white blanket upon the frozen surface of the ground. Darkness fell early and the job was finished by lantern light. When the last barrow of earth had been placed, the two made a tour of inspection, which ended at the kitchen door. "'Snug and tight for the winter!' exclaimed Reeves, and just in time. "'Yes,' answered Brent. Winter is here.' The door opened, and the face of Mrs. Reeves was framed for a moment in the yellow lamplight. "'Supper is ready,' she called Chewere.

"'Come in,' invited Reeves, heartily. "'We'll put that supper where it will do the most good, and then we'll—' Brent interrupted him. "'Thank you. I'll go home.' "'Oh, come now,' insisted the other. "'Mrs. Reeves is expecting you. She will be really disappointed if you run off that way.' "'Disappointed, hell!' cried Brent,

so fiercely that Reeves stared at him in surprise. Do you think for a minute that it was easy for me to sit at a table, the table of a southern lady, in these rags? Would you care to try it? To try and play the role of a gentleman behind a six weeks' growth of beard, and with your hair uncut for six months? It would have been an ordeal at any table, but to find out suddenly, at a moment,

when you were straining every nerve in your body to carry it through, that your hostess was one you had known in other days, and who had known you? I tell you, man, it was hell. What I've got to have is not food, but whiskey, enough whiskey to make me drunk, very drunk. And the hell I've gone through is not a circumstance to the hell I've got to face when that same whiskey begins to die out, lying there in the bunk, staring wide-eyed into the thick dark, seeing things that aren't there, hearing voices that were and are forever stilled,

and voices that never were, the voices of the damned, taunting, reviling, mocking your very soul, asking you what you have done with your millions? And where do you go from here? And you? And you go from here, and your hands shaking so that you can't draw the cork from the bottle to draw the damned voices and still them till you have to wake up again, hoping when you do it will be daylight. It's easier in daylight. I tell you, man, that's hell. It isn't the hell that comes after he dies a man fears. It's the hell that comes in the dark. A hell born of whiskey, and only whiskey will quench the fires of it, and more whiskey, and more." Reeves grasped his hand in a mighty grip.

"'I think I understand, old man, a little,' he said. "'I'll make excuse to Mrs. Reeves.' "'Tell her the truth if you want to,' growled Brent, turning away. "'We'll never meet again.' "'You've forgotten something,' called Reeves, as he extended a hand. which held a crisp bill. Brent examined it. It was a twenty.

What is this? Wages or charity? He asked. Wages, and you've earned every set of it. Shoveling dirt or play acting? There was a sneer in the man's voice, which Reeves was quick to resent. Shoveling dirt, he replied shortly.

men shoveled dirt in this camp now for eight or ten i think i am quite capable of judging what a man's services are worth to me answered reeves good-bye he turned to the door and brent crumpled the bill into his pocket and disappeared in the whirling snow arriving at his cabin he carefully deposited two quarts of liquor upon the table lighted his smoky lamp and built a roaring fire in the stove seating himself in a chair he carefully removed the cork from the bottle and took a long long drink he realized suddenly that the unwonted physical exercise had made him very tired and hungry the greater part of a link of bologna sandwich lay upon the table a remnant of a previous meal he took the sausage in his hand and devoured it pausing now and then to drink from the bottle when the last fragment had been consumed he settled himself in his chair and with the bottle at his elbow stared for a long time at the log wall winter is here he muttered at length and i've got to hit the trail he took a drink and carefully replaced the bottle upon the he took a drink and carefully replaced the bottle upon the table and again for a long time he stared at the logs a knock at the door startled him come in he called he felt better now the liquor was taking hold reeves stamped the snow noisily from his feet and closed the door behind him brent rose and motioned for the man to draw the other chair closer to the stove he turned up the murky lamp a trifle then turned it down again because it smoked reeve seated himself and fumbling in his pocket produced two cigars one of which he tendered to brent

i came partly on my own account and partly at the earnest solicitation of my wife he smiled i hardly know how to begin if it's a sermon begin about three words from the end but if it is a drinking bout begin at the beginning but you will have to pardon me for beginning in the middle for i have already consumed half a quart he indicated the bottle and reeves noted that his lips were smiling and that there was a sparkle in the muddy eyes not guilty on either count he laughed i neither preach nor drink what brings me here is a mere matter of business business sure you haven't got your dates mixed i have temporarily withdrawn from the business world reeves was relieved to see that the fierce mood of a few hours before had given place to good humor no it is regarding the termination of this temporary withdrawal that i want to see you i understand you're a mining engineer colorado school of mines five good jobs within two years in montana later place are miner notorious gambler and he included himself in the interior of the cabin in an expressive gesture do you want another good job what kind of a job an engineering job how would you like to be my assistant in the operation of this dredging proposition brent shook his head it wouldn't work why not

brent smiled too close to dawson i like the hooch too well and aside from that you don't need me you will be laying off men now not hiring them laying off laborers yes but there is plenty of work along that creek this winter for the right man for me and for you if you will assume it again brent shook his head there is another reason he objected i have got to make another strike and a good one i have an obligation to meet an obligation that in all probability will involve more money than any salary i could earn small chance of a rich strike now the whole country is staked around here yes but not where i'm going where is that over beyond the mackenzie in the coppermine river country beyond the mackenzie cried reeves man are you crazy no not crazy only at the moment come drunk but that has nothing whatever to do with my journey to the copper mine i will be cold sober when i hit the trail and when will that be how do you expect to finance the trip ah there's the rub grinned brent i have not the least idea in the world of how i am going to finance it when that detail is arranged i shall hit the trail within twenty-four hours reeves was thinking rapidly he did not believe that there was any gold beyond the mackenzie to the best of his knowledge there was nothing beyond the mackenzie nothing no towns no booze

if brent would be willing to go into a country for six months or a year in which booze was not obtainable there's no booze over there he said aloud how much would you have to take with you." Not a damn drop. What? Brent rose suddenly to his feet and stood before Reeves. I have been fooling myself, he said in a low tense voice. Do you know what my Shibboleth has been? What I have been telling myself and telling others and expecting them to believe?

I began to say it, and honestly enough, when I first started to get soft, and I kept it up stubbornly when the softness turned to flabbiness, and I maintained it doggedly when the flabbiness gave way to pouchiness. I am as good a man as I ever was. That's the damned lie I've been telling myself. I nearly told it at your table, and before your wife, but thank God I was spared that humiliation. Just between four,

friends, I'll tell the truth. I'm a damned worthless, hooch-guzzling good for not. And the hell of it is, I haven't got the guts to quit. He seized the bottle from the table and drank three or four swallows in rapid succession. See that? What did I tell you? He glared at Reeves as if challenging a denial. But I've got one chance. he straightened up and pointed toward the eastward over beyond the mackenzie there is no hooch if i can get away from it for six months i can beat it if i can get my nerve back get my health back by god i will beat it if there's enough of a brent left in me for that girl your wife to recognize through this disguise of rags and hair and dirt there's enough of a brent left in me for that girl your wife to recognize through this disguise of rags and hair and dirt there's enough of a boiled Brent, sir, to put up one hell of a fight against booze.

Reeves found himself upon his feet, slapping the other on the back. You've said it, man, you've said it, I will arrange for the financing. You, how? On your own terms. Brent was silent for a moment. Take your pick, he said. Grub steak, me or loan me $2,000. If I live, I'll pay you back with interest. If I don't, you lose.

Reeves regarded him steadily. I lose only in case you die, you promise me that on the word of a Brent. And I don't mean the two thousand. You understand what I mean, I think. Brent nodded slowly. I understand, and I promise, on the word of a Brent. But, he hastened to add, I am not promising that I will not drink any more hooch, now or any other time. I have here a quart and a half of liquor.

In all probability between now and tomorrow morning, I shall get very drunk. You said you would leave with a while, within twenty-four hours reminded reeves and so i will how do you want the money how do i want it i'll tell you i want it in dust and i want it inside of an hour can you get it yes answered reeves and drying on cap and mittens pushed out into the storm hardly had the door closed behind him Then it opened again, and Brent also disappeared in the storm. In a little shack upon the riverbank, an Indian grunted sleepily in answer to an insistent banging upon his door.

Hey, Joe Pete, come out here. I want you. A candle flared dully, and presently the door opened, and a huge Indian stood in the doorway, rubbing his eyes with his fist. come with me ordered brent to the cabin silently the indian slipped into his outer clothing and followed and without a word of explanation brent led the way to his cabin for a half hour they sat in silence during which brent several times drank from his bottle presently reeves entered and laid a pouch upon the table he looked questioningly at the indian's who returned to the scrutiny with the look of stolid indifference. Joe Pete, this is Mr. Reeves. Reeves, that engine is Joe Pete,

the best damn engine in Alaska, or anywhere else. Used to pack over the chill coot, until he made so much money he thought he'd try his hand at the gold. Now he's broke. Joe Pete is going with me. He and I, understand each other perfectly. He picked up the sack and handed it to the Indian. $2,000. Pill Chickaman. Go to police, find out trail to McKenzie, Fort Norman.

How many miles? How many days? Buy grub for two. Buy good dogs and sled. Buy two outfits clothes. Plenty tobacco. keep rest of pill chickaman safe until two days on trail then give it to me we hit the trail at eight o'clock to-morrow morning without a word the indian took the sack and slipped silently out the door while reeves stared in astonishment you've got a lot of confidence in that indian he exclaimed i wouldn't trust any of them out of my sight with a dollar bill you don't know joe pete grinned brent i've got more confidence in him than i have in myself the hooch joints will be two days behind me before i get my hands on that dust and now what asked reeves be here at eight o'clock to-morrow morning and witness the start grinned brent in the meantime i am going to make the most of the fleeting hours He reached for the bottle, and Reeves held up a warning hand. You won't be in any shape to hit the trail in the morning if you go too heavy on that.

Brent laughed. Again, I may say, you don't know Joe Pete. At seven o'clock in the morning, Reeves hurried to Brent's cabin. The snow about the door lay a foot deep, trackless, and unbroken. Reeves' heart gave a bound of apprehension. There was no dog team nor sled in evidence, nor was there any sign that the Indian had returned. A dull light glowed through the heavily frosted pain,

and without waiting to knock, Reeves pushed open the door and entered. Brent greeted him with drunken enthusiasm. "'Hello, Reeves, old top. glad to see you sit down and have a good old drink wait till i shave hell of a job to shave he stood before the mirror weaving back and forth with a razor in one hand and a shaving brush in the other and a glass half full of whisky upon the washstand before him into which he gravely from time to time dipped the shaving brush and rubbing it vigorously upon the soap endeavored to lather the inch-long growth of beard that covered his face despite his apprehension as to what had become of the paragon joe pete reeves was forced to laugh he laughed and laughed until brent turned a around and regarded him gravely.

What's matter? What's a joke? Wait a minute, let's have a little drink. He reached for the bottle that sat nearly empty upon the table and guzzled a swallow of the liquor. Damn near all gone. I have to get another one when Joe Pete comes. When Joe Pete comes, cried Reeves, you'll never see Joe Pete a-yte-y-y-heed. again. He skipped out.

Skipped out? What do you mean skipped out? I mean that it's a quarter past seven and he hasn't showed up and you told him you would start at eight. Brent laid his razor upon the table. Quarter past seven? Quarter past seven isn't eight o'clock. You don't know Joe Pete. But, man, you're not ready.

there's nothing packed and you're as drunk as a lord sure i'm drunk's a lord drunk'n't two lords lords ain't so damned drunk if i don't get packed by eight o'clock i'll have to go without packing you don't know joe pete at a quarter of eight there was a commotion before the door and the huge indian entered the room dressed for the trail he stood still gave one comprehensive look around the room and silently fell to work he examined rapidly everything in the cabin throwing several articles into a pile brent's tooth-brush comb shaving outfit and mirror he made into a pack which he carried to the sled returning a moment later with a brand-new outfit of clothing he placed it upon the chair and motioned Brent to get into it. But Brent stood and stared at it owlishly. Whereupon, without a word, the Indian seized him, and with one or two jerks, stripped him to the skin and proceeded to dress him as one would dress a baby. Brent protested weakly, but all to no purpose.

Reeves helped and soon Brent was clothed for the winter trail, even to moose-hide park, he grinned foolishly and drank the remaining liquor from the bottle what i tell you he asked solemnly of reeves you don't know joe pete the indian consulted a huge silver watch and returning it to his pocket sat upon the edge of the bunk and stared at the wall brent puttered futilely about the room and addressed the indian we gotta get a bottle of hooch i gotta have just one more drink just one more drink and then to hell with it the indian paid not the slightest heed but continued to stare at the wall a few minutes later he again consulted his watch and rising grasped brent about the middle and carried him struggling and protesting out the door and laughed him securely him securely and lashed him securely to the door and laughed him securely to the sled. Reves watched the proceeding in amazement, and almost before he realized what was happening, the Indian had taken his place beside the dogs. He cracked his whip, shouted an unintelligible command, and the team started. Upon the top of the load, Brent wagged a feeble farewell to Reeves.

So long, old man. See you later. I got a go-ne. now. You don't know Joe Pete. The outfit headed down the trail to the river. Reeves, standing beside the door of the deserted cabin, glanced at his watch. It was eight o'clock. He turned, closed the door, and started for home chuckling. The chuckle became a laugh, and he smote his thigh and roared until some laborers going to worked stopped to look at him. Then he composed himself and went home to tell his wife. End of Chapter 11. Recording by Roger Maline. Chapter 12 of Snowdrift, a story of the Land of the Strong Cold by James B. Hendricks.

This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline. chapter twelve on the trail at noon joe pete swung the outfit into the lee of a thicket built a fire and brewed tea brent woke up and the indian loosened the babiche line that had secured him coiled the rope carefully and without a word went on with his preparation of the meal brent staggered and stumbled about in the snow in an effort to restore circulation to his numbed arms and legs his head ached fiercely and when he could in a measure control his movements he staggered to the fire joe p tendered him a cup of steaming tea brent smelled of the liquid with disgust to hell with tea he growled thickly i want hooch i've got to have it just one drink. Joe Pete drank a swallow of tea and munched unconcernedly at a piece of pilot bread.

Give me a drink of hooch. Didn't you hear me? I need it, demanded Brent. Hootch no good. Tea good. Ain't got no hooch, not want drink. No hooch, cried Brent. I tell you, I've got to have it.

i thought i could get away with it this trailing without hooch but i can't how far have we come bout eleven mile well just as soon as you finish eating you turn that dog team around we're going back brent was consumed by a torturing thirst he drank the tea in great gulps and extended his cup for more he drank a second and a third cup, and the Indian offered him some bread. Brent shook his head. I can't eat. I'm sick. Hurry up and finish and hit the back trail as fast as those dogs can travel. Joe Pete finished his meal, washed the cups, and returned the cooking outfit to its appointed place on the load.

You going ride? he asked. No, I'll walk. Got to walk a while, or I'll freeze. The Indian produced from the pack a pair of snowshoes and helped Brent to fasten them on. Then he swung the dogs onto the trail and continued on his course. Here you, cried Brent.

Pull those dogs around. We're going back to Dawson. Joe Pete halted the dogs and walked back to where Brent stood beside the doused fire. maybe so we're going back dawson he said but first we're goin to fort norman you take whole tail rope and mush a great surge of anger swept brent his eyes red-rimmed and swollen from liquor and watery from the glare of the new-fallen snow fairly blazed he took a step forward and raised his arm as though to strike the indian what do you mean damn you who's running this outfit i've changed my mind i'm not going to fort norman joe pete did not even step back from the uplifted arm you ain't change my mind none you drunk i ain't hear you talk by em by you get sober joe pete hear you talk you grab tail rope now or i tie you up again

suddenly brent realized that he was absolutely in this man's power for the first time in his life he felt utterly helpless the rage gave place to a nameless fear how far is it to fort norman he asked in an unsteady voice bout five hundred mile five hundred miles i can't stand the trip i tell you i'm in no condition to stand to stand you it i'll die the indian shrugged a shrug that conveyed to brent more plainly than words that joe pete conceded the point and that if it so happened his demise would be merely an incident upon the trail to fort norman brent realized the futility of argument as well argue with one of the eternal peaks that flung skyward in the distance for he at least knew joe pete in the enthusiasm of his great plan for self-redemption he had provided against this very contingency he had deliberately chosen as his companion and guide the one man in all the north who come what may would deviate hair's breath from his first instructions and now he stood there in the snow and cursed himself for a fool the indian pointed to the tail rope and muttering curses brent reached down and picked it up and the outfit started so far they had fairly good going the course lay up indian river beyond the head reaches of which they would cross the bonnet plume pass and upon the east slope of the devourable pick up one of the branches of the gravel and follow that river to the mackenzie joe pete traveled ahead breaking trail for the dogs and before they had gone a mile brent was puffing and blowing in his effort to keep up his grip tightened on the tail rope

the dogs were fairly pulling him along at each step it was becoming more and more difficult to lift his feet he stumbled and fell, dragged for a moment, and let go. He lay with his face in the snow. He did not try to rise. The snow felt good to his throbbing temples. He hoped the Indian would not miss him for a long, long time. Better lie here and freeze than endure the hell of that long snow trail. Then Joe Pete was lifting him from the snow and carrying him to the sled. He struggled to feebly and futilely he cursed but the effort redoubled the ache in his head and a terrible nausea seized him from which he emerged weak and unprotesting while the indian bound him upon the load at dark they camped brent sitting humped up beside the fire while joe pete set up the little tent and cooked supper brent drank scalding tea in gulps again he begged in vein for hooch, and was offered pilot bread and moose meat. He tried a piece of meat, but his tortured

stomach rejected it, whereupon Joe Pete brewed stronger tea, black, and bitter as gall, and with that Brent drenched his stomach and assuaged after a fashion his gnawing thirst. Wrapped in blankets he crept beneath his rabbit robe, but not to sleep. The Indian had built up the fire and thrown the tent open to its heat. For an hour, Brent tossed about, bathed in cold sweat. Things crawled upon the walls of the tent, mingling with the shadows of the dancing firelight. He closed his eyes and buried his head in his blankets. But the things were there, too, twisting, writhing things, fantastic and horrible in color and form and unutterably loathsome in substance and beyond the walls of the tent out in the night were the voices the voices that taunted and tormented he threw back his robe and crawled to the fireside where he sat wrapped in blankets he threw on more wood from the pile the indian had placed ready to hand so that the circle of the fire-light

broadened, and showers of red sparks shot upward to mingle with the yellow stars. But it was of no use. The crawling, loathsome shapes writhed and twisted from the very flames, laughed and danced in the lap and the lick of the red flames of fire. Brent cowered against his tree trunk and stared. His red-rimmed eyes stretched wide with horror, while his blood seemed to freeze, and his heart turned to water within him. From the fire, from beyond the fire, and from the blackness of the forest behind him, crept a thing, shapeless and formless. It was of a substance vicious and slimy.

It was of no color, but an unwholesome luminosity radiated from its changing outlines, an all-encompassing, ever-approaching thing of horror, it grew gradually nearer and nearer, engulfing him, smothering him. He could reach out now and touch it with his hands. His fingers sank deep in its slime, and, with a wild shriek, Brent leaped from his blankets and ran barefooted into the forest. Joe Pete found him a few minutes later, lying in the snow with a rapidly swooply. swelling blue lump in his forehead, where he had crashed against a tree in his headlong flight.

He picked him up and carried him to the tent, where he wrapped him in his blankets, and thrust him under the robe with a compress of snow on his head. In the morning, Brent, babbling for whiskey, drank tea, and at the noon camp he drank much strong tea and ate a little pilot bread and a small piece of moose meat. he walked about five miles in the afternoon before he was again tied on the sled and that night he helped joe pete set up the tent for supper he drank a quart of strong bitter tea and ate more bread into meat and that night after tossing restlessly till midnight he fell asleep the shapes came and the voices but they seemed less loathsome than the night before they took definite concrete shapes shapes of things brent knew but of impossible color serise lizards and little pink snakes skipped lightly across the walls of the tent and bunches of luminous angle-worms writhed harmlessly in the dark corners the skipping and writhing annoyed disgusted but inspired no terror so brent slept

the third day he ate some breakfast and did two stretches on snow-shoes during the day that totaled sixteen or eighteen miles and that night he devoured a hearty meal and slept the sleep of the weary the fourth day he did not resort to the sled at all nor all during the day did he once ask for a drink of hooch day after day they mush eastward and higher and higher they climbed toward toward the higher they climbed toward the main divide of the mountains. As they progressed, the way became rougher and steeper, the two alternated between breaking trail and work at the G-pole. With the passing of the days, the craving for liquor grew less and less insistent. Only in the early morning was the gnawing desire strong upon him, and to assuage this desire, he drank great quantities of strong tea. The outward manifestation of this desire was an intense irritability that caused him to burst into unreasoning age at a frozen guy rope or a misplaced mitten, and noting this,

Joe Pete was careful to see that breakfast was ready before he awakened Brent. On the tenth day, they topped the bonnet plume pass and began the long descent of the eastern slope. That night, a furious blizzard roared down upon them from out of the north, and for two days they lay snowbound, venturing from the tent only upon short excursions for firewood. Upon the first of these days, Brent shaved, a process that, by reason of a heavy beard of two month's growth, and a none too sharp razor, consumed nearly two hours. When the ordeal, was over he regarded himself for a long time in the little mirror scowling at the red beefy cheeks and at the little broken veins that showed blue-red at the end of his nose he noted with approval that his eyes had cleared of the bilious yellow look and that the network of tiny red veins were no longer visible upon the eyeballs with approval too he prodded and pinched the hardening muscles in his legs and arms

when the storm passed they pushed on making heavy going in the loose snow the rejuvenation of brent was rapid now each evening found him less tired and in better heart and each morning found him ready and eager for the trail to hell with the hooch he said one evening as he and the indian sat upon their robes in the door of the tent and watched the red flames lick at the fire would. I wouldn't take a drink now if I had a barrel of it. Maybe so, not now, but in the morning you take a big drink, you bet, opined the Indian solemnly. The hell I would, flared Brent, and then he laughed. There is no way of proving it, but if it were here, I'd like to bet you this sack of dust against your other shirt that I wouldn't. He waited for a reply, but Joe Pete merely shrugged and smoked on in silence. Down on the gravel river, with the McKenzie only three or four days away, the outfit rounded a bend one evening and came suddenly upon a camp.

Brent, who was in the lead, paused abruptly and stared at the fire that flickered cheerfully among the tree trunks, a short distance back from the river. We'll swing in just below them, he called back to Joe Pete. It's time to camp anyway. As they headed in toward the bank, they were greeted by a rabble of barking, snarling dogs, which dispersed, howling and yelping as a man stepped into their midst, laying right and left about him with a long-lashed whip. The man was Johnny Claw, and Brent noted that in the gathering darkness, he had not recognized him.

Going to camp? asked Claw. Brent answered in the affirmative and headed his dogs up the bank toward a level spot, some twenty or thirty yards below the fire. Claw followed and stood beside the sled as they unharnessed the dogs. Where you heading? he asked. Mackenzie River.

Well, you ain't got far to go. Trapping? brent shook his head no prospecting where'd you come from dawson dawson exclaimed claw and brent who had purposely kept his face turned away was conscious that the man was regarding him closely claw began to speak rapidly this dawson it's way over the other side of the mountains ain't it i heard how they'd made a strike over there a big strike brent nodded yes he answered ever been there me no me and the woman lives over in the nahani i trap brent laughed what's the matter claw I'm not connected with the police. You don't need to lie to me. What have you got? A load of hooch for the engines? The man stepped close and stared for a moment into Brent's face. Then suddenly he stepped back. Well, damn my soul, if it ain't you! He was staring at Brent in undisguised astonishment.

But what in hell's happened to you? A month ago you was... a bum interrupted brent going to hell by the hoot's route and not much farther to go but i'm not now and inside of six months i will be as good a man as i ever was you used to claim you always was as good a man as you ever was grinned claw well you was hitting it a little too hard i'm glad you quit you and me never hit it off like what you might say brothers you was always handing me a jolt one way and another but i never laid it up again you i always said you played your cards on top of the table and if you ever done anything to a man you'd done it to his face and that's more in the hell of a lot of em does there's the old woman hollerin for supper i'll come over after you've eat and we'll smoke a pipe or two claude disappeared and brent and joe pete ate their supper and sighed silence now and again during the meal brent smiled to himself as he caught the eyes of the indian regarding him somberly after supper claw returned and seated himself by the fire what you doin over on this side he asked you ain't honest-to-god prospectin be you sure i am everything is staked over there and i've got to make another strike they ain't no gold on this side opined claw who says so me an odd o'er to know if any one does i've been round here goin on twenty year and i spend as much time on this side as i do on t'other

brent remembered he had heard of claw's long journeys to the eastward men said he went clear to the coast of the arctic where he carried on nefarious barter with the whalers, trading Indian and Eskimo women for hooch, which he in turn traded to the Indians. "'Maybe you haven't spent much time hunting for gold,' hazarded Brent. "'I'd tell a party I ain't. What's the use of hunting for gold where they ain't none? Over on this side, a man can do better at something else.' He paused and leered knowingly at Brent. "'For instance?' claw laughed i ain't afraid to tell you what i do over here they ain't but a damn few i would tell but i know you won't squeal you ain't a-goin to run to the mountain and spill all you know some would but not you

i'm peddling hooch that's what i'm doin got two sled loads along that i brung through from dawson i thinn it out with water and it'll last till i get to the coast clean over on coronation gulf and then i lay in a fresh batch from the whalers and hit back for dawson it used to be i could hit straight north from here and connect up with the whalers near the mouth of the mackenzie but the mount had got on to me and i had to quit well it's about time to roll in the man reached into his pocket and pulled out a bottle of liquor glad you quit hooch he grinned but i don't suppose you'd mind taking a little drink with a friend way out here it can't hurt you none where you can't get no more he removed the cork and tendered the bottle but brent shook his head no thanks claw he said i'm off of it and besides i haven't got but a few real friends and you are not one of them oh all right all right laughed claw as he tilted the bottle and allowed part of the contents to gurgle audibly down his throat of course i know you don't like me none whatever but i like you all right no harmon offering a man a drink is they none whatever answered brent and no harm in refusing one when you don't want it claw laughed again not none whatever when you don't want it and turning on his heel he returned to his own tent chuckling for he had noted the flash that momentarily lighted brent's eyes at the sight of the liquor and the sound of it gurgling down his throat

early in the morning brent awoke to see claw standing beside his fire while joe pete prepared breakfast he joined the two and claw thrust out his hand well your breakfast's ready and you'll be pullin out soon we've pulled already the old woman's mushing ahead so long shake to show there's no hard feelin's or better yet have a drink he drew the bottle from his pocket and thrust it toward brent so abruptly that some of the liquor spilled upon brent's bare hand the order of it reached his nostrils and for a second brent closed his eyes. Tea ready, said Joe Pete gruffly. Damn it, don't I know it? snapped Brent. Then his hand reached out for the bottle. Guess one won't hurt any, he said, and raising the bottle to his lips, drank deeply.

Sure it won't, agreed Claw. I knowed you wasn't afraid of it. Take it or let it alone, whichever. you want to. Showed that last night. Instantly, the liquor enveloped Brent in its warm glow. The grip of it felt good in his belly, and a feeling of vast well-being pervaded his brain. Claw turned to go. What do you get for a quart of that liquor over here? asked Brent. Two ounces, answered Claw, and they ain't nothing in it at that, after Pats.

it over them mountains. I get two ounces for it after it's been weakened, but I'll let you have it for two the way it is. I'll take a quart, said Brent, and a moment later he paid claw two ounces guess weight out of the buckskin pouch in return for a bottle that claw produced from another pocket. And as Brent turned into the tent, claw slipped back into the timber and joined his squaw. who was breaking trail at a right angle to the river over a low divide and as he mushed on in the trail of his sleds claw turned and leered evilly upon the little camp beside the frozen river end of chapter twelve recording by roger maline chapter thirteen of snowdrift a story of the land of the strong cold by james b hendricks this librivox recording is in the public domain recording by roger maline snowdrift by james b hendricks chapter thirteen the camp on the copper mine

it was mid-afternoon when brent drank the last of the liquor and threw the bottle into the snow he was very drunk and with the utmost gravity halted the outfit and commanded the indian to turn the dogs and strike out on the trail of claw but joe pete merely shrugged and started the dogs whereupon brent faced about and started over the back trail when he had proceeded a hundred yards the indian halted the dogs and strode swiftly after brent who was making poor going of it on his snow-shoes as joe pete understood his orders the journey to the mackenzie called for no side trips after hooch and he made this fact known to brent in no uncertain terms whereupon brent cursed him roundly and showed fight it was but the work of a few moments for the big indian to throw him down tie him hand and foot and carry him struggling and cursing back to the sled where he rode for the remainder of the day in a most uncomfortable position from which he hurled threats and malediction upon the broad back of the indian the following morning brent awoke long before daylight his head ached fiercely and in his mouth was the bitter after the indian the following morning brent awoke long before daylight his head ached fiercely and in his mouth was the bitter after aftermath of dead liquor. In vain he sought sleep, but sleep would not come. Remorse and shame gripped him, as it had never gripped him before. He writhed at the thought that only a day or two ago

he had laughed at Hooch, and had openly boasted that he was through with it, and that he would not take a drink if he possessed a barrel of it. And at the very first opportunity he had taken a drink and after that first drink he had paid gold that was not his to use for such purpose for more hooch and had deliberately drank himself drunk the reviling and malediction which he had hurled at joe pete from the sled were words of gentle endearment in comparison with a terrible self-castigation that he indulged in as he tossed restlessly between his blankets and longed for the light of day to be rid of the torture he finally arose replenished the fire and brewed many cups of strong tea and when joe pete stepped from the tent in the gray of the morning it was to find breakfast ready and brent busy harnessing the dogs in silence the meal was eaten and in silence the two hit the trail that day was a hard one owing to rough ice encountered upon the lower gravel river and the two alternated frequently between breaking trail and working at the g-pole the long snow trail had worked wonders for brent physically and by evening he had entirely thrown off the effects of the liquor he ate a hearty supper and over the pipes beside the fire the two men talked of gold as they turned in brent slapped joe pete on the back

just forget what i said yesterday i was a damned fool the indian shrugged the hooch she all time make de damn fool she no good i ain't care what de hooch talk about some time you quit de hooch that good thing when you sober you good man you say joe pete you do like dis i do it when de hooch say joe pete you do like some nother way i say go to hell at fort norman brent bought an additional dog team and outfitted for the trip to the copper mine upon learning from murchison the factor that the lower copper mine, from Kendall River northward to the coast, had been thoroughly explored and prospected without finding gold, he decided to abandon the usual route by way of Dees Bay, Dees River, the dismal lakes, and the Kendall River, and swung southward to the eastern extremity of Conjure Bay of Great Bear Lake, and then head straight across the barons to strike the upper reaches of the copper mine in the region of Point Lake.

Murchison expressed doubt that there was gold upon any part of the copper mine. If there is, he added, No one's ever got any of it, and I'm doubting if there's any gold east of the McKenzie. I've been on the river a good many years, and I never saw any, except a few nuggets that an old squaw named Wananabish found years ago. "'On the copper mine?' asked Brent. Murchison laughed.

"'I don't know, and she don't either. She found him, and then her husband was drowned in a rapids, and she pulled out of there, and she claimed she ain't never been able to locate the place since, and she spent years hunting for it and dragging a little band of worthless engines after her. They're over there now, somewhere. I heard they hid up Hare Indian River along about the 1st of September.

McTavish, at Good Hope, give him debt to be rid of him. But I don't think they'll find any gold. The formation don't seem to be right on this side of the river. Gold has been taken from the bottom of the sea and from the tops of mountains, reminded Brent. You know the old saying, gold is where you find it. aye answered murchison with a smile but east of the mackenzie gold is where you don't find it the four hundred mile journey from fort norman to the copper mine was accomplished in sixteen days a permanent campsite was selected upon the west bank of the river and the two worked with a will in constructing a tiny log cabin well within the shelter of a thick clump of spruce brent's eyes had lost the last trace of muddiness the bloated unhealthy skin had cleared and his flabby muscles had grown iron hard

so that he plunged into the work of felling and trimming trees and heaving at logs with a zest and enthusiasm that had not been his for many a long day he had not even thought of a drink in a week when the cabin was finished and the last of the chinking rammed into place, he laughingly faced Joe Pete upon the trampled snow of the dooryard. "'Come on now, you old leather image,' he cried. "'Come and take your medicine. I owe you a good fall or two for the way you used me on the trail. "'You heap skook'em, all right, but I can put you on your back. Remember, you don't handle the butt-ends of all those logs.' And thus challenged, the big big big.

big indian who was good for his two hundred pound pack on a portage sailed in with a grin and for ten minutes the only sounds in the spruce thicket were the sounds of scrapping mucklucks on the hard trampled snow and the labored breathing of the straining men laughter rang loud as brent twice through the indian rolled him on to his back and rubbed snow into his face and then still laughing the two entered their cabin and devoured a huge meal of broiled caribou steaks and pilot bread supper over joe pete lighted his pipe and regarded brent gravely on de trail he said i handle you like one little baby now you skukum tilakum you de first man can put joe pete on de back de hooch she no good for hell you bet she's no good for hell you bet she's no No good, agreed Brent. Believe me, I'm through with it. It's been a good while since I've even thought of a drink. Joe Pete seemed unimpressed.

You ain't think about a drink because you ain't got none. That better you keep away from it, or you think about it damn quick. And Brent, remembering that morning on the trail when he had said goodbye to Claw, answered nothing. For the next few days, while Joe Pete worked at the building of a cache, Brent hunted caribou. Upon one of these excursions, while following up the river, some three or four miles south of the cabin, he came suddenly upon a snowshoe trail. It was a fresh trail, and he had followed it scarcely a mile when he found other trails that crossed and recrossed the river, and upon rounding a sharp bend,

he came abruptly upon an encampment. Three tiny log cabins, and a half-dozen teepees were visible in a grove of scraggling spruce that gave some shelter from the sweep of the wind. Beyond the encampment, the river widened abruptly into a lake. An Indian paused in the act of hacking firewomen,

from a dead spruce and regarded him stolidly. Brent ascended the bank and greeted him in English. Receiving no response, he tried the jargon. "'Clahoya, six!' The Indian glanced sideways, toward one of the cabins, and muttered something in guttural. Then the door of the cabin opened, and a girl stepped out onto the snow

and closed the door behind her. brent stared speechless as his swift glance took in the details of her moccasins deerskin leggings short skirt white capote and stocking cap she held a high-power rifle in her mittened hand then their eyes met and the man felt his heart give a bound beneath his tight-buttoned mackinaw instantly he realized that he was staring rudely and as the blood mounted to his cheeks he snatched the cap from his head and stepped forward with hasty apology i beg your pardon he stammered you see i had no idea you were here i mean i had not expected to meet a lady in the middle of this godforsaken wilderness and especially as i only expected to find indians and i hadn't even even and expected them until I struck the trail on the river. The man paused, and for the first time, noted the angry flash of the dark eyes, noted, too, that the red lips curled scornfully.

I am an Indian, announced the girl haughtily, and now you have found us. Go! An Indian, cried Brent. Surely you are—go! repeated the girl before i kill you oh come now smiled brent you wouldn't do that we are neighbors why not be friends go repeated the girl and don't come back the next time i shall not warn you the command was accompanied by a sharp click as she threw a cartridge into the chamber of her rifle and another swift glance into her eyes showed brent that she was in deadly earnest he returned the cap to his head and bowed very well he said gravely i don't know who you think i am or why you should want to kill me but i do know that some day we shall become better acquainted good bye till we meet again end of chapter thirteen recording by roger maline chapter fourteen of snowdrift a story of the land of the strong cold by james b hendricks

this librivox recording is in the public domain recording by roger maline snowdrift by james b hendricks chapter fourteen in the barons late that evening brent and joe pete were surprised by a knock upon the door of their cabin brent answered the summons and three indians filed solemnly into the room two of them stood blinking foolishly while the third drew from a light pack a fox skin which he extended for brent's inspection brent handed the skin to joe pete what's all this he asked What do they want? Hooch, answered the Indian, who had handed over the skin. Brent shook his head. No hooch here, he answered. You've come to the wrong place.

You are the fellows I saw today in the camp up the river. Tell me, who is the young lady that claims she's an Indian? And why is she on the war path? The three stared stolidly at each other and at Brent, but gave no hint of understanding a word he had uttered. He turned to Joe Pete. You try it, he said. See if you can make him talk.

The Indian tried them in two or three coast dialects, but to no purpose. And at the end of his attempt, the visitors produced two more fox skins and added them to the first. They think we're holding out for a higher price, laughed Brent. no wonder these damned hooch peddlers can afford to take a chance what are those skins worth joe pete examined the pelts critically this one she dark cross fox were maybe so thirty dollar this one and this one cross fox were at about twenty dollar seventy dollars for a bottle of hooch cried brent it's robbery he handed back the skins and at the end of five minutes during which time he indicated as plainly as possible by means of signs that there was no hooch forthcoming the indians took their departure the next evening they were back again and this time they offered six skins one of them a silver fox that joe pete said would bring eighty dollars at any trading post after much patient pantomime brent finally succeeded in convincing them that there was really no hoot to be had and with openly expressed disgust the three finally took their departure

shortly after noon a week later brent drew the last bucket of gravel from the shallow shaft threw it on to the dump and leaving joe pete to look after the fire took his rifle and struck off up the river in search of caribou go down the river whispered the still small voice of common sense there are no hunters there but brent only smiled and held his course and as he swung over the snow trail his thoughts were of the girl who had stepped from the cabin and angrily ordered him from the village at the point of her rifle each day during the intervening week he had thought of her and he had lain awake at night and tried and he had lain awake at night and tried in vain to conjure a reason for her strange behavior. Alone on the trail, he voiced his thoughts. Why should she threaten to shoot me? Who does she think I am? Why should she declare she is an Indian?

I don't believe she's any more Indian than I am. Whoever heard of an Indian with eyes like hers, and lips, yes, and a tip-tilted nose? Possibly a breed, but never an Indian. and i wonder if her warlike attitude includes the whole white race or a limited part of it or only me i'll find out before this winter is over but i'll bet she can shoot she threw that shell into her rifle in a sort of off-hand practiced way like most girls would powder their nose his speculation was cut short by a trail that crossed the river at a right angle and headed into the scrub in a southeasterly direction. The trail was only a few hours old

and had been made by a small band of caribou traveling at a leisurely pace. Abruptly, Brent left the river and struck into the trail. For an hour he followed it through the scraggly timber and across patches of open tundra and narrow beaver meadows. The animals had been feeding as they were, they traveled and it was evident that they could not be far ahead cautiously topping a low ridge he sighted them upon a small open tundra about two hundred yards away there were seven all told two bulls three cows and two yearlings one of the bulls and two cows were pawing the snow from the moss and the others were lying down taking careful aim Brent shot the standing bull. The animals that had been lying down scrambled to their feet and three more shots in rapid succession accounted for a cow and one of the yearlings,

and Brent watched the remaining four plunge off through the snow in the direction of the opposite side of the tundra, which was a mile or more in width. When they had almost reached the scrub, he was startled to see the flying bull suddenly rear high and topple into the. the snow. The next instant one of the others dropped, and a moment later a third. Then to his ears came the sound of four shots fired in rapid succession. As Brent stepped out onto the tundra and, sheath-knife in hand, walked to his fallen caribou, he saw a figure from the opposite scrub. An exclamation of surprise escaped him. It was the girl of the Indian village. wonder if she needs any help he muttered as he slit the throat of his third caribou he glanced across the short open space to see the girl bending over the carcass of the other bull guess i'll take a chance he grinned and go and see i knew she could shoot three out of four running shots that's going some when he was half-way across the open he saw he saw he saw he saw he could shoot three out of four running shots that's going some

when he was half-way across the open he saw the girl rise and wipe the blade of her knife upon the hair of the dead bull's neck she turned and knife in hand waited for him to approach brent noted that her rifle lay within easy reach of her hand propped against the dead animal's belly he noted also that as he drew near she made no move to recover it jerking at the strings of his cap he removed it from his head that was mighty good shooting he smiled those brutes were sure traveling but they were very close i couldn't have missed it took two shots for the last one but both bullets counted you did good shooting too your shots were harder they were farther away did all your bullets count brent laughed aloud from pure joy he hardly heard her words the only thing he could clearly comprehend was the fact that there was no hint of anger in the dark eyes and that the red lips were smiling i'm sure i don't know he managed to reply i didn't stop to look i think very likely i missed one shot why do you take your cap off she asked and almost instant She smiled again. Oh, yes, I know.

I have read of it. But they don't do it here. Put it on, please. It is cold. Brent returned the cap to his head. I'm glad I didn't know the other day. How expert you are with your rifle, he laughed. Or I wouldn't have stayed as long as I did.

The girl regarded him gravely. You are not angry with me, she asked. why no of course not why should i be angry with you i knew that there was no reason why you should shoot me and i knew that things would straighten out somehow i thought you had mistaken me for someone else and-i thought you were a hooch runner interrupted the girl i did not think any white man who is not a hooch runner or a policeman would be way over here and i could see that you were not in the mountain no answered brent i am not in the mountain but how do you know that i am not a hooch runner because three of our band went to your cabin that very night to buy hooch and they did not get it and the next night they went again and took more fox skins and again and again took more fox skins and again again they came away empty-handed. You sent them then? No, no, but I knew that they would think the same as I did

that you wanted to trade them hooch, so I followed them when they slipped out of the village. Both nights I followed, and I pressed my ear close to the door so that I heard all you said. Brent smiled. I have some recollection of asking one of those wooden images, something about a certain warlike young lady the girl interrupted him with a laugh yes i heard that and i heard you swear at the hooch traders and tell the indians there was no hooch in the cabin and i was glad the man's eyes sought hers in a swift glance why why were you glad he asked because i because you-because i-because you because i didn't want to kill you

you, and I would have killed you if you had sold them hooch. You wouldn't, really. Yes, I would, cried the girl, and Brent saw that the dark eyes flashed. I would kill a hooch runner as I would a wolf. They are wolves. They're worse than wolves. Wolves kill for meat, but they kill for money. They take the fur that would put bread in the mouths of the women and the little babies,

and they make the men drunken and no good. There used to be thirty of us in the band, and now there are only sixteen. Two of the men deserted their families since we came here because they would not stay where there was no hooch. The girl ceased speaking and glanced quickly upward. Snow, she cried.

It is starting to snow, and darkness will soon be here. I must draw these caribou before they freeze. She drew the knife from her belt and stepped to the carcass of the bull. But Brent took it from her hand. "'Let me do it,' he said eagerly. "'You stand there and tell me how,

and we'll have it done in no time.' "'Tell you how!' exclaimed the girl. "'What do you mean?' Brent laughed. "'I'm afraid I'm still an awful chichaco about some things. "'I can shoot them all. right, but there has always been someone to do the drawing and skinning and cutting up.

But I'll learn quickly. Where do I begin? Under the minute directions of the girl, Brent soon had the big bull drawn. The two smaller animals were easier, and when the job was finished, he glanced apprehensively at the thickening storm. We had better go now, he said. Do you know how far it is to your camp? "'Nine or ten miles, I think,' answered the girl.

"'We have only been here since fall, and this is the first time I have hunted in this direction. But first we must draw your caribou. If they freeze, they cannot be drawn, and then they will not be fit for food.' "'But the snow,' objected Brent. "'It is coming down faster all the time.' "'The snow won't bother us. There is no wind. Hurry, we must finish the others before dark.

But the wind might spring up at any moment, and if it does, we will have a regular blizzard. Then we can camp, answered the girl, and before the astounded man could reply, she had led off at a brisk pace in the direction of the other caribou. The early darkness was already beginning to make itself felt, and Brent drove to his task with a will and to such good purpose that the girl nodded hearty approval. You did learn quickly, she smiled.

I could not have done it any better nor quicker myself. Thank you, he laughed, and that is a real compliment, for by the way you can handle a rifle and cover ground on snow-shoes, I know you are skookum-tillicum. yes admitted the girl i'm skookum tilicum but i ought to be i was born in the north and i have lived in the woods and in the barrens and upon rivers all my life brent was about to reply when each glanced for a moment into the other's face and then both stared into the north from out of the darkness came a sullen roar low and muffled and mighty like the roar of surf on the shore of a distant sea it is the wind cried the girl quick take a shoulder of meat we must find shelter in camp i can't cut a leg bone with this knife there are no bones it is like this she snatched the knife from brent's hand and with a few deft slashes severed a shoulder from the yearling caribou

come quick she urged and led the way toward a dark blotch that showed in the scraggling timber a few hundred yards away when the storm strikes we shall not be able to see she flung over her shoulder we must make that thicket of spruce or we're bushed louder and louder sounded the roar of the approaching wind brent encumbered with his rifle and the shoulder of meat found it hard to keep up with the girl whose snowshoes fairly flew over the snow. They gained the thicket a few moments before the storm struck. The girl paused before a thick spruce that had been broken off and lay with its trunk caught across the upstanding butt some four feet from the ground. Jerking the axe from its sheath,

she set to work, lopping branches from the dead tree. Break some live branches for the roof of our shelter, she commanded. This stuff will do for firewood, and in a minute you can take the axe and I will build the wiki up. The words were snatched from her lips by the roar of the storm.

Full upon them now, it bent and swayed the thick spruces as if to snap them at their roots. Brent gasped for breath in the first rush of it and the next moment was coughing the flinty dry snowpowder from his lungs.

no longer were there snow flakes in the air the air itself was snow snow that seared and stung as it bit into lips and nostrils that sifted into the collars of capote and mackinaw and seized neck and throat in a deadly chill back and forth brent stumbled bearing limbs which he tore from the trunks of trees and as he laid them at her feet the girl deftly arranged them the axe made the work easier and at the end of a half hour the girl shouted in his ear that there were enough branches removing their rackets they stood them upright in the snow and stooping the girl motioned him to follow as she crawled through a low opening in what appeared to be a mountain of spruce boughs to his surprise brent found that inside the wiki up he could breathe freely the fine powdered snow collecting upon his close-lying needles had effectively sealed the roof and walls for another half hour the two worked in the intense blackness of the interior with hands and feet pushing the snow out through the opening and when the task was finished they spread a thick floor of the small branches that the girl had piled along one side only at the opening there were no branches and there upon the ground the girl proceeded to build a tiny fire we must be careful she cautioned and only build a small fire or our house will burn down as she talked she opened a light pack-sack that brent had noticed upon her shoulders and drew from its interior a rabbit robe which she spread upon the boughs then from the pack she produced a small stew-pan and a little package of tea she filled the pan with snow and she filled the pan with snow and she filled the pan with snow and

smiled up into Brent's face. And now, at last, we are snug and comfortable for the night. We can live here for days, if necessary. The caribou are not far away, and we have plenty of tea. You are a wonder, breathed Brent, meeting squarely the laughing gaze of the dark eyes. Do you know that if it had not been for you, I would have been—would never have weathered this storm? You were not born in the bush, she reminded, as she added more snow to the pan. I do not even know your name, she said gravely, and yet I feel— She paused, and Brent, his voice raised hardly above a whisper, asked eagerly, Yes, you feel—how do you feel?

I feel as though—as though I had known you always, as though you. you were my friend." "'Yes,' he answered, and it was with an effort he kept the emotion from his voice. "'We have known each other always, and I am your friend. My name is Carter Brent. And now tell me something about yourself. Who are you, and why did you tell me you were an Indian?'

"'I am an Indian,' she replied quickly. "'That is, I am a half-breed. my father was a white man and what is your name snowdrift snowdrift he cried what an odd name is it your last name or your first why it is the only name i have and i never had any other but your father what was your father's name there was a long moment of silence while the girl threw more snow into the pan and added wood to the fire. Then her words came slowly, and Brent detected a peculiar note in her voice. He wondered whether it was bitterness or pain. My father is dead, she answered.

I do not know his name. Why is snowdrift an odd name? I think it a beautiful name, cried Brent. do you really the dark eyes were regarding him with a look in which happiness seemed to be blended with fear lest he were mocking her indeed i do i love it and now tell me more of your life of your education i went to school at the mission on the mackenzie i went there for a good many years and i worked hard for i liked to study and i liked to study and And books! I love to read books. I read all they had, and some of them many times. Do you love books? Why, yes, answered Brent. I used to. I haven't read many since I came north. Why did you come north? I came for gold.

For gold! cried the girl, her eyes shining. That is why we are here. wananabish says there is gold here in the barons once many years ago she found it but we have tried to find the place again and we cannot who is wananabish wananabish is my mother she is an indian and she has tried to keep the band together through many years and to keep them away from the hooch but they will not listen to her it was hard work to persuade them to come away to come away from the river. And have you found gold? Yes, answered Brent. Way over beyond the mountains that lie to the westward of the Mackenzie, I found much gold, but I lost it. Lost it? Oh, that was too bad. Did it fall off your sled? Well, not exactly, answered the man dryly. In my case it was more of a toboggan. Couldn't you find it again?

No, other men have it now. And they won't give it back? No, it is theirs. That part of it is all right, only I would give anything in the world to have it now. Why do you want it now? Can you not find more gold? I guess I do not understand.

Brent shook his head. No, you do not understand. But sometime you will understand. Sometime, I think I shall have many things to tell you. And then I want you to understand. The girl glanced at him wonderingly, as she threw a handful of tea into the pan. You must sharpen some green sticks and cut pieces of meat, she said,

and we will eat our supper. A silence fell upon them during the meal, a silence broken only by the roar of the wind that came to them as from afar, muffled as it was by its own freighting of snow. Hardly for a moment did Brent take his eyes from the girl. There was a great unwanted throbbing in his breast that seemed to cry out to him to take the girl in his arms and hold her tight against his pounding heart.

And the next moment the joy of her was gone, and in its place was a dull, heavy pain. "'Now I know why I like you,' said the girl abruptly as she finished her piece of venison. "'Yes,' smiled Brent. "'And are you going to tell me?' "'It is because you are good,' she continued, without noting the quick catch in the man's breath.

"'Men who hunt for gold are good. "'My father was good, and he died hunting for gold. One Anabish told me. It was years and years ago when I was a very little baby. I know from reading in books that many white men are good, but in the north they are bad, unless they are of the police or are priests or factors. I had sworn to hate all men who came into the north, but I forgot the men who hunt gold. I am glad you remembered them, answered Brent. gravely. I hope you are right. I am sleepy, announced the girl. We cannot both sleep in this robe, for we have only one,

and to keep warm it is necessary to roll up in it. One of us can sleep half the night, while the other tends the fire, and then the other will sleep. You go to sleep, said Brent. I will keep the fire going. I am not a bit sleepy, and besides. I have a whole world of thinking to do. I will wake up at midnight, and then you can sleep, she said, and, taking off her moccasins and leggings and long-wollen stockings, she arranged them upon sticks to dry and rolled up in the thick robe. Good night, called Brent as she settled down.

Good night, and may God keep you. You forgot that part, she corrected gravely. We used to say that at the mission. Yes, answered Brent. May God keep you. I did forget that part. Suddenly the girl raised her head. Do you believe we have known each other always? she asked.

Yes, girl, he answered. I believe we have known each other since the beginning of time itself. Why did you come way over here to find gold. I have heard that there is much gold beyond the mountains to the westward. It was upon Brent's tongue to say, I came to find you, but he restrained the impulse. All the gold claims that are any good are taken up over there, he explained, and I read in a book that a man gave me that there was gold here.

What kind of a book was that? I never read a book about gold. it was an old book one that the man had picked up over in the hudson bay country its title was torn off but upon one of its pages was written a man's name probably the name of the former owner of the book i have often wondered who he was the name was murdo mcfarland murdo mcfarland cried the little girl sitting bolt upright and staring at brent yes answered the man do you know him the girl reached out and tossed her belt to brent it is the name upon the sheaf of the knife she answered it is wananabish's knife i broke a man the point of mine." Brent took the sheath and held it close to the light of the little fire. "'Murdo McFarlane,' he deciphered. "'Yes, the name is the same.' And long after the girl's regular breathing told him she was sleeping, he repeated the name again. "'Murdo McFarlane. I don't know who you were or who you are, if you still live.'

but whoever you were or whoever you are, here's good luck to you, Mirdo McFarlane. End of Chapter 14. Recording by Roger Maline. Chapter 15 of Snowdrift, a story of the Land of the Strong Cold by James B. Hendricks. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline. Snowdrift by James B.

B. Hendricks. Chapter 15. Moonlight The wind had died down, although the snow continued to fall thickly the following morning, as Brent and Snowdrift crept from the wiki-up and struck out for the river. It was heavy going, even the broad-webbed snow-shoes sinking deeply into the fluffy white smother

that covered the wind-packed fall of the night. brent offered to break trail but snowdrift insisted upon taking her turn and as he labored in her wake the man marvelled at the strength and the untiring endurance of the slender lithe-bodied girl he marvelled also at the unfailing sureness of her sense of direction twice when he was leading she corrected him and when after nearly four hours of continuous plotting they stood upon the bank of the river he realized that without her correction his course would have carried him miles to the southward good-bye he smiled extending his bared hand when at length they came to the part of the ways. I don't want but one of the caribou I shot. Divide the other two between the families of the Indians that skipped out. Slipping off her mitten, the girl took the proffered hand unhesitatingly, and an ecstatic thrill shot through Brent's heart at the touch of the firm slender fingers that closed about his own, a thrill that half consciously, half unconsciously,

caused him to press the hand that lay warm within his clasp yes she answered making no effort to release the hand they need the meat with the rabbits they can snare it will keep them all winter i have not much fur yet a few fox skins and some loupse vire i will bring them to you to-morrow bring them to me cried brent what do you mean why should you bring them to me why she exclaimed regarding him curiously to pay for the meat of course a caribou is worth a cross-fox and brent felt the blood to his face abruptly almost roughly he released the girl's hand i did not offer to sell you the meat he answered a trifle stiffly they need it and they're welcome to it snowdrift too had been thrilled by that hand clasp and the thrill had repeated itself at the gentle pressure of the strong fingers and she was quick to note the change in the man's manner and stood uncertainly regarding the bared hand until a big snowflake settled upon it and melted into a drop of water then she thrust the hand into her big fir mitten and as her glance met his brent saw that the dark eyes were deep with concern i-i do not understand she said softly i have made you angry i do not want you to be angry with me do you mean that you want to be angry with me do you mean that you want to give them the meat people do not give meat excepting to members of their own tribe when they are very poor but you are not of the tribe you are not even an indian white men do not give indians meat ever

already brent was cursing himself for his foolish flair of pride again his heart thrilled at the wonder of the girl's absolute unsophistication swiftly his hand sought hers but this time she did not remove it from the mitten i am not angry with you snowdrift he exclaimed quickly i was a fool it was i who did not understand but i want you to understand that here is one white man who does give me to indians and i wish i were a member of your tribe sometime maybe oh no no you would not want to be one of us we are very poor and we are indians you are a white man why should you want to live with us some day i will tell you why answered the man in a voice so low that the dark eyes searched his face wonderingly and now won't you give me your hand again to show me that you are not angry with me the girl laughed happily angry with you oh i would never be angry with you you are good you are the only good white man i have known who was not a priest or a factor or a policeman and even they do not give the indians meat with a swift movement she slipped her hand from the mitten and once more placed it within his and this time there was nothing unconscious in the pressure of brent's clasp he fancied that he felt the slender hand tremble ever so lightly within his own and glanced swiftly into the girl's face for an instant their eyes met

and then the dark eyes dropped slowly before his gaze and very gently he released her hand may i come and see you soon he asked why yes of course why did you ask me that she inquired wonderingly you know the way to our camp and you know that now i know you are not a hoot trader why smiled brent i asked because why just because it seemed the thing to do a sort of formality i reckon the girl's smile met his own i do not understand i guess formality what is that a custom of the land of the white man but i have not read of that in books here in the north if anybody wants to go to a place place, he goes, unless he has been warned to stay away for some reason, and then if he goes, he will get shot. I will shoot the hoot-traders if they come to the camp. The first time I will tell them to go, and if they come back, I will kill them. You wouldn't kill them, really, smiled Brent, amazed at the matter-of-fact statement coming from this slip of a girl,

whose face rimmed in its snow-covered park a hood was, he told himself, the most beautiful face he had ever looked upon. Didn't they teach you in the mission that it is wrong to kill? It is wrong to kill in anger, or for revenge for a wrong, or so that you may steal a man's goods, but it is not wrong to kill one who is working harm in the world. You too know that this is true, because in the books I have read of many such killings, and in some books it was openly approved,

and other books were so written that the approval was made plain. But there is the law, ventured Brent. Yes, there is the law, but the law is no good up here. By the time the policeman would get here, the hoot-trader would be many miles away. And even if they should catch him, The Indians would not say that he traded them hooch. They would be afraid. No, it is much better to kill them.

They take all the fur in trade for hooch, and then the women have nothing to eat, and the little babies die. Brent nodded, thoughtfully. I reckon you're right, he agreed. But I wish you would promise me that if any hooch runners show up, you will let me deal with them. oh will you cried the girl her eyes shining will you help me oh with a white man to help me with you she paused and as brent's glance met hers the dark eyes drooped once more and the man saw that the cheeks were flushed through their tan of course i'll help you he smiled reassuringly

i would love to and between us will make the copper mine country a mighty unhealthy place for the hooch runners you will come to see me reminded the girl and i will come to see you and we will hunt together and you will show me how to find gold yes promised brent we will see each other often very often and we will hunt together and i will show you all i know about finding gold good-bye and if you need any help getting the meat into camp let me know and joe pete and i will come down with the dogs we won't need any help with the meat there are plenty of us to haul it in that is squaw's work good-bye the girl stood motionless and watched brent until his form was hidden by a bend of the river then slowly she turned and struck off upstream and as she plodded through the ever-deepening snow her thoughts were all of the man who had come so abruptly so vitally into her life and as she pondered she was conscious of a strange unrest within her an awakening longing that she did not understand. Subconsciously, she drew off her heavy mitten and looked at the hand that had lain in his. And then she raised it to her face and drew it slowly across her cheek. In the cabin she answered the questions of old Wananabish in monosyllables, and after a hearty meal,

she left the cabin abruptly and entered another, where she lifted a very tiny red bait, from its bed of blankets and skins and to the astonishment of the mite's mother seated herself beside the little stove and crooned to it and cuddled it until the short winter day came to a close early the following day snowdrift piloted a dozen squaws with their sled and dog teams to the place of the kill one of brent's three caribou was gone and the girls eyes lighted with approval as she saw that his trail was partially covered with new-fallen snow. He came back yesterday, he and his Indian, and they got the meat. He is strong, she breathed to herself, stronger than I, for I was tired from walking in the loose snow, and I did not come back. Leaving the squaws to bring in the meat, the girl shouldered her rifle and strong.

into the timber, her footsteps carrying her unerringly toward the patch of scrub in which she and Brent had sought shelter from the storm. She halted beside the little wiki up, snow-buried now, even the hole through which they had crawled was sealed with the new-fallen snow. For a long time she stood looking down at the little white mound. As she turned to go, her glance fell upon a truff, like depression, only half filled with snow. The depression was a snowshoe trail, and it ended just beyond the little mound. It is his trail, she whispered, to a Canada J that chattered and jabbered at her from the limb of a dead spruce. He came here as I came to look at our little wiki up, and he went away and left it just as it was.

her head the jay flitted nervously from limb to limb with his incessant scolding why did he come she breathed and why did i come and as she had done upon the river she drew her hand from her mitten and passed it slowly across her cheek then she turned and striking into the half-buried trail followed it till it merged into another trail the trail the trail of a man with a dog sled, and then she followed the broader trail to the northwestward. At nine o'clock that same morning, Brent threw the last shovelful of the eight-inch thawing of gravel from the shallow shaft, and leaving Joe Pete to build and tend the new fire, he picked up his rifle, and under pretense of another hunt, struck off up the river in the direction of the Indian camp. Joe Pete watched with a puzzled frown until he had disappeared.

Then he carried his wood and lighted the fire in the bottom of the shaft. An hour and a half later, Brent knocked at the door of the cabin from which Snowdrift had stepped, rifle in hand, upon the occasion of their first meeting. The door was opened by a wrinkled squaw, who looked straight into his eyes, and eyes as she waited for him to speak. There was unveiled hostility in the stare of those beady black eyes, and it was with a conscious effort that Brent smiled, "'Is snowdrift in?' he inquired. "'No,' the squaw answered, and as an afterthought,

"'she has gone with the women to bring in the meat.' The man was surprised that the woman spoke perfect English. the indians who had come to trade had known only the word hooch his smile broadened though he noticed that the glare of hostility had not faded from the eyes she told you about our hunt then it was great sport she is a wonder with a rifle no she did not tell me the words came in a cold impersonal monotone can't i come in brent asked the question suddenly i must get back to camp soon i just came down to see-to see if i could be of any help in bringing in the meat the women bring in the meat answered the woman and brent felt as though he had been caught lying but she stepped aside and motioned him to a rude bench beside the stove brent removed his cap and glanced about him surprised at the extreme cleanliness of the interior until he suddenly remembered that this was the home of the girl with the wondrous dark eyes covertly he searched the face of the old squaw trying to discover one single feature that would proclaim her to be the mother of the girl but try as he would no slightest resemblance could he find in any line or liniment of the wringled visage

she had seated herself upon the edge of the bunk beyond the little stove can't we be friends he asked abruptly the laugh that greeted his question sounded in his ears like the snarl of a wolf yes if you will let me kill you now we can be friends oh come laughed brent that's carrying friendship a bit too far don't you think i had rather you had traded hoots to the men answered the woman sullenly for then she would even now hate you as some day she will learn to hate you learn to hate me what do you mean you know what i mean cried the squaw her voice quivering with anger you white men are devils you come and you stay awhile and then you go your way and you stop again and your trail is a trail of misery of misery and of fatherless half-breed babies i wish she had killed you that day you stood out there in the snow maybe the harm has been already done what do you mean roared brent overturning the bench and towering above the little stove in his rage you can't talk to me like that out with it what do you mean the squaw also was upon her feet cowering at the side of the bunk as she hurled her word into Brent's face.

Where were you last night, and where was she? Two steps, and Brent was before her, his face thrust to within a foot of her own. We were together, he answered in a voice that cut cold as steel, in a wiki-up that we built in the blinding snow and the darkness to protect us from the storm. Half of the night, while she slept upon, her robe, I sat and tended the fire, and then, because she insisted upon it, she tended

the fire while I slept. As the man spoke never for a moment did the glittering eyes of the squaw leave his close-thrust, blazing eyes, and when he finished she sank to the bunk with an inarticulate cry, for in the righteous wrath of the blazing eyes she had read the truth. and in his words was the ring of truth. Can it be? she faltered. Can it be that there is such a white man? The anger melted from Brent's heart as quickly as it had come.

He saw huddled upon the bunk, not a poison-tonged, snake-eyed virago, but a woman whose heart was torn with solicitude for the welfare of her child. but was snowdrift her child swiftly the thought flitted into brent's brain and as swiftly flashed another her child or another's what matter one might well question her parentage but never her love gently his hand went out and came to rest upon the angular shoulder and when he spoke the tone of his voice even more than his words reassured the woman there are many such white men he said soothingly you need not fear i am your friend and the friend of snowdrift i like yourself am here to find gold and like yourself am here to find gold and like yourself yourself i too hate the traitors of hooch and with reason he stepped to the stove upturned the bench and recovered his cap

and as the old woman rose to her feet brent saw that the look of intense hatred had been supplanted by a look which if not exactly of friendliness was at least one of passive tolerance at the doorway he paused hesitated for a moment and he paused and he hesitated for a moment and and then, point-blank, flashed the question that for days had been uppermost in his mind. Who is snowdrift? Wananibish leaned against a stanchion of the bunk. Instinctively, her savage heart knew that the white man standing before had spoken the truth. Her eyes closed, and, for a moment, in the withered breast, raged a conflict. Then her eyes opened. her lips moved and she saw that the man was straining eagerly toward her to catch the words snowdrift is my daughter she said

brent hesitated he had been quick to catch the flash of the eye that had accompanied the words a flash more of defiance than of anger it was upon his tongue to ask who was murdo mcfarland but instead he bowed i must go now i shall be coming here often i hope i shall not be unwelcome the look of passive tolerance was once more in her eyes and she shrugged so noncommittally that brent knew that for the present if he had not gained an ally he had at least eliminated an enemy as the man plodded down the river his thoughts were all of the girl the stern implacability of her as she stood in the doorway of the cabin and ordered him from the encampment the swift assurance with which she assumed leadership as the storm roared down upon them the ingenuous announcement that they must spend the night possibly several nights in the barons and the childlike naivete of the words that unveiled her innermost thoughts the compelling charm of her her beauty of face and form and the lithe untiring play of her muscles as she tramped through the new-fallen snow her unerring sense of direction her simple code of morals regarding the killing of men her every look and word and movement was projected with vivid distinctness upon his brain and then his thoughts turned to the little cabin that was her home and to the leathern-skinned old woman who told him she was the girl's mother the squaw lied he uttered fiercely

never in god's world is snow drift her daughter but who is she he rounded the last bend of the river and brought up shortly joe pete was stoking the fire with wood and upon the gravel dump sat the girl apparently very much interested in the operation almost at the same instant she saw him and brent's heart leaped within him at the glad little cry that came to him over the snow as the girl scrambled to her feet and hurried toward him where have you been she asked i came to hunt and you were gone so i waited for you to come and i watched joe pete feed the fire in the hole brent's fingers closed almost caressingly over the slender brown hand that was thrust into his and he smiled into the upraised eyes i too went to hunt i went to your cabin and your mother despite himself the man's tongue hesitated upon the word told me that you had gone with the women to bring in the meat oh you have seen wananabish cried the girl and she was glad to see you well smiled brent perhaps not so awfully glad right at first but wananabish and i are good friends now i am glad i am glad i am glad i am glad i am glad i am I love whenanabish. She is good to me. She has deprived herself of many things.

Sometimes, I think, even of food, that I might stay in school at the mission. And now it is too late to hunt today, and I am hungry. Let us go in the cabin and eat. Fine, cried Brent. Hey, Joe Pete, cut some caribou steaks, and I'll build up the fire. he turned again to the girl come on he laughed i could eat a raw dog but there is plenty of meat cried the girl and you'll need the dogs only when men are starving will they eat their dogs and not raw brent laughed heartily into the dismayed face you need not be afraid we will save the dogs till we need them that was only a figure of speech i meant that i am very hungry and that if i could find nothing else to eat i should relish even raw dog meat snowdrift was laughing now i see she cried in books are many such sayings it is a metaphor no not a metaphor ah oh i don't remember but anyway i am glad you said that

because I thought such things were used only in the language of books, and maybe I can say one like that myself some day. At the door of the cabin they removed their snow-shoes, and a few moments later a wood fire was roaring in the little stove. Joe Pete came in with the frozen steaks, set them down upon the table, and moved toward the door, but Brent called him back. you're in on this feed get busy and fry up those stakes while i set the table the indian hesitated glanced shrewdly at brent as if to ascertain the sincerity of the invitation

and throwing off his parka busied himself at the stove while brent and snowdrift laughing and chattering like children placed the porcelain lined plates and cups and the steel knives and forks upon the uneven pole table. The early darkness was gathering when they again left the cabin. Snowdrift paused to watch Joe Pete throw wood into the flames that leaped from the mouth of the shallow shaft. Why do you have the fire in the hole? She asked of Brent, who stood at her side. Why, to thaw the gravel so we can throw it out onto the dump?

then in the spring we'll sluice out the dump and see what we've got do you mean for gold asked the girl in surprise we only hunt for gold in the summer and the sand of the creeks and the rivers this way is better explained brent in the summer you can only muck around in the surface stuff you can't sink a shaft because the water would run in and fill it up in most places the deeper you go the richer the gravel the very best of it is right down against bedrock in the winter we keep a fire going until the gravel is thawed for six or eight inches down then we rake out the ashes and wait for the hole to cool down so there will be air instead of gas in it and then we throw out the loose stuff and build up the fire again and you won't know till spring whether you have any gold or not why maybe you would put in a whole winter's work and get nothing oh we kind of keep cases on it with a pan every day or so i scoop up a panful and carry it into the cabin and melt some ice and pan it out and is there gold here have you found it not yet that is not yet that is not in paying quantities. The gravel shows just enough color to keep us at it. I don't think it is going to amount to much. So far, we're making fair wages, and that's about all.

What do you mean by fair wages? smiled the girl. You see, I am learning all I can about finding gold. I expect worth throwing out maybe a couple of ounces a day, an ounce a piece. If it don't show something pretty quick, I'm going to try some other place. There's a likely-looking creek runs in above here. But an ounce of gold is worth $16, exclaimed the girl, and $16 every day for each of you is lots of money. Brent laughed. It's good wages, and that's about all.

But I'm not here just to make wages. I've got to make a strike. How much is a strike? Oh, anywhere from a half a million up. A half a million dollars, cried the girl. Why, what could you do with it all? Brent laughed. Oh, I could manage to find use for it, I reckon.

In the first place, I owe a man some money over on the Yukon. Two men. They've got to be paid. And after that, his voice trailed off into silence. And what would you do after that, persisted the girl? Well, answered the man, as he watched the shower of sparks fly upward. That depends. But come, it's getting dark.

I'll walk home with you. Are you going because you think I am afraid? She laughed. i am going because i want to go he answered and led off up the river as the darkness settled the snow-covered surface of the river showed as a narrow white lane that terminated abruptly at each bend in a wall of intense blackness overhead a million stars glittered so brightly in the keen air that they seemed suspended just above the serried sky-line of the bordering spruces at the end of an hour it grew lighter through the openings between the flanking spruce thickets long naked ridges with their overhanging wind-carved snow cornices were visible far back from the river as they came in sight of the encampment the girl who was traveling ahead paused abruptly and with an exclamation of delight pointed toward a distant ridge upon the clean-cut sky-line of which the rim of the full moon showed in an ever-widening segment of red brent stood close by her side and together in rapt silence they watched the glowing orb rise clear of the ridge watched its color pale

until it hung cold and clean cut in the night sky like a disk of burnished brass isn't it beautiful she breathed and by the gentle pressure that accompanied the words brent suddenly knew that her bared hand was in his own and that two mittens lay upon the snow at their feet wonderful he whispered as his eyes swept the unending panorama of lifeless barons it is as if we too were the only living beings in the whole dead world oh i wish-i wish we were cried the girl impulsively and then no that is wrong other people thousands and thousands of them men and women and little babies they all love to live it is wonderful to live breathed the man and to be standing here with you in the moonlight ah the moonlight Is it the moonlight that makes me feel so strange, in here? She raised her mittened hand and pressed it against her breast. So strange and restless.

I want to go. I do not know where, but I want to do something big. To go someplace, any place, but to go and go and go. Her voice dropped suddenly, and Brent saw that her eyes were resting broodingly upon the straggling group of tepees and cabins a dull square of light glowed sullenly from her own cabin window and her voice sounded heavy and dull but there is no place to go and nothing to do but hunt and trap and look for gold sometimes i wish i were dead no i do not mean that but i wish i had never lived nonsense girl you love to live beautiful strong young why life is only just starting for you brent had almost said us but of what use is it all why should one love to live i am an indian yet i hate the indians except one on a

we fight the hooch traders yet the men get the hooch it is no use i learn to love books at the mission and there are no books you are here with you i am happy but if you do not find a strike you will go away or if we do not find gold we will go the indians will return to the river and become hangers-on at the posts it is all no use brent's arms were about her her yielding body close against his and she was sobbing against the breast of his parka the man's brain was a chaos in vain he strove to control the trembling of his muscles as he crushed her to him in an unsteady voice he was murmuring words there there dear i am never going away from you never two arms stole about his neck and brent's heart pounded wildly as he felt them tighten in a convulsive embrace he bent down and their lips met in a long lingering kiss darling he whispered with his lips close to her ear you are mine mine and i am yours and we will live live tell me snowdrift sweetheart do you love me i love you her lips faltered the simple words and brent saw that the dark eyes that looked up into his own glowed in the moonlight like black pools now i know it was not the moonlight in here it was love yes darling it was love i have loved you since the first moment i saw you and i have loved you always

End of Chapter 15. Recording by Roger Maline. Chapter 16 of Snowdrift, A Story of the Land of the Strong Cold, by James B. Hendricks. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline. Snow Drift by James B. Hendricks. Chapter 16.

Confessions Brent returned to the cabin with his brain in a whirl. I'll make a strike before spring. I've got to. Then we'll hit for Dawson, and we'll stop at Fort Norman and be married. No, we'll go on through and be married at the Reeses. Married? A Brent married to an Indian. He halted in the trail and cursed himself for the thought. she's a damn sight too good for you you're a hell of a brent nothing left but the name gambler notorious gambler reeves said and a bar keep in malone's dive you're a hooch hound and you've got to keep away from hoot to stay sober you don't dare go back to dawson nor anywhere else where there's a saloon you're broke and worse than broke you're right now living on reeves's money and you think of marrying her furiously next morning he attacked the gravel at the bottom of the shaft

when the loose muck was thrown out he swore at the slow progress and futilely attacked the floor of the shaft with his pick as though to wind down to bedrock through the iron-hard frost then he climbed out and scooping up a pan from the dump retired to the cabin and washed it out same thing he muttered disgustedly as he stared at the yellow grains just wages i've got to make a strike there's reeves to pay and camillo bill and i've got to have dust and plenty of it for her damn this hole i'm going to hit for the lower river. We'll cover this shaft to keep the snow out and hit north. Hearn and Franklin and Richardson all report native copper on the lower river, amygdaloid beds that crop out in sheer cliffs. Gold isn't the only metal. There's millions in copper. And the river winding in and out among the trap and basalt dikes, there's bound to be gold too. He collected the few grains of gold,

threw out the gravel and water and picking up his rifle stepped out the door at the shaft he paused and called to joe pete that he was going hunting and as the big indian watched him disappear up the river his lips stretched in a slow grin and he tossed wood into the shaft a mile from the cabin brent rounded a sharp bend and came face to face with snowdrift there was an awkward silence during which both strove to appear unconcerned. The girl was the first to speak, and Brent noticed that she was blushing furiously. I am hunting, she announced, swinging her rifle prominently into view. Brent laughed. So am I hunting, for you. But really, I am hunting caribou. There are lots of mouths to feed, and the men are not much good. They will spend hours slipping up onto a caribou and then miss him. Come on then, let's go, answered the man, gaily.

Which way shall it be? I saw lots of tracks the other day on a lake to the eastward. It is six or seven miles. I think we will find caribou there. Brent tried to take her hand, but she eluded him with a laugh and struck out through the straggling timber at a pace that he soon found hard to follow slow down i'll be good he called when they had covered a quarter of a mile and snowdrift laughingly slackened her pace you're a wonder he panted as he closed up the distance that separated them don't you ever get tired oh yes very often but not so early in the day see three caribou passed this way only a few hours ago a bull and two cows they struck into the trail and two hours later snowdrift succeeded in bringing down one of the cows with a long shot

as the three animals trotted across a frozen muskeg and now we must kill one for you announced the girl as brent finished drawing the animal we needn't be in any hurry about it he grinned we still have most of the one we got the other day then why are you hunting i told you i found what i was hunting back there on the river how about lunch i'm hungry i'm hungry hungry as a wolf. The girl pointed to a sheltered spot in the lee of a spruce thicket, and while Brent scraped back the snow, she produced food from her pack. You must have figured on getting pretty hungry, teased Brent, eyeing the generous luncheon to which he had added his own. Snowdrift blushed. You brought more than I did, she smiled. See, there is much more. oh i'll come right out with it i put that up for two and mine is for two she admitted but you are mean for making me say it

during the meal the girl was unusually silent and several times brent surprised a look of pain in the dark eyes and then the look would fade and the eyes would gaze pensively into the distance once he was sure that her lip quivered what's the matter snowdrift he asked abruptly what is troubling you tell me all about it you might as well begin now you know because she hastened to interrupt him nothing is the matter she cried with an obviously forced gaiety but tell me where did you come from before you came to the yukon all my life i have wanted to know more of the land that lies to the southward the land of the white man father ambrose and sister mercedes told me much but it was mostly of the church and henri of the white water told me of great stores in edmonton where one may buy fine clothes of other stores where one may sell hooch without fear of the police and also where one may win money with cards and also where one may win money with cards but surely there are other things the white men and the women they do not always go to church and buy clothes and drink hooch and gamble with cards and are all the women beautiful like the pictures in the books and in the magazines brent laughed no all the women are not beautiful it is only once in a great while that one sees a really beautiful it is only once in a great while that one sees a really beautiful woman and you are the most beautiful woman i have ever seen but i am not beautiful cried the girl not like the pictures

the pictures are not pictures of real women they are creations of an artist's brain the pictures are the artist conception of what the real women should be snowdrift regarded him with the puzzled frown is it all make-believe in the land of the white man the books the novels that tell of knights in armor and of the beautiful ladies with their clothes and their rings of the diamonds that sparkle like ice and other novels that tell of suffering and of the plotting of men and women who are very bad and of the doings of men and women who are good sister mercedes said they are all lies that that they are all lies that the plodding of men and women who are very bad-and-of-the-doings of men and women who are good sister mercedes said they are all lies that they are the work of the brain of the man who wrote it down is it all lies and make-believe do the white men use their brains only to tell of the doings of people who have never lived and to make pictures of people and things that never were do you too live in the make-believe you have told me you love me and just now you told me that i was the most beautiful woman who were you too live in the make-believe you have told me-you love me and just now you told me that i was the most beautiful one woman you have seen. Those are the words of the books, of the novels. Always the man must tell the woman she is the most beautiful woman in the world. And it is all make-believe, and in the words is no truth. No, no, dear, you do not understand. I don't know whether I can explain it, but it is not all

make-believe, by a long shot. Life down there is as real as it is here. It is, and it is, here. There are millions of people there, and for them all life is a struggle. Millions live in great cities, and other millions live in the country and raise grain with which to feed themselves, and the millions who live in the cities. And the people in the cities work in great factories, and make the clothing and the tools and guns, and everything that is used by themselves, and by the people who live outside the cities, and they build the ships and the railroads which carry these goods to all parts of the world.

But you have read of all that in the books, and the books are not all lies and make believe, for they tell of life as it is, not as any one or a dozen characters live it, but as thousands and millions live it. The comings and goings of the characters are the composite comings and goings of a thousand or a million living breathing people and because each person is too busy too much occupied with his own particular life he does not know of the lives of the other millions but he wants to know so he reads the books and the magazines and the newspapers the girl hung absorbed upon his words and for an hour brent talked describing explaining

detailing the little things and the great things the commonplaces and the wonders of the far-off land to the southward but of all the things he described the girl was most interested in the libraries with their thousands and thousands of books that one might read for the asking the libraries and the clothing of the women all my life she concluded i have wanted to go to the land of the white man and see these things myself but i shall never see them and i am glad you have told me more brent laughed happily and before she could elude him his arms were about her and he had drawn her close indeed you shall see them he cried you and i shall see them together we'll be married at dawson and we'll make a strike with a low cry the girl freed herself from his arms and drew away to the other side of the fire no no no she cried with a catch in her voice i can never marry you oh why must we love why must we suffer when the fault is not ours they would hate me and despise me and point at me with the finger of scorn brent laughed hold on girl he cried some of the best families in the world have indian blood in their veins and they're proud of it i know em they'll come a long way from hating you why they'll pile all over themselves to meet you and a hundred years from now our great-great-grandchildren will be bragging about you suddenly he grew serious but maybe you won't marry me after all when you've heard what i've got to say maybe you'll despise me and it'll be all right if you do it will be what i have earned it isn't a pretty story and it's going to hurt to tell it to you

but you've got to know so here goes in the first place you think i'm good but i'm not good by most of the ten commandings you've got to know so here goes in the first place you think i'm good but i'm not good by most of the ten commanding and a lot of bylaws. I'm not going to do any whitewashing. I'm going to begin at the beginning and tell you the truth, so you can see how far I've dropped. In the first place, my family tree is decorated with presidents and senators and congressmen and generals and diplomats,

and its branches are so crowded with colonels and majors and captains and judges and doctors that they have to prop them up to keep them from breaking. Some were rich, but honest, and some were poor, but not so honest, and a lot of them were halfway between in both wealth and honesty. But anyway, you can't turn twenty pages of United States history without running into the trail of at least one man that I can claim kin to.

As for myself, I'm a college man and a mining-either. engineer. That means I was fitted by family and education to be a big man, and maybe get a chance to slip into history myself. I've made some over on the Yukon, but it ain't fit to print. Hooch was at the bottom of the whole business. I couldn't handle Hooch like some men can. One drink always called for another, and two drinks called for a dozen. i liked to get drunk and i did get drunk every chance i got and that was right often i lost job after job because i wouldn't stay sober and later some others because i couldn't stay sober i heard of the gold on the yukon and i went there and i found gold lots of it i was counted one of the richest men in the country then i started out to get rid of the gold i couldn't spend it all so i gambled it away almost from the time i made my strike i never drew a sober breath until i'd shoved my last marker across the table

then i dealt farrow turned professional gambler for wages in the best place in dawson but the hooch had got me and i lost out i got another job in a saloon that wasn't so good but it was the same story and in a little while i was tending bar selling hooch in the lowest dive in town and that means the lowest one in the world i reckon that last place the klondike palace with its painted women who sell themselves nightly to men with the scum of the earth carousing in its dance-hall and playing at its tables was the hell-hole of the yukon and i was part of it i stood behind its bar and sold hooch i was the devil that kept the hell-fire stoked and roaring and i kept full of hooch myself or i couldn't have stood it then i lost out even there on what you might call a technicality and after that i was just a plain bum everybody despised me worst of all i despised myself and i despised myself and i was just a plain bum everybody despised me worst of all i despised myself I did odd jobs to get money to buy hooch, and when I had bought it, I crawled into my shack and stayed there till it was gone. I was weak and flabby and dirty. My hands shook so I couldn't raise a glass of hooch to my lips until I'd had a stiff shot.

I used to lap the first drink out of a saucer like a dog. I dodged the men who had once been my friends. only joe pete who had helped me over the chilcote and who remembered that i was a good man on the trail and a girl named kitty would even turn their heads to glance at the miserable drunkard that slunk along the street with his bottle concealed in his ragged pocket there is one more i thought was my friend his name is camillo bill and he is square as a die and he did me a good turn when he cleaned me a hand and he did me a good turn when he cleaned me out by holding my claims for only what he had coming when he could have taken the mall but he came to see me one day toward the last he came to tell me that the claims had petered out i wanted him to grubstake me for a prospecting trip and he refused that turned me worse than all the rest for i thought he was my friend he cursed me and refused to grubstake me then i met a real friend one i had never seen before and he furnished the gold for my trip to the copper mine and here i am snowdrift had listened with breathless attention and when brent concluded she was silent for a long time this girl named kitty she asked at length who is she and why was she your friend

did you love this woman is she beautiful no answered brent gravely i did not love her she was not the kind of a woman a man would love she was beautiful after a fashion she might have been very beautiful had her life fallen in a different groove she was an adventurous big-hearted keen of brain but an adventurous hers was a life distorted and twisted far from its original intent for it was plain to all that she had been cast in a finer mould and even the roughest and most brutal of the men treated her with a certain respect that was not accorded to the others she never spoke of her past she accepted the present philosophically never by word or look admitting that she had chosen the wrong road her ethics were the ethics of the muck and ruck of the women of the dance halls she differed only in that she had imagination and a certain pride that prevented her from holding herself cheaply where others were careless and slovenly she was well groomed and while they caroused and shamelessly debauched themselves she held a loop from the rabble you asked why she was my friend i suppose it was because she was quick to see that i too was different from the riff-raff of the dives not that i was one whit better than they for i was not it was no credit to me that i was inherently different it was i reckon a certain innate pride that kept me out of the filth of the mire as it kept her out to me the painted slobans were physically loathsome so i shunned them

she was keener of brain than i or maybe it was because she had a perspective but while i was still at the height of my success with the claims and with the cards she foresaw the end and she warned me but i disregarded the warning and later when i was rushing straight to the final crash she warned me again and again and she despised me for the fool i was when at the very bottom i was taken suddenly sick it was kitty who nursed me through and then when i was on my feet again she left me to myself i have not seen her since and if you make a strike again asked the girl in a low voice will you go back to dawson to the cards and the hooch i will go back to dawson he answered and pay my dadson he answered and pay my debts i will not go back to the cards i am through with gambling for good and all for i have promised and when a brent gives his word he would die rather than break it but the hooch persisted snowdrift are you done with the hooch too brent was conscious that the eyes of the girl were fixed upon his in a gaze of curious intentness as though their deliberate at calm suppressed some mighty emotion. He groped for words. I don't, that is, how can I tell? I drink no hooch now, but there is none to drink.

I hate it, for I know that what it did to me once, it will do to me again. I hate it, and I love it, exclaimed the man. Tell me, is hate stronger than love? girl was silent for a moment and by the clenching of her fists brent knew that a struggle was raging within her she ignored his question and when she spoke her voice was low and the words fell with a peculiar dullness of tone i too have a thing to tell it is a horrible thing and when you have heard you will not want to marry me the girl paused and brent fell suddenly sick and weak. There was a dull ache in his breast that was an actual physical pain, and when the cold breeze fanned his forehead, it struck with a deadly chill. With a mighty effort he recovered, leaned swiftly toward her, and was vaguely conscious that she winced at the grip of his fingers upon her arm. "'Tell me!' he cried hoarsely.

for a single instant his eyes blazed into hers and then as though anticipating her words his fingers relaxed their hold and he settled back with a half-articulate moan oh god what you have told me she continued in the same dull tone is nothing it is past and gone it is dead and its evil died with it you are a white man the white man's thoughts are your thoughts and his standards are your standards you work the harm then unjustly you sit in judgment and the harm does not die with the deed the shame of it is the thing of the present and of the future and it is born always by the innocent the thing i must tell you is this i am a half-breed but my father was not the husband of wananibish who is my mother brent interrupted her with a quick glad cry is that all the blood surged hot through his veins the ache in his breast became a wild singing and suddenly he realized the grip and the depth of the thing that is called love with its power to tear and to rend the very foundations of his being he felt an insane desire to leap and to shout and the next instant the girl was in his arms and he was crushing her against his breast as he covered her face with hot kisses and when a few moments later he released her he laughed aloud a laugh that was clear and boyish and altogether good to hear while the girl gazed half fearfully half wonderingly into his eyes

i-i do not understand she faltered i have known this only for a short time henri of the whitewater told me of it and of the shame of it and then sister mercedes and it is true because years ago when i was very small wananabish told it to father ambrose damn henri of the white water and damn sister mercedes and Father Ambrose, cried Brent, his eyes narrowing. What did they tell you for? What difference does it make? Henri of the Whitewater told me because he was angry.

I would not marry him. I was going to a great convent school, and he said that in the land of the white man I would be an object of scorn, that people would shun me and point me out with the finger of shame. I did not believe him, so I went to Sister Mercedes, and she told me also. And so I would not go to the school, and that night I came away from the mission, came back to the Indians.

She paused, and as she raised her eyes to his, Brent saw that in their depths a wondrous newborn hope struggled against fear. Her lips moved. you do not scorn me you love me knowing that again she was in his arms and his lips were upon hers yes i love you love you love you you are mine darling mine for all time she did not resist his arms and he felt her yielding body pressed close against his own as her shoulders heaved in short quick sobs. Softly, almost timidly, her arm stole about his neck, and her tear-jeweled eyes raised to his. And you would marry me, not knowing who I am? Yes, darling, reassured Brent, neither knowing nor caring who you are.

It is enough that you are the dearest and most beautiful and the most lovable woman in the whole world of women. Why, girl, the wonder is not that I love you, but that you could love me after what I told you. It is the answer to your question, she smiled. It means that love is the strongest thing in all the world, stronger than hate, stronger than race or laws, or codes of ethics.

Love is supreme. And that means, then that my love for Hooch will conquer my hate for it?" No, breathed the girl, and Brent could feel her arms tighten about his neck. For your love for Hooch is not only to overcome your hate for it, but it must also overcome your love for me and my love for you. I am not afraid to fight it out with Hooch for your love. If I cannot make myself more to you than Hooch ever can,

I would not be worthy of your love. My darling, whispered Brent, his lips close to her ear. You have won already. I will promise. He was interrupted by her fingers upon his lips, shutting off the words. No, dear, she hesitated a second at the unfamiliar word. You must not promise, yet. It is easy to promise, out here in the bed.

where you have told me in your arms, and the hooch is far away. I asked no odds of hooch. Wait till you have stood the test. I am not afraid. I have not much learning, but some things I know. I know that, holding a promise, in as high regard as you hold one, if anything should happen, if you should drink hooch just once, the promise would be broken.

and never again would a promise be just the same. We have a war with Hooch, you and I, and we are going to win. But in the histories I have read of few wars where every battle was won by the same army, some of the battles we must expect to lose, but the war we will win. Not much learning, smiled Brent,

looking into the depths of the dark eye, but the concentrated wisdom of the ages the wisdom that is the heritage of woman and which not one woman in a thousand learns to apply for a long time the two sat beside their little fire and in the gloom of the early darkness they made their way toward the river end of chapter sixteen recording by roger maline chapter seventeen of seven of seven of six snowdrift a story of the land of the strong cold by james b hendricks this libervox recording is in the public domain recording by roger maline snowdrift by james b hendricks chapter seventeen in the cabin of the belvalu for two weeks brent and snowdrift were together each day from dawn until dark leaving joe pete to work the claim on the copper mine they burned into the gravel on a creek that gave promise and while their fire slowly thawed out the muck they hunted when at a depth of four feet they had not struck a color brent gave it up no use he said one day as he tossed the worthless pebbles from his pan if there was anything here we'd have found at least a trace i'm going to hit down the river and have a look at the copper mountains take me with you cried the girl eagerly how long will you be gone i wish i could smiled brent but joe pete and i will be gone two weeks a month maybe maybe you'll be gone

longer. It depends on what we find. If we were only married, what a great trip it would be. But never mind, sweetheart, we've got a good many trips coming, years and years of them. But that isn't now, objected the girl. What will I do all the while you are gone? Each morning I hurry here as fast as I can, and each evening I am sorry when the darkness comes, and I must leave you. The man drew her close. Yes, darling, he whispered. I understand.

The hours I spend away from you are long hours, and I count them one by one. I do not want to go away from you, but it is for you that I must make a strike. I would rather have you with me than have all the strikes in the world. I know, but we don't want to spend all our days in this god-forgotten wilderness, fighting famine and the strong cold. We want to go far away

from all this, where there is music and books and life. You've got it coming, little girl, but first we must make a strike. And we will not be married until you make your strike? The dark eyes looked wistfully into his, and Brent smiled. Strike or no strike, we will. be married in the spring, he cried, and if the strike has not been made, we'll make it together. Will we be married at the mission? No, at Dawson. Dawson, cried the girl, and I shall really see Dawson?

But isn't it very far? Brent laughed. Yes, you will really see Dawson, and you won't see much when you see it, in comparison. with what you will see when we quit the north and go back to the states in the spring you and juanabish and joe pete and i will take a month's vacation and when we come back darling we will have each other always but if you do not make a strike questioned the girl what then would you be happy here in the north with me sweetheart answered brent if i know if i know if i know you would you be happy here in the north with me sweetheart answered brent if i knew to a certainty that i should never make a strike that i should always live in these barons i would marry you anyway and call the barons blessed but i will make a strike it is for you and i cannot fail oh if i hadn't been such a fool the girl smiled into his eyes if you hadn't been such a fool you would never have come to the barons and i-i would always have been just an indian hating the white man hating the world living my life here and there upon the lakes and the rivers

in cabins and tepees with just enough education to long for the better things and with my heart bursting with pain and bitterness in the realization that those things were not for me it is strange how everything works out for the best mused brent the wise and the wherefores of life are beyond my philosophy sordid and twisted and wrong as they were my dawson days and the days of the years that preceded them, were all but the workings of destiny to bring you and me together up here on the rim of the Arctic. It was a great scheme, little girl, he smiled, suddenly breaking into a lighter mood, and the beauty of it is it worked. But what I was getting at is this. It don't seem reasonable that after going to all that trouble to bring us together

and taking such liberties with my reputation, old man destiny is going to make us fill out the rest of the time punching holes in gravel and snaring rabbits and hunting caribou that evening they said good-bye upon the edge of the clearing that surrounded the indian encampment and as brent turned to go he drew a heavy bag from his pocket and handed it to the girl keep this till i come back he said it's gold oh it is heavy cried the girl in surprise brent smiled way's up pretty big now but when we make our strike it won't be a shoestring but come one more good-bye and i must be going i've got to pack my outfit for an early start one day a week later brent stood with joe pete on the northernmost ridge of the copper mountains and gazed toward the coast of the arbor mountains and gazed toward the coast of the arbor arctic ocean. Almost at their feet, buried beneath snow and ice, were the bloody falls of the copper mine, and to the northward only snow. Brent was surprised, for he knew that the ridge upon which he was standing could not be more than ten or twelve miles from the coast, but he also knew that

he could see for twenty miles or more, and that the only thing that met the eyes was a gently undulating plain of snow, unbroken by even so much as a twig or a bush, or a hillock worthy the name. Never, he thought, as his glance swept the barren treeless waist, had eyes of mortal man beheld its equal for absolute bleak desolation. A cry from Joe Pete caused him to concentrate his gazed upon a spot toward which the Indian pointed, where dimly discernible, a A dark object appeared against the unbroken surface of the snow. The steel-blue haze, the cold fog of the north, obfuscated its outlines as it destroyed perspective, so that the object may have been five miles away or twenty.

It may have been the size of a dog or the size of a skyscraper. In vain the two strained their eyes in an endeavor to make it out. In the first gloom of the early darkness it disappeared altogether, and the two made their way to the frozen surface of the river, where, in the shelter of a perpendicular wall of rock, they made their camp and kindled a tiny fire of twigs. They had collected the day before from the last timber on the copper mine at a creek that runs in from the eastward.

For two days, holding to the surface of the river, the two had threaded the transverse ridges that formed the copper mountains. It was Brent's idea to mush straight to the northernmost ridge and work back slowly, stopping wherever practicable to prospect among the outcropping ledges. He had planned also to burn into the gravel at intervals, but he had not foreseen the fact that the mountains lay north of the timber line, so the burning had to be abandoned. At daylight they again climbed the ridge.

The cold fog had disappeared, and as Joe Pete, who was in the lead, reached the summit, he gave voice to a loud cry of surprise. For in place of the indiscernible object of the day before, apparently only ten or twelve miles distant, and right in the center of the vast plain of snow was a ship, each mast and spar standing out clean-cut as a cameo against its dazzling background. Brent even fancied he could see men walking about her deck,

and other men walking to and fro among a group of snow mounds that clustered close about the Hulk. A whaler! he exclaimed. One of those that Johnny Claw said wintered up here. For a long time Brent watched the ship, and covertly joe pete watched brent at length the white man spoke reckon we'll just mush over there and call on em neighbors aren't so damned common up here that we can afford to pass them by when we're inside of em that better maybe so and don't go where we ain't got no business maybe so dat goddamn johnny claw she give you some more hooch eh that That breed gal, she damn fine woman. She ain't like that." Brent laughed, a trifle nervously.

"'I don't reckon there's any danger of that,' he answered shortly. "'Come on, we'll harness the dogs and pull out there. I'd like to see what kind of an outfit they've got, and as long as we're this near, it would be too bad not to go to the very top of the continent.' Joe Pete shrugged and followed Brent down to the river, where they broke camp, harnessed the dogs, and struck out over the plane. The wind-packed snow afforded good footing,

and the outfit pushed rapidly northward. Brent was surprised at the absence of a pressure ridge at the shoreline, but so flat was the snow-buried beach that it was with difficulty that he determined where the land left off, and the sea-ice began. The whaler he judged to be frozen in at a distance of three or four miles from shore. The figures of men could be plainly seen now, and soon it became evident that their own presence had been noted, for three or four figures were seen to range themselves along the rail, evidently studying them through a glass. While still a mile or two distant,

the figures at the rail disappeared below deck, but others moved about among the snow mounds in the shelter of the vessel's hull. Upon arriving at the mounds, which proved to be snow igloos, such as used by the Eskimos, Brent halted the dogs and advanced to where two men,

apparently oblivious to his presence, were cutting up blubber. "'Hello!' he greeted. "'Where's the captain?' one of the men did not even look up the other presenting a villainous hairy face nodded surrely toward an ice-coated ladder wait here said brent turning to joe pete till i find out whether this whole crew is as cordial to strangers as these two specimens at the words the man who had directed brent to the ladder raised his head and opened his lips as if to speak but evidently thinking better of it he uttered a sneering laugh and went on with his cutting of blubber brent climbed the ladder and made his way across the snow-buried deck guided by a well-packed path that led to a door upon which he knocked loudly while waiting for a response he noticed the name belvalu painted upon the stern of a small boat that lay bottom side up upon the deck

knocking again he called loudly and receiving no reply opened the door and found himself upon a steep flight of stairs stepping from the dazzling whiteness of the outside the interior of the whaler was black as a pocket and he paused upon the stairs to accustom his eyes to the change as the foul air from below filled his lungs it seemed to brent that he could not go on the stench nauseated him the vile atmosphere reeked of rancid blubber drying furs and the fumes of dead cookery a tiny lamp that flared in a wall pocket at the foot of the stairs gave forth a stink of its own gradually as his eyes accorded to the gloom brent took cognizance of the dim interior the steep short flight of steps terminated in a narrow passage that led toward the stern whence came the muffled sound of voices descending he glanced along the passage toward a point where a few feet distance another lamp flared dimly just beyond this lamp was a door-the-door and from beyond the door came the sound of voices he groped his way to the door and knocked there was a sudden hush a few gruffly mumbled words and then a deep voice snarled who's there just a visitor announced brent stifling a desire to turn and rush from that fetid hole out into the clean air but it was too late the voice beyond the door commanded thickly come in and we'll look you over for just an instant brent hesitated then his hand fumbled for the knob turned it and the narrow door swung inward

he stepped into the box-like apartment and for a moment stood speechless as his eyes strove to take in the details of the horrid scene the stinking air of the dank passage was purest ozone in comparison with the poisonous fog of the overheated unventilated room he felt suddenly sick and dizzy as he sucked the evil effluvia into his lungs the thick heavy smoke of cheap tobacco the stench of unbathed humans the overpowering reek of spilled liquor the spent breath from rum-soaked bodies the gaseous fumes of a soft coal stove and the odor from an oil lamp that had smoked one side of its chimney black. Shut the door! Coal costs money! What the hell you're trying to do? Heat the whole Arctic? Who be you anyhow? And what do you want? Mechanically, Brent closed the door behind him, as he gazed into the leering eyes of the speaker who sat with two other men. men and a partially clad Eskimo woman at a table upon which were set out a bottle and several glasses.

Before Brent could reply, the man across the table from the speaker leaped to his feet and thrust out his hand. Through the gray haze of smoke, Brent recognized Johnny Claw. Well, if it ain't my old friend Ace in the hole, cried the hooch runner. "'It's all right, Cap. "'Best sport on the Yukon.' "'Ignoring the fact that Brent had refused the proffered hand, "' claw leered into his face. "'Ase in the hole, let me make you acquainted with Cap Jenkins,

"'Captain of the Bellevilloo. "'Dam good sport, too. "'And Ace of Scroggs, mate. "'Both damn good sports. "'Belvoo fetches out more oil and bone in any of them.' and cap'n ain't afraid to spend his money glad you come along welcome to stay long as you like ain't he cap the captain lowered a glass from his lips and cleansed his overhanging mustache upon the back of a hairy hand sure he growled surlily didn't know he was a friend a yearn sit down the room contained only four chairs and as he saw he sawed spoke the man with a sweep of his hand struck the clutch from her chair and kicked it toward brent who sank into it heavily and stared dully at the clutch who crawled to a corner and returned the stair with a drunken loose-lipped grin upon her fat face

brent shifted his glance and upon a bunk beyond the table he saw another clutch lying in a drunken stupor her only garment a grimy wrapper of faded calico was crumpled about her exposing one brown leg to the hip schooled as he had been to sights of debauchery by his service with cutter malone brent was appalled sickened by the scottish degeneracy of his surroundings with unsteady hand the mate slopped some liquor into a glass and shoved it toward him swallow that he advised with a grin you're gettin wight around the gills coming right in out of the air it might seem a little close in here at first the fumes arising from the freshly spilled liquor smelled clean the only hint of cleanliness in the whole poisoned atmosphere of the kins cabin. He breathed them deeply into his lungs, and for an instant the dizziness and sickness at his stomach seemed less acute. Maybe one drink, one little sip would revive him, counteract the poison of the noisome air, and stimulate him against the dull apathy that was creeping upon him. slowly his hand stole toward the glass his fingers closed about it and he raised it to his lips another deep inhalation of its fragrance and he drained it at a gulp

didn't know we had no neighbors ventured the captain filling his own glass what's ye doin up here prospecting answered brent the copper mountains i saw your vessel from the ridge and thought i would come over and see what a whaler looks like the strong liquor was taking hold a warm glow gripped his belly and diffused itself slowly through his veins the nausea left him and the olid atmosphere seemed suddenly purged of its reek well grinned the captain the belvalu ain't what you'd call no floatin palace but she's ahead oe'-o'n most whalers and after johnny gets through hornin' round m'n amongst the husky villages and fixes up with a wife apiece we managed to winter through right comfortable me an a-sa stays on board and the rest of the crew builds a minglews. But here's me running off at the head, and you might spill it all to the mountain. Not him, laughed Claw.

Him and I ain't always pulled what you might say together, but he's square. Kill you in a minute if he took a notion, but he'd go to hell before he'd snitch. Have another drink, ace in the hole. Don't hurt you none, only rum. and water weak before he knew it the glass was in his hand and again brent drank after that he took them as they came the bottle was emptied and tossed into the corner where the drunken cloutch recovered it and holding it to her lips greedily sucked the few drops that remained in the bottom another bottle was produced and brent his brain fired by the raw liquored measured

glasses drink for drink never noticing that the same liquor served in the glasses of the other three for round after round of libations where's your camp asked claw as he refilled the glasses bloody falls answered brent waxing locacious bloody falls of the copper mine where old samuel hernes indians butchered the eskimos butchered the eskimos exclaimed claw what do you mean butchered i ain't heard bout no huskies bein killed and who in hell's sam hearn i've been round here off an on for a long while and i ain't never run across no sam hearn what be you hand in us you ought to start a newspaper brent laughed uproariously no claw i reckon you never ran across him. This happened over a hundred years ago. 1771, July 13th, to be exact. Asa Scroggs grinned knowingly. Man can lap up a hell of a lot of ideas out of a bottle of hooch, he opined. Mostly it runs to philosophy, or fighting, or poetry, or singing, or religion, or woman, or sad

memories. But this here stale news idea is a new one. But go on, ace in the hole. Did the Mounted get Sam for his murdersome massacres? That was a hundred years before the mountain was thought of, answered Brent, eyeing Scroggs truculently, as his inflamed brain sought hidden insult in the words. I always know what I was born too late, laughed Claw, who noticed the signs of approaching trouble sought peace this here'd be a hell of a fine country if it weren't for the mounted but say ace in the hole you doin any good struck any color brent forgot scroggs and turned to claw no not to speak of just about made wages well continued the hooch runner you had a pretty fair sack of dust when you come in in. What do you say we start a little game of stud, just the four of us? Nothing doing, answered Brent shortly. I'm off of stud.

Off of stud, exclaimed the other. How in hell do you ever expect to get even? Stud owes you more dust than you can pile on a sled. Brent drank a glass of rum. The game can keep what it owes me. and besides i left my dust in camp except a couple of ounces or so your finger bet goes with me assured claw everybody's wouldn't by a damn sight but yorne does what do you say my word is good in a game is it asked brent good as the dust in one or out of one promptly assured claw well then listen to this i gave my word in the presence of the man who staked me for this trip that i would never gamble again so i reckon you know how much stud i'll play from now on god almighty breathed claw incredulously and the game owing you millions well have a drink on it anyway claw refilled brentz glass

and thrust it into his hand with a wink at the captain for he had been quick to note that the liquor and the hot-fetted air of the room was making brent drowsy his eyes had become dull and heavy-lidded and his chin rested heavily upon the throat of his parka ain't happen to run into a little bunch of engines up the river have you asked the man as brent gagged at the liquor no answered brent drowsily no engines in copper mountains nothing in the mountains nothing but snow gradually his eyes closed and his head rolled heavily to one side the drunken clooch rose to her knees and with a maudlin giggle seized Brent's half-empty glass and drained it. With a curse, the captain kicked her into her corner and turned to Claw with a suggestive motion. Slit his gullet and Will's slipping down a seal hole with some scrap iron on his legs.

He's probably lying about leaving the dust in camp. Claw shook his head. Not him, he opined. Search him first. the captain and the mate subjected the unconscious man to a thorough search at the conclusion of which scroggs tossed a small lean gold sack upon the table probably all he's got left anyhow he growled in disgust let's just wait him and slipping through the ice the way he is tain't so messy not by a damn sight objected claw it's just like i told you when we're we was watching him through the glass. He's got anyways close to a hundred ounces. I seen it when he paid me for the hooch, like I was telling you. Well, we can backtrack him to his camp,

and if we can't find it, we can put the hot irons to the engine's feet till he squeals. The engine don't know where it's at, argued Claw contemptuously. He's too damn smart to trust a sighwash, and you bet he's got it cast where we couldn't find it. He wouldn't leave it around where the first bunch of huskies that come along could lift it, would he? Well, growled the captain, you're so damn smart, what's your big idea? We got to let him go, put back his little two ounces so he won't suspicion nothing. Then, when he wakes up, I'll slip him a bottle of hooch for a present. and he'll hit for camp and start in on it.

It won't last long, and then you and me and Scroggs will happen along with Morehout to sell him. When he digs up the dust to pay for it, I'll tend to him. You two get the engine, but he's mine. I've got a long score to settle with him, and I know if I'd waited long enough,

my time would come. End of Chapter 17. by Roger Maline. Chapter 18 of Snowdrift, A Story of the Land of the Strong Cold, by James B. Hendricks. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline. Snowdrift by James B. Hendricks.

Chapter 18. Lost. Brent was conscious of a drone of voices. They came from a great distance, from so great a distance that he could not distinguish the words. He half realized that somewhere men were talking. Befuddled, groping, his brain was struggling against the stupor that had held him unconscious for an hour. Two months before, half the amount of liquor he had taken into his system would have drugged him into a whole night's unconsciousness. But the life in the open

and the hard work in the gravel and on the trail had so strengthened him physically that the rum even in the poisonous air of the cabin could not deaden him for long gradually out of the drone of voices a word was sensed by his groping brain then a group of words where was he who were these men and why did they persist in talking when he wanted to sleep his head ached and he was conscious of a dull pain in his cramped neck he was about to shift into an easier position when suddenly he realized where he was he was drunk in the filthy cabin of the belva loo and the voices were the voices of claw and the mate and the captain who were still at their liquor a wave of sickening remorse swept him he carter brent couldn't keep away from the hooch even in the vile cabin of the belvalu he had fallen for it it was no use he would kill himself would blow his worthless brains out and be done with it rather than face a sudden ravage rage obsessed him kill himself he would but first he would rid the north of these vultures he was upon the point of leaping to his feet and with his fists his chair anything that came to hand annihilating the brutish occupants of the cabin when the gruff voice of the captain cut in upon claw's droning monotone and when we get him and his indian planted me and ayl take his dogs and hit back here and you can strike east along the coast till you pick up another woman

it's a damn outrage that's what it is charging me fifty dollars a piece for greasy old pelters like them that ain't worth the grub they eat what i want is a young one good lookin an young you had your pick out of the eight growled claw and a hell of a pick it was why i've went out an rustled em myself and for a sack of flour and half a dozen fish hook and maybe a file or two, I've got the pick of a hull village. Brent's brain cleared gradually as he listened to the villainous dialogue. Vaguely he sensed that it was himself and Joe Pete that the captain spoke of planting.

So they intended to murder him, did they? And when that detail had been attended to, they would go on with their traffic in winter wives. But they did not understand. intend to kill him here on board the vessel. The captain had spoken of coming back after the deed was done. Where would they take him? Brent suddenly found himself possessed by curiosity. He decided to wait and see. And when the time came, he would give as good an account of himself as he could, and then, what difference did it make? They were not fit to live. He would kill them. He would kill them. He would kill

them if he could or maybe they would kill him but he was not fit to live either he had sat at table with them had fraternized with them drank liquor in the stinking cabin with the scum of the earth he was no better than they he was one of them the bottle scraped along the table and he could hear the audible gulping of liquor the tap of the returned glasses and the harsh rasping of throats as they were cleared of the fiery bite then the voice of claw you ain't had no pick of a village since the mount had begun patrol on the coast damn the mounted begun patrol on the coast damn the mrs w'n't dat's what i say but dammin em don't get rid of em facts is they're here and every year it's harder and harder for a man to make a livin but listen cap i've got one bed up my sleeve but it'll cost you more in any fifty dollars or a hundred either she ain't no husky she's an indian breed and damn near white her name's snowdrift and she's the prettiest thing in the north i've had my eyes on her for a couple of years she was in the mission over on the mackenzie but she ain't there no more she's way up on the copper mine with a band of about twenty dog ribs claw paused to pour a glass of liquor and brent felt the blood pounding his eardrums in great surging throbs. He felt the sweat break out in his forehead and the palms of his hands,

and it was only by a superhuman effort that he continued to feign sleep. Surely they would notice the flush on his face, the sweat glistening on his forehead, and the dryness of his lips. But no, Claw was speaking again. I tried to buy her once. last year it was often her mother offered her a thousand dollars cash money and for i knowed what happened the damned old squaw had me about half killed she's a hell cat she done it bare-handed clawed my eyes and clawed out a full handful of whiskers you can see that patch in my throat where they'd never growed back it was over near good hope and i didn't dast make no holler nor kill her neither on account of the mounted but i'll get her yet and when i do i'll learn her to pull folks whiskers out of the ruts when they're trying to do the right thing by her

you won't get no thousand dollars for me exploded the captain they ain't no woman white red brown yellow or black that's worth no thousand dollars of my money oh ain't they ain't they sneered Claw. Well, you don't get her then. Fact is, I never figured on selling her to you, no how. I can take her over to Dawson and make ten thousand off on her in six months' time. They got the dust over there, and they ain't afraid to spend it, and they know a good-looking woman when they see one. I'm a telling you, they ain't no woman ever hit the Yukon that can anyways touch her for looks, and I've saw them all. the only reason i'm often er to you is because i can run her up here a damn sight easier than i can take her clean over to dawson and with a damn sight less risk too how old is she growled the captain ain't a day over twenty she's dirt cheap at a thousand you could have her all winter and next summer you could slip into one of them coast towns juno or skagway or even the ones far

north and make five or ten times what you paid for her but suppose she's got spunky and i'd kill her or knock out her teeth or an eye then where'd my profits be women's hell to handle if they'd take a notion that's your lookout it's your money that's invested and if you ain't got sense enough to look after it it's your funeral not mine how you gonna get her here how you goin to get her away from the engines and how you gonna know where she's at it's like this last summer she leaves the mission and her and the old squaw talks the dog ribs into hitting over onto the copper mine to prospect they gets over there and builds em a camp and starts in trapping and prospectin but a couple of the bucks has got a thirst for hooch and they can't get none so they pull out and hits back for the mackenzie i run on to one of him and he gives me the dope he's the one that's here with me and he's gonna guide me down to the village when i get ready to go that's why i asked ace in the hole if he saw him i didn't want him button in on the deal the old squaw's bad enough but god i seen him kill three men in about a second in a saloon in dawson over a stud game bare hands they ain't no woman ever got her hooks into him not even the queen of the yukon and she done her damnedest really loved him and all that sort of bunk i know all about women and she'd have run straight as hell if he'd have married her some says she's run straight ever since she got caked in on him even after she's seen it wasn't no use he kind of sticks up for em all anyway he knocked hell out of me one night when i was lacing it to a gal i'd bring into the country with a dog whip he won't stand for no rough stuff when these women mixed up in it and i'd rather be in hell with my legs cut off than have him find out what we was up to

i don't want none of his meat me better go easy with your jaw then advised the captain maybe he ain't so damned dead to the world as he's letting on it claw laughed i've got him gauged i've studied him cause i aim to get him sometime he's a hooch hound right half what he's drunk to-day will put him dead for hours you could pull all his teeth and he'd never feel it no we ain't got to bother about him he'll be out of the way before i hit for the engine camp anyhow we'll wake him up after a while and i'll give him a ball a hooch like i said so he'll stay soused and not move his camp then we'll hit over there with more hooch and when he uncovers his dust we'll get him and the indian both your share of his dust will be half enough to pay for the breed but before we start out you fork over half the price balance payable on delivery and me and the indian hit up on the river and fetch back the girl it'll cost you a keg of rum besides the thousand cause the only way to get her away from them siwashes be to get em all tanked up they'll be right for it bein off the hooch as long as they have but at that i'd better take along a man or two of the crew to help me handle em we won't bother none of the crew rasped the captain harshly i'll just go along myself with five hundred dollars of my dust in your jeans for a starter after you'd got her you might go to thinkin of them ten thousand you can make off her in dawson not that i wouldn't trust you you understand but just to save myself some worry while you was gone then if she's as good lookin as you say i'd rather be along myself than let you and some of the crew have her till you get here brent's first sensation when he heard the name of snowdrift upon claw's lips had been one of blind unreasoning fury

but his brain cleared rapidly as the man proceeded and as he listened to the unspeakable horror of the conversation the blind fury gave place to a cold cold deadly rage he realized that if he were to save the woman he loved from a fate more horrible than he had ever conceived of he must exert the utmost care to make no false move his heart chilled at the thought of what would have happened to her had he yielded to the first blind impulse to launch himself at the throats of the men there in the little cabin where all the odds were against him a pistol shot a blow from behind and snowdrift would have been left absolutely in the power of these fiends cold sober now his one thought was to get out of the cabin yet he dared not move should he show signs of returning consciousness he knew that suspicion would immediately fasten upon him and that his life would not be worth a penny he must wait until they roused him roused him, and even then he must not be easily roused. Claw had assured the captain that half the amount of liquor would deaden him for hours, therefore he must play his part.

But could he? Was it humanly possible to endure the physical torture of his cramped position? Every muscle of his body ate horribly. His head ate. He was consumed with torturing thirst, and his mouth was coated with a bitter slime. Added to this was the brain torture of suspense when his every instinct called for action.

Suppose they should change their minds. He dared not risk opening his eyes to the merest slit because he knew that claw or the captain might be holding a knife to his ribs or a pistol at his head. Any moment might be his last, and then snowdrift he dared not even shudder at the thought there was another danger suppose he should overplay his part when they undertook to awaken him or should underplay it he knew to a certainty that one false move would mean death without a chance to defend himself unarmed as he was and with the odds of three to one against him

an interminable period during which the men talked and wrangled among themselves was interrupted by a loud knock upon the door who's there roared the captain and what do you want that me joe pete came a familiar voice from beyond the door and i'm tink the time we goin back she's start to snow an i ain't like we got lost too much no trail might as well get em started now as any time whispered claw we don't want him to get lost neither what we want is for him to get to their camp and then the snow and the hooch'll hold him till we get there next thing is to get him woke up answered the captain aloud he called to joe pete all right come on in and give us a hand your partner stewed to the guards and it ain't goin to be no cinch to wake em up the door opened and brent's heart gave a leap as he felt the hand of the big indian upon his shoulder if anything should go wrong now at least the odds against him were greatly reduced in so far as the occupants of the cabin were concerned but there would still be the crew they could shoot from the cover of the igloos the hand was shaking him roughly and it was with a feeling of vast relief that brent allowed his head to roll about upon the stiffened muscles of his neck a glass was pressed to his lips and there was nothing feigned in the coughing with which he sought to remove the strangling liquor from his throat his eyes opened and the next instant a dipper of cold water was dashed into his face

the shaking continued and he babbled feeble protest let me lone go away let me sleep the shaking was redoubled and brent blinked stupidly and feigned maudlin anger as the indian slapped him with the flat of his hand first on one cheek and then on the other who you slapping he muttered thickly as he staggered to his feet as he stood sweated and holding to the table for support. Come on and fight, he challenged, acting his part to a nicety, glaring owlishly about. I can lick you all. Give me some water. I'm burning up. A dipper of water was thrust into his hands, and he drained it in huge gulps. What's going on here? he asked, apparently revived a little by the water. give me some hooch claw laid a conciliating hand upon his arm listen ace in the hole he purred not no more hooch right now it's starting to snow and you gotta be hittin for camp looka here he picked up a corked bottle and extended it to brent

here's a bottle for you wait till you get to camp and then go to it don't take you only a little while but you got a little while but you got you got to get going. If she thicks up on you before you get to the mountains, you'll be in a hell of a fix, but you get time to make it if the siwash will shove the dogs along. Better let him ride the sled, he said, turning to Joe Pete. You'll make better time. Brent took the bottle and slipped it beneath his parka. How much? he asked, fumbling clumsily for his sack. "'That's all right,' assured Claw. "'It ain't nothing at all.

"'It's a present from me and Capp. "'Shows we know how to treat a friend. "'Come over and see us again when the storm lets up. "'You're welcome to anything we got.' "'Much obliged, Claw,' mumbled Brent, "'blinking with solemn gravity, "'as he smothered an impulse to reach out "'and crush the man's windpipe in the grip of his hand.

didn't know you as good friend o mine know it now an you too cap'n you too snags scrogs corrected the mate ace o scrogs sure scrogs excuse me must be a little full my name's ace in the hole pair of aces ha ha ha pair to draw two i'll say well so long tell you what he said as he turned to the door leaning heavily upon joe pete you come on over to my camp when the storm lets up right on the river can't miss it bloody falls where old hernes engines butchered the poor eskimos damn shame bring over plenty of hooch i've got the dust to pay for it bring in dozen bottles plenty dust back there in camp and it'll be my treat we'll come the captain hastened to accept might as well be good friends neighbors ain't none too thick in these parts we'll come won't we claw and we'll bring the hooch stumbling and mumbling brent negotiated the narrow alley and the steep flight of stairs in the wake of joe pete at the head of the ladder that led down the ship's side he managed to stumble and land harmlessly in a huge pile of snow that had been shoveled aside to make a path to the igloos and amid the gibes of the gibes of the two sailors who were cutting blubber allowed joe pete to help him on to the sled the wind had risen to half a gale out of the northeast it roared straight across the frozen gulf from the treeless snow-buried wastes of wallaston land driving before it flinty particles of snow that hissed earthward in long-cutting slants

heading the dog southward joe pete struck into the back trail and running behind with a firm grip on the tail rope urged them into a pace that carried the outfit swiftly over the level snow-covered ice upon the sled brent lay thinking now that the necessity for absolute muscle control no longer existed the condition of cold hate into which he had forced himself gave place to a surge of rage that drove his nails into his palms and curses from his lips as he tried in his unreasoning fury to plan extermination of the two fiends who had plotted the soul murder of his wonder woman he would tear them to shreds with his two hands he would shoot them down from ambush without a chance to protect themselves as they searched for his camp among the rock ridges of bloody falls gradually the fume of fury cooled and he planned more sanely he was conscious of a torturing thirst the bottle of hooch pressed against his side and carefully so as not to disturb the covering robe he drew it from beneath his parka he was cold sober now the shock of what he had heard in the cabin of the belva loo had completely purged his brain of the effect of the strong liquor, but not so his body. Every nerve and fiber of him called for more liquor. There was a nauseating sickness in his stomach, a gnawing dryness in his throat, and a creeping

coldness in his veins that called for the feeling of the warm glow of liquor. Never in his life had the physical desire for drink been more acute, but his brain was cold sober. Nothing of the heart-sickening remorse of his first moments of consciousness assailed him now. What was done was done. He knew that he had yielded to his desire for drink, had weakly succumbed to the first temptation, as he had always weakly succumbed, an act in itself contemptible. But with an ironical smile, he realized that his very weakness had placed him in a position to save from a fate of a thousand times more horrible than death, the girl who had become dearer to him than life itself.

But with that realization came also the realization that only by the merest accident, had the good men been born of evil, that the natural and logical result of his act would have had its culmination at Bloody Falls when he and Joe Pete would have sunk down dead upon the snow at the moment he produced the gold to pay for more hooch. Claw had laid his plans along the logical sequence of events.

He played me for a drunkard as he had a right to, muttered Brent, and his scheme would have worked except for one little mistake. He forgot to figure that physically I'm a better man than I was back at Dawson. He thought he had me gauged right, and so he took. talked. But he overplayed his hand. An hour ago I was a drunkard. Am I a drunkard now? It is the test, he muttered. The war is on. And with a grim tightening of the lips, he thrust the bottle back under his pocket. Three times within the next two hours he withdrew the bottle, and three times he returned it to its place.

he thought of tossing it into the snow and a moment later angrily dismissed the thought she wouldn't ask odds of the hooch and i won't either i'll keep this bottle right with me i'll fight this fight like a man like a brent and by god when i win it won't be because i couldn't get the hooch it will be because i wouldn't drink it when i had it and the next moment to the utter astonishment of joe pete he leaped perfectly sober from the sled and took his place at the tail rope with the laughing command to the indian to take a rest on the robes an hour later brent halted the dogs and aroused joe pete we ought to have hit shore by this time he said i'm afraid something's wrong the snow had thickened entirely obliterating the trail and forming an opaque wall through which the eye could penetrate but a short distance beyond the lead dog the indian noted the course and the direction of the wind maybe so wind change he opined and even as he spoke the long sweeping lines of snow were broken into bewildering zigzags a puff of wind coming at a right angle from the direction of the direction of the direction of the driving gale was followed by another blustering puff from the opposite direction and they came thick and fast from every direction and seemingly from all directions at once the snow became powder fine and in a confusion of battering blasts the two men pushed uncertainly on end of chapter eighteen recording by roger maline chapter nineteen of snow-drave A Story of the Land of the Strong Cold by James B. Hendricks.

This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline. Snow Drift by James B. Hendricks Chapter 19 Trapped For three days the Arctic blizzard raged and howled and drifted the snow deep over the igloos that were grouped about the hulk of the Bellevilloo

on the morning of the fourth day claw and the captain made their way across the snow-buried deck and gazed out toward the distant ridges of the copper mountains might as well get started opined claw have em load a week's grub onto my sled and you and me and the dog ribble hit out will a week's grub be enough growled the captain it's goin to be a hell of a trip maybe we're to wait a couple of days and see what the weather'll do. Wait, hell, cried Claw. What's the use waiting? The barometer's up, and you know damn well we ain't in for no more storm for a week or two. What we want to do is get over to Bloody Falls before ace in the hole takes a notion to break camp. And what's the use of packing more grub?

We'll have his, won't we? He ain't going to break camp? camp till we come along with the hooch, argued the other. A couple days more, and this snow will be settled, and the going will be easier. If you don't want to go, you can stay here, retorted Claw. Me, I ain't going to take no chances. I and the dog rib can handle them, too, if you don't want none of it. And then we'll shove in on the engine camp and get the girl,

and I'll just slip on over to Dawson with her. a thousand dollars is too cheap anyhow if i hadn't a been lit up i'd never offered her to you for no such figure a trade's a trade interrupted the captain if you're so hell-bent on goin i'll go along he shouted the necessary orders to the sailors who were clearing the snow from the doorways of the igloos and the two turned to the cabin i'll take that five hundred now before we start and you can give me the balance when we get back with the girl suggested claw you said there'd be five hundred apiece in a-pice in the hole's sack reminded the captain i'll pay the first installment with that you will like hell you'll pay me now we ain't got that sack yet come across i'll give ye an order on you'll give me an order on no one you'll count out five hundred cash money dust or bills right here in this cabin for we budge an inch you've got it come across after much grumbling the captain produced a roll of bills and counting off five hundred dollars passed the money reluctantly across the table to claw who immediately stowed it away don't forget to have him put a keg of rum on the sled he reminded we'll need it when we get to the indians not half water neither what we want this trip is the strong stuff that'll set em a fire

you got to stand your half of the rum we're partners on this i stand nothin you put up the rum and the grub and a thousand dollars for the girl my contract is to get her and deliver her on board the belvalu the only thing we're partners on is ace in the hole's dust a trade's a trade and you got all the best of it at that late that afternoon claw and the captain and the renegade dog rib reached the bloody falls of the copper mine and searched vainly for brent's camp pulled out cried the captain after an hour search along the base of the upstanding rock ledges. Claw shook his head. They never got here, he amended. The storm got bad before they hit the ridges, and they're lost. Where's the camp then?

Claw indicated the high-piled snow. Tent was only pegged to the snow. Wind blew it down, and the fresh snow buried it. We'll camp and hang around a couple of days. if they weathered the storm they'll be along by that time if they didn't well they won't bother us none with the girl how about the dust asked the captain if they don't come we've got to find the camp claw laughed you'll have a hell of a time doin it with the snow-pile twenty-foot deep along them ledges if they don't show up we'll shove on to the engines it's close to the engines it's close to a hundred and fifty mile to the camp, according to the dog rib, and it'll take us anyways a week to make it, with the going as bad as it is. And if we hang around here for a couple of days,

that'll make nine days, with a week's grub. What's you gonna do about that? I told you we ought to take more. Your head don't hurt you none, the way you work, does it? sneered claw. I suppose we couldn't send the dog rib back for some grub while he was waiting. And while he's gone, you can get a belly full of rooting up the snow to find the camp. For two days, Claw laid in the tent and laughed at the captain's sporadic efforts to uncover Brent's camp. If you'd help, instead of laying around laughing, we might find it, flared the captain. I don't want to find it, jeer. said, Claw. I'm using my head, me. The main reason I came here was to kill A's in the hole,

so he couldn't butt in on the other business. If the storm saved me the trouble, all right. But the dust? Sure, the dust, mocked Claw. If we find the camp and locate the dust, I divide it up with you. If we don't, I slip up here in the spring, when you. you're chasing whales, and with the snow melted off, all I got to do is reach down and pick it up, and they won't be no dividing, neither. What's to hinder me from slipping in here long about that time? Two can play that game. Help yourself, grinned Claw.

Only the mounted patrol will be along in the spring, and they'll give you a chance to explain about winter and them cloutches on the Bellevilloo. You've forgot maybe that such customs is frowned on. You damn double-dealing hound, cried the captain angrily. Double-dealing, eh? I suppose I ought to be out there breaking my back digging in the snow, so I could divvy up with you dust that I could have all to myself by taking it easy. I offered to share the dust with you,

because I figured I needed your help in bumping off them, too. if you don't help you don't get paid and that's all there is to it the indian returned with the provisions and in the morning of the third day they struck out up the copper mine with the indian breaking trail ahead of the dogs i didn't expect him to show up grinned claw as he trudged along behind the captain i figured if they didn't make camp that first stretch they never would make it full of hooch a man ain't fit to hit the trail even in good weather he thinks he can stand anything and he can't stand nothin the cold gets him here's what happened the storm gets thick and they get off the course the siwash is lost and he tries to wake up asin the hole he finds the bottle of hooch and that's the end of the siwash somewhere's out on the sea-ice or in under the snow on the flats there's two frozen corpses and damn good riddance i says shortly after noon of the sixth day on the trail the dog rib halted abruptly and stood staring in bewilderment at a little log cabin half buried in the snow that showed between the spruce trunks upon the right bank of the stream claw hastened forward and spoke to him in jargon the indian shook his head and by means of signs and bits of jargon conveyed the information that the cabin did not belong to the indian camp and that it had not been there at the time he fled from the camp he further elucidated that the camp was several miles along

must be some of em got sore at the rest and moved up here and built the shack opined claw anyways we got to find out but we better be healed when we do it he looked to his revolver and stooping picked up a rifle from the sled the captain followed his example and claw ordered the indian to proceed no one had appeared and at the foot of the ascent to the cabin clawed pause to examine a snow-covered mound. The captain was about to join him when, with a loud yell of terror, he suddenly disappeared from sight, and the next moment the Welkin rang with his curses, while Claw, laughing immoderately at the mishap, stood peering into Brent's brush-covered shaft. It was but the work of a few moments to haul the discomfited captain from the hole. "'Shaffed and an ore dump,' explained Claw. "'This here is a white man's layout, and he's up to date, too.

They ain't been burning in, even on the Yukon, only a year or so. Wonder who he is.' The two followed the Indian who had halted before the cabin, and stood looking down at the snowshoe trail that led from the door. "'Off hunting, I guess, or over to the Indian camp.' looks like them tracks was made yesterday he ain't done no work in the shaft though since the storm we'll go in and make ourselves to home till he gets back anyhow i don't like the idea of no white man in here according to who it is but maybe it ain't a white man ventured the captain sure it's a white man didn't i just tell you that burning in ain't no indian trick dog rib snow-shoes suggested the indian in jargon pointing to the tracks that don't prove nothin retorted claw he could have got em from the engines couldn't he these two of em lives here he added from the interior

unharness the dogs will i build up a fire from the moment of brent's departure snowdrift bent all her energies persuading the indians to burn into the gunnardous the dogs will i build up a fire from the moment of brent's departure snowdrift bent all her energies persuading the indians to burn into the gravel for gold. At first her efforts were unavailing. Even when Anabish refused to take any interest in the proceeding, so the girl was forced to cut her own wood, tend her own fire, and throw out her own gravel. When, however, at the end of a week, she panned out some yellow gold in the little cabin, as she had seen Brent do, the old squaw was one completely over, and thereafter, the two women worked side by side with the result that upon the test panning snowdrift computed that they too were taking out almost an ounce a day apiece when the other indians saw the gold they also began to scrape away the snow and to cut wood and to build their fires on the gravel men and women and even the children worked all day and took turns tending the fire at night trapping and hunting were forgotten in the new-found craze for gold and became necessary for snowdrift to toll off hunters for the day as the supply of meat shrank to an alarming minimum

by the end of another week interest began to flag the particles of gold collected in the test pannings were small in size and few in number the work was hard and distasteful and it became more and more difficult for the girl to explain to them that these grains were not the ultimate reward for their work that they were only tests and that the real reward would not be visible until spring when they would clean up the gravel dumps that were mounting up beside the shafts. The Indians wanted to know how this was to be accomplished, and Snowdrift suddenly realized that she did not know. She tried to remember what Brent had told her of the sluicing out process, and realized that he had told very little. Both had been content to let the details go until such time as the sluicing should begin. Vaguely, she told the Indians of slewings of sluble. loose boxes and riffles, but they were quick to see that she knew not whereof she spoke.

In vain she told them that Brent would explain it all when he returned, but they had little use for this white man who had no hoot to trade. At last, in desperation, she hit upon the expedient of showing the Indians more gold. From Brent's sack she extracted quantities of dust which she displayed with pride. The plan worked at first, but soon the Indians became dissatisfied with their own showing, and either knocked off altogether

or ceased work on the shafts and began to laboriously pan out their dumps, melting the ice for water, and carrying the gravel, a pan at a time, to their cabins. This, too, was abandoned after a few days, and the Indians returned to their traps, and to the snaring of rabbits only snowdrift and old wananabish kept up to the work of cutting and hauling the wood tending the fires and throwing out the gravel

despite the grueling toil snowdrift found time nearly every day to slip up and visit brent's cabin sometimes she would go only out to the bend of the river and gaze at it from a distance again she would enter and sit in his chair or moving softly about the room handle almost reverently the things that were his wiping them carefully and returning them to their place she purloined a shirt from a nail above his bunk and carrying it home used it as a pattern for a wonderfully wrought shirt of buckskin and beads each evening she worked on the shirt while wananabish sat stolidly by and each night as she knelt beside her bunk she murmured a prayer for the well-being of the big strong man who was hers but whether it was at the shaft at her needle at her devotions or upon her frequent trips to his cabin her thoughts were always of brent and her love for him grew with the passing of the days until her longing for his presence amounted at times almost to a physical pain one by one she counted the days of his absence and mentally speculated upon his return after the second week had passed she never missed a day in visiting his cabin always at the last bend of the river she quickened her steps and always she paused breathless for some sign of his return surely he will come soon she would mutter when the inspection showed only the lifeless cabin or he will come to-morrow when the seventeenth and the eighteenth and the eighteenth and the eighteenth and the eighteenth and he would mutter when the inspection showed only the lifeless cabin or-he will come to-morrow

when the seventeenth and the eighteenth days had passed with no sign of him the girl womanlike began to conjure up all sort and manner of dire accident that could have befallen him he might have been drowned upon a thinly crusted rapid he might have become lost or frozen or ventured upon a snow cornice had been dashed to pieces upon the rocks below every violent death known to the north she pictured for him and as each picture formed in her brain she dismissed it laughed at her fears and immediately pictured another on the nineteenth day she chopped wood until the early darkness drove her from her tasks then she returned to the cabin and fastening on her snow-shoes struck off down the river surely he will be here to-day she murmured if he is not here to-day i will know something has happened and to-morrow i shall start out to find him but no i am foolish did he not say it would be two weeks a month maybe longer those were his very words and it is only nineteen days and that is not a month but he will come sooner she flushed deeply he will come to me for he does love me even as i love him in his eyes i have seen it and in his voice and in the touch of his hand the last bend was almost in sight and she quickened her pace she knew to an inch the exact spot from which the first glimpse of the cabin was to be had

she reached the spot and glared eagerly toward the spruce thicket the next instant a glad cry rang out upon the still arctic air oh he has come he has come the light is in his window oh my darling my own own man half laughing half sobbing she ran forward urging her tired muscles to their utmost stumbling recovering recovering recovering hurrying on only a minute more now up the bank from the river and not even pausing to remove her snow-shoes she burst into the room with brent's name upon her lips the next instant the blood rushed from her face leaving it deathly white she drew herself swiftly erect and with a wild cry of terror turned to fly from the room but her snow-shoes fouled and she fell heavily to the floor just as johnny claw with a triumphant leer upon his bearded face leaped to the door banged it shut and stood with his back against it leering and smirking down at her while the captain of the belvalu knelt over her and stared into her eyes with burning bestial gaze end of chapter nineteen recording by roger maline chapter twenty of snowdrift a story of the land of the strong cold by james b hendricks this librovoc's recording is in the public domain recording by roger maline snowdrift by james b hendricks chapter twenty you are white

so my beauty grinned the captain for once in his life claude didn't lie and you didn't wait for us to go on and get you just come right to us nice as you please and saved me a keg of rum he rose with an evil leer and now get up and make yourself to home and long as you do as i say and don't get your back up you and me'll get along fine frantic with terror the girl essayed to rise but her snowshoes impeded her movements so with trembling fingers she loosened the thongs and leaping to her feet backed into a corner and stared in wide-eyed horror first at the captain then at claw the sight of whom caused her to shrink still further against the wall the man sneered know me eh recollect the time over to the mission i tried to persuade you to make the trip to dawson with me do you well i made up my mind i'd get you tried to buy you off in the squaw and she'd like to tore me to pieces i'd have kidnapped you then if it hadn't been for the mounted but i've got you now got you and sold you to him he grinned pointing to the captain and you're lucky at that let me make you acquainted with cap jenkins tain't every breed girls get to be mistress of a ship like the belvalu her eyes blazing with anger she pointed a trembling finger at claw stand away from that door let me go oh just like that mocked the man if he says let you go it's all right with me provided you-go provided

he comes across with the balance of the dust. The captain laughed, and turning to the dog rib, he ordered, slip out to the sled and get a bottle of rum, and we'll all have a little drink. For the first time, Snowdrift noticed the presence of the Indian. Yondo! she screamed. This is your work! You devil! And beside herself with rage and terror, she snatched a knife from the table and leaped upon him like a panther. Get back there, cried Claw, leveling his revolver. Quick as a flash, the captain knocked up the gun, pinioned the girl's arms from behind, and stood glaring over her shoulder at Claw.

Put up that gun, damn you! And look out who you're pulling it on. By God, that's my Indian. I ain't through with him yet, and there ain't no damn Jade can carve him up in under my nose. And this here's my woman, too, and there ain't no damn hooch runner can pull a gun on her neither. Ain't no harm done, conciliated claw, and I guess they ain't no call to fight over him. How about that drink? Get it, ordered the captain, and as the cowering dog-ribes slunk from me.

the room he snapped the knife from the pinioned hand of the girl and hurled it under the bunk and now you hell cat he rasped pushing her from him you set to and get supper and don't go try no more monkey business or i'll break you in too there seems to be grub enough here without using none of my own he added eyeing the supplies ranged along the opposite wall who owns this shack anyhow carter brent owns it cried the girl drawing herself erect and glaring into the man's eyes it was as though the very mention of his name nerved her to defiance and when he returns he will kill you both kill you do you hear it's a lie roared claw then paused abruptly i wonder maybe it is his shack he comes straight from the yukon and that accounts for the burning inn know him asked the captain know him growled claw yes i know him and so do you that's to you that's a-you-that's a man that's a man That's ace in the hole's real name." "'The hell it is!' cried the captain, and laughed uproariously. "'So that's the way the wind blows. And the breed's been living here with him.

"'Things is sure coming out my way. That's most too good to be true. And you misrepresenting her to be a virgin, fresh from a school. Ha, ha! What do you mean?' snarled Claw. How was I to know? Whether you'd know or whether you didn't, it didn't make no difference. I win either way. What do you mean? Claw repeated. You know what I mean, sneered the captain, truculently.

Second-hand goods, half-price, see? You mean I don't get my other five hundred? yelled Claw, jerking the revolver from his holster. and leveling at the captain's head. Is that what you mean? Surprised at the suddenness of the action, the captain was caught off guard, and he stood blinking foolishly into the mouth of the gun.

Well, he faltered, moistening his lips with his tongue, maybe we might kind of talk it over. The only talking over you'll get out of me is to come across with the five hundred. sneered claw you know damn well i ain't got no five hundred with me wait till we get to the belvalu i'll wait all right but not till we get to the belvalu me and the girl will wait on shore inside of the belvalu while you go out and get the money and fetch it back and you'll come back alone with it and what's more you ain't a head nothin on the rum neither cause i'm goin to slip down to the indian camp in about five minutes and the rum goes along i'll be back by daylight and instead of the rum i'll have all the fur and everything else them dog ribs has got

and i'll get square with that damn squawf a jerkin that handful of whiskers out of me too that's all right johnny assured the captain still with his eyes in the black muzzle of the gun take the rum along only we'd ought to split half and half on that fur half and half hell you got what you come after ain't you and if i can pick up an honest dollar on the side that ain't no reason i should split it with you is it i'll just leave you two to get acquainted while i slip down to the camp go ahead grinned the captain and don't hurry back we'll wait you're damn right you'll wait retorted claw i'll have the dogs in the doorway he paused and by the way cap don't open that door till i get out of range see the moment the door closed behind claw the captain placed his back against it and turned to the girl get to work now and get supper we're going to hit the back trail inside an hour we can pack what grub we'll need and we'll get most a whole night's start cause he'll be busy with the indians till mornin snowdrift confronted him with blazing eyes at the words her blood seemed to freeze within her leaving her cold and numb with horror she had heard of the coastal traffic and winter wives but always it had seemed to her a thing vague and unreal but now the full hideousness of it stood revealed to her she herself at that very moment stood trapped bought and sold

absolutely in the power of the two bearded beasts who in the very loathsomeness of their filthy minds discussed her as they would discuss a piece of merchandise bargained and haggled over the price of her living body a single ray of hope had dawned in her breast as the men began to quarrel if they would only come to blows and to griplock in their rage she might be able to seize a weapon or better still dash from the room once in the scrub she could easily elude them but the hope died when claw covered the captain with his gun and with the hope died also the numbing terror a strange unnatural calm took possession of her there was still one way out and she would seek that way as the two men stood facing each other she had caught a glimpse of the blade of the knife that lay where the captain had thrown it beneath the edge of the bunk stealthily her moccasined foot had reached out and slid it toward her and as the door opened upon claw's departure she had stooped swiftly and recovered it she would plunge the blade into her own heart no better she would attack the captain now that they were alone and either kill him or by the very fury of her onslaught would force him to kill her so with a knife concealed by her folded arms her eyes blazed defiance i'll never cook your supper you dog you unspeakable devil i'll kill you first or you'll kill me kill you eh sneered the man well i might at that if i didn't have five hundred good dollars tied up in you guess they ain't much danger of me killin you

you till I get my money back, one way or another, and I guess they ain't no one knows that no better in what you do. And as for killing me, he laughed, you look spunky enough to, but I'm hard to kill. It's been tried. I've warned you, cried the girl, and I'll kill you. Get to work, damn you, snarled the captain. You're losing time. You cook that supper, or by God, I'll make you wish I had killed you. I'll tame you. I'll show you who's boss. Maybe you won't be so pretty when I get through with you,

but you'll be tame. The innermost thought of her brain found voice in words. Oh, if he were here. Hollering for your man, eh? Taunted the captain. You ain't his and now, you're mine, and he won't come, because he's dead. Dead!

The word shrieked from the lips of the tortured girl. No, no, no! Yes, yes, yes, mocked the man. He's dead and froze hard as a capstan bar, somewhere's upon the sea ice, and is Indian too. Got dead drunk upon the Bellevilloo and started for sure in the big storm, and he never got there so you might as well make the best of it with me and i'll treat you right if you give me what i want and if you don't give it i'll take it and it'll be worse for you

the girl scarcely heard the words brent was dead her whole world-the world that was just beginning to unfold its beauties and its possibilities to her to hold promise of the one wondrous happiness of which she had read and dreamed, but had never expected to realize. Her whole world had suddenly come crashing about her. Brent was dead, and, like a flame of fire, the thought flashed across her brain. The man responsible for his death stood before her, and was even now threatening her with a fate a thousand times worse than death. With a wild scream, animal-like, terrifying in its fury, the girl sprang upon the man like a tiger. He saw the flash of the knife blade in the air, and warding off the blow with his arm, felt the bite and the hot rip of it as it tore into his

shoulder. With a yell of pain and rage he struck blindly out, and his fist sent the girl crashing against the table. The force of the impact jarred the chimney from the little oil bracket lamp, and the light suddenly dimmed to a red flaring half-gloom. Like a flash, the girl recovered herself, and again she flew at the man whose hand gripped the butt of his revolver. Again he struck out toward the blow, and by the merest accident the barrel of the heavy gun struck the wrist of the hand that held the knife, hurling it from her grasp, while at the same time his foot tripped her, and she crashed heavily to the floor. Before she could get up, the man was upon her, cursing, panting, hot fury. Kicking, striking out, clawing like a wild

cat, the girl managed to tear herself from his grasp, but as she regained her feet, a huge hand fastened in the neck of her shirt. There was a moment of terrific strain as she pulled to free herself, holding to the stanchion of the bunk for support. Then with a loud ripping sound, the garment and the heavy woollen undershirt beneath gave way, and the girl, stripped bare to the waist, stood panting with the table interposed between herself and the man who rose slowly to his feet. At the side of her, half naked in the dimly wavering light of the flaring wick flame, his look suddenly shifted from mad fury to bestial desire.

Deliberately he picked up the knife from the floor, and without taking his eyes from the girl, opened the door and tossed it out into the snow. Then he returned the revolver to its holster and stared gloatingly at the white breasts that rose to the snow. fell convulsively as the breath sobbed from the girl's lungs and as she looked into his devouring eyes abysmal terror once more seized hold of her for the loathsome desire in those eyes held more of horror than had their blaze of fury the man moistened his thick lips smacking them in anticipation and as he slowly advanced to the table his foot struck an object that felt soft and yielding to the touch yet when he sought to brush it aside it was heavy he glanced down and the next instant stooped swiftly and picked up brent's sack of dust which the girl had carried inside her shirt

for an instant greed supplanted the lust in his eyes and he laughed long and loud he laughed while the girl pumping the air into her lungs gained strength with every second so here's where he left his dust is it it's too good to be true i pay five hundred for the girl instead of a thousand and all the dust that claw'll be scratching up the gravel around bloody falls for next summer. I guess that's poor. Five hundred clean cash profit, and the girl besides. The sight of Brent's gold in the man's foul clutch was too much for snowdrift, and the next instant a billet of stovewood crashed against the wall within an inch of his head. With a low growl, he dropped the sack to the floor and started around the table. In vain the girl cast wildly about for some weapon, as keeping the table between them, she milled round and round the room. In vain she tried each time she passed it to wrench open the door.

But always the man was too quick for her, and when finally he pushed the table against it, she once more found herself cornered, this time without a weapon and half dead from fatigue. slowly deliberately the man advanced upon her when he reached out and touched her bare arm with a thick-fingered hairy hand she shrieked aloud and redoubled the fury of her attack clawing and striking at his face but her onslaught was futile he easily warded off her tiring efforts closer and closer he pressed his eyes a glitter with the fever of lust his thick lips twisted into a gloating grin until his arms closed slowly about her waist and his body pressed hers backward onto the bunk joe pete wanted to camp but brent would have none of it the storm thickened the wind increased in fury buffeting them about and causing the dogs to whine and cringe in the harness until it became necessary to fasten a leash to the leader to prevent their bolting hopelessly lost though they were brent insisted upon pushing on the land lies this way he kept saying and we'll strike it somewhere along the coast then he would appeal to the indian who would venture no opinion whatever frankly admitting he was lost and always counseling the making of a camp

finally when darkness came they did camp merely digging into the snow and tossing blanket and robes and a little food into the pit crawled in and drew the tarpaulin over them brent slept little that first night over and over again he tried to reason out the course and between times he lay hugging tightly his bottle of hooch i wouldn't lose you for a million he muttered as each tortured nerve of his body cried out for stimulant and the little brain devils added their urge and with sophistry and cunning excuse sought to undermine his resolve just one drink you need it taper off gradually it's medicine but to the insidious suggestions of the brain devils he turned a deaf ear and with clenched teeth gripped his bottle i'll never want you never need you any more than i do this night he whispered into the dark right now i'd give half my life for one big swig but my life isn't mine to give now it's hers hers do you hear it's her fight that i'm fighting now and by god she's going to win in the morning despite the protest of joe pete brent pushed on the storm had increased in fury and it was with difficulty they kept their feet toward noon both knew that they had gained land of some kind for the terrain became rolling and in places even hilly we ain't goin right for the mountain shouted the indian with his lips close to brent's ear day and no little hill dare till we come to the ridge

i don't care yelled brent we're heading south and that's the main thing we can hit for the river when the storm stops the third day was a repetition of the second except that the hills became higher and more numerous but entirely unlike the ridge formation of the copper mountains that night the storm wore itself out and the morning of the fourth day dawned bright and clear with a wind blowing strongly. Well, where are we? asked Brent, as he and Joe Pete ascended a nearby hillock to take observation of their surroundings. For a long time, the Indian studied the horizon, nor did he speak until every degree of the ark

had been subjected to minute scrutiny. I'm tink we come too much far west, he observed. I'm tink, we better strike east. But one day, tomorrow. Tomorrow, cried Brent, why not today, now? The Indian pointed to the dogs. Too much tired out, too much no good. We got to rest today. Maybe so, travel tomorrow. A glance at the dogs convinced Brent, anxious as he was to push on that it would be useless to try it for the dogs were in a pitiable condition from the three-day fight with the storm he wanted to make up a pack and push on alone but the indian dissuaded him suppose come another big snow what you do then eh you get loss you trail get covered up i can know fine that better you wait

and wait they did though brent fretted and chafed the whole day through the following morning they started toward the southeast shaping their course by a far distant patch of timber that showed as a dark spot on the dazzling snow the ground was broken and hard to travel and their progress was consequently slow at noon they cut a dog loose and later another the released animals limping along behind as best they could at noon of their seventh day of travel the eighth after the storm brent who was in the lead halted suddenly and pointed to a small lake that lay a mile or more to the southward i know that lake he cried it's the one where snowdrift killed a caribou the river is six or seven miles east of here and we'll strike it just below our cabin you sure about that asked the indian de dogs what you call all in i ain't like we make to-morrow travel we can help yes sure exclaimed brent i couldn't be mistaken. There is the point where we ate lunch, that broken spruce leaning against those two others. That good landmark, the Indian agreed, I ain't think you wrong now.

Joyously, Brent led off to the eastward. The pace was woefully slow, for of the seven dogs, only three remained, and the men were forced to work at pulling the sled. We ought to make the cabin a little after dark, he figured, and then I'll grab a bite to eat and hit out for snowdrift. Wonder if she's looking for me yet. Wonder if she's been thinking about me. It's, let's see, this is the 19th day, 19 days since I've seen her, and it seems like 19 years.

I hate to tell her I didn't make a strike. and worst of all I hate to tell her about what happened on the Belleville Lou. But I'll come clean. I will tell her, and I'll show her the bottle, and thank God I didn't pull the cork. And I never will pull it now. I learned something out there in the snow, learned what a man can do.

He grinned as he thought of Claw and the captain of the Bellevilloo searching the copper mountain. for his camp so they could kill him and steal his dust then the grin hardened into a straight-lipped frown as he planned the vengeance that was to be his when they came after the girl they won't be in any hurry about starting up river he argued they'll hunt for me for a week then when they do come i'll kill em as i would kill so many mad dogs i hate to shoot a man from ambush, but there's two of them, and I don't dare to take a chance. If they should get me, he shuddered at the thought and pressed on. As he swung on to the river, a sharp cry escaped him, and he stooped in the darkness to stare at a trail in the snow. The cry brought Joe Pete to his side.

Those tracks, rasped Brent. When were they made? made, and who made him? The Indians stooped close and examined the trail. Two three men's and a team, he muttered, and one man dot goddamn Johnny Claw. How do you know? cried Brent. How old are they?

And leaping to the sled, he cut the pack thongs with one sweep of his knife and grabbed up his rifle. I know dem track, seen him on McKenzie. Been gone about two-three hour. Bring on the outfit, Brent called over his shoulder, and the Indian stared in surprise as he watched the man strike out on the trail in great leaping strides. The distance to the cabin was a scant mile, and Brent covered it without slackening his pace.

At the foot of the bank, he knew. noted with relief that the trail swung upward to his own cabin. If they had stopped, there was yet time. His first glance had detected no light in the window, but as he looked again, he saw that a peculiar dull radiance filtered through the oiled parchment that served as a glass. Cautiously he maneuvered up the bank and made his way to the cabin, mentally debating with himself whether to burst in upon the occupants and chance of surprise or to lie in wait until they came out. He stood in the shelter of the meat cache, weighing his chances,

when suddenly from beyond the log walls came the sound of a woman's scream, loud, shrill, terrible it sounded, cutting the black silence of the night. What woman? There could be only one. With a low, cry that sounded in his own ears like the snarl of a beast, he dropped the rifle and sprang

against the door. It flew inward, and for a second Brent could see nothing in the murky interior of the room. There was a sound from the bunk, and, through the smoke haze, he made out the face of the captain of the Bellevilloo. As the man sprang erect, their bodies met with an impact that carried them to the floor. Brent found himself on top, and the next instant his fingers were twisting, biting into a hairy throat with a grip that crushed and tore.

In his blind fury, he was only half conscious that heavy fists were battering at his face. Beneath him, the body of the captain lashed and struggled. The man's tongue lulled from his open mouth, and from beneath the curled lips came hoarse wheezing gasps and great gulping strangling gurgles a wave of exultation seized brent as he realized that the thing that writhed and twisted in his grasp was the naked throat of a man vaguely he became conscious that above him hovered a white shape and that the shape was calling his name in strange quavering tones he tightened his grip there was a wild spasmodic heaving of the form beneath him and the form became suddenly still but brent did not release his grasp

instead he twisted and ground his fingers deeper and deeper into the flesh that yielded now and did not writhe with his face held close he glared like a beast into the face of the man beneath him a horrible face with its wide-sprung jaws exposing the slobbered tongue, the yellow snag-like teeth, the eyes, back-rolled until only the whites showing beneath the wide-staring lids, and the skin fast-purpling between the upper beard and the mottled thatch of hair. A hand fell upon his shoulder, and, glancing up, he saw snow-drift, and realized that she was urging him to rise.

as in a dream he caught the gleam of white shoulders and saw that one bare arm clasped a fragment of torn shirt to her breast he staggered to his feet gave one glance into the girl's eyes and with a wild glad cry caught her to him and pressed her tight against his pounding heart a moment later she struggled from his embrace she flushed deeply as his eyes raised from her shoulders to meet her own. He was speaking, and at the words her heart leaped wildly. "'It's a lie,' he cried. "'You are not a breed. I knew it. I knew it. My darling, you are white, as white as I am. Old one on a-bish is not your mother. Do you hear? You are white.' End of Chapter 20. Recording by Roger Maline. Chapter 21 of Snowdrift, a story of the land of the strong cold by James B. Hendricks.

This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline. Snow Drift by James B. Hendricks. Chapter 21. The Passing of Wenanabish. stepping across to a duffel bag brent produced a shirt and an undershirt which he tossed to the girl who in the weakness of sudden reaction had thrown herself sobbing upon the bunk there there darling he soothed as with his back toward her his eyes roved about the room seeking to picture in the wild disorder the terrific struggle that had taken place put on those things and then you can tell me all about it you're all right now dear i will never leave you again but oh if you had not come sobbed the girl but i did come sweetheart and everything is all right forget the whole horrid business come we will go straight to wananabish not another hour nor a minute will we wait we will make her tell the truth i have never believed you were her daughter and now i know

But, faltered the girl as she slipped into the warm garments, "'If I am not her daughter, who am I? Oh, it is horrible not to know who you are. If this is true, she must tell. She has got to tell me. I have the right to know. And my mother and my father. Where are they?

Who are they?' "'We will know soon, darling,' assured Brent, drawing her to him and looking down into her uplifted eyes. But first, let me tell you this. I don't care who you are. You are mine now, dearest, the one woman for me in all the world. And no matter who or what your parents were, you are mine, mine, mine. His lips met hers.

Her arms stole about his neck, and as she clung to him, she whispered, oh everything seems all strange and unreal and upside down and horrible and in all the world darling you are the one being who is good and sane and strong oh i love you so don't ever leave me again never again assured brent smiling down into the dark eyes raised so pleadingly to his and now do you feel able to strike out for the camp i feel able to go to the end of the earth with you she answered quickly and he noticed that her voice had assumed its natural buoyancy and that her movements were lithe and sure as she stooped to lace her snow-shoes and he marveled at the perfect resiliency of nerves that could so quickly regain their poise after the terrible ordeal to which they had been subjected where is claw he asked abruptly as he stooped and recovered his gold sack from the floor where the captain had dropped it come we must hurry cried the girl who in the excitement had forgotten his very existence he started for the camp to trade hoot to the indians and oh hard hurry she cried as she plunged out into the night he hates one on a bish and he threatened to get even with her if he should kill her now before before she could tell us she was already descending the bank to the river when brent recovering his rifle hastened after her and although he exerted himself to the utmost the flying figure gradually drew away from him

when it had all but disappeared in the darkness he called and the girl waited whereupon brent despite her protest took the lead and with his rifle ready for instant use hastened on up the river a half mile from the encampment brent struck into the scattered timber he may watch the back trail he flung back over his shoulder and we don't want to walk into a trap rapidly they made their way through the scrub and upon the edge of the clearing they paused in the wide space before one of the cabins brush fires were blazing and by the light of the leaping flames the indians could be seen crowding and fighting to get to the door of the cabin brent drew snowdrift into the shelter of a bush from which point of vantage they watched claw who stood in the doorway glassed in one hand, six-gun in the other, dispensing hooch. Standing by his side, Yondo received the skins from the crowding Indians and tossed them into the cabin. The process was beautifully simple, a drink for a skin. As Yondo took a skin, Clah passed out a drink to its erstwhile owner.

Damn him, muttered Brent, raising his rifle. But Snowdrift pushed it aside. It is too dark, she whispered. You can't see the sights, and you might hit one of the Indians. Breaking off sharply, she pointed toward her own cabin. The door had been thrown open, and, rifle in hand, old Wananabish stepped out on the snow. She raised the rifle, and with loud cries, the Indians surged back from about the hooch runner. Before the rifle could speak, Clah fired, and dropping her gun,

Old Wanabish staggered a few steps forward and pitched headlong into the snow. With a yell of rage, Brent broke cover and dashed straight across the clearing. As the cry reached him, Clah looked up, fired one hasty shot at the approaching figure, and leaping straight through the throng of Indians, disappeared in the scrubbing. beyond the cabin, with Yondo close at his heels. Brent was aware that Snowdrift was at his side. Go to her, panted the girl. I will try to handle the Indians.

For an instant he hesitated, then, realizing that the girl could deal with her own band better without his presence, he hastened to the squaw, who had raised herself to an elbow and was vainly trying to rise. Picking her up bodily, Brent carried her into the cabin and placed her upon the bunk. "'Where is she?' the woman gasped, as he tore open her shirt and endeavored to stanch the flow of blood from a wound low down upon the sunken chest. "'She's all right,' assured the man. "'Claw has gone, and she is trying to quiet the Indians.'

The old crony shook her head. no use she whispered the words with difficulty take her away while there is time they are crazy for hooch and they will sell her to him she sank back gasping and brent held a cup of water to her lips as he motioned her to be quiet i am going to take her he answered but tell me who is snowdrift the beady eyes fixed his with a long searching stare she was about to speak when the door opened and snowdrift herself burst into the room and sank down beside the bunk with a laboring effort the old woman laid a claw-like hand upon the girl's arm forgive me she whispered and summoning all her fast ebbing strength she gasped it is all a lie you are not my child you are white i loved you and i was afraid you would go to your people a paroxysm of coughing seized her and a gush of red blood welled from her lips look in the moss bag she croaked the words gurgling through her blood-flooded throat she fell heavily back upon the blanket and the red torrent gushed gushed the red torrent gushed afresh from between the stilled lips.

With a dry sob, snowdrift turned to Brent. We must go, she faltered hurriedly. I can do nothing with the Indians. I tried to reach the hooch to destroy it, but they crowded me away. He has lied to them, won them completely over by the promise of more hooch. He told them he has plenty of hooch cashed in the scrub. already they have sent runners to bring him back and when he comes the girl paused and shuddered they will do anything he tells them to for hooch and you know what that will be come we must go while we have time can't we stay and fight him cried brent surely some of the indians will be with us no only a few of the squaws and they would be no good

no we must go before they bring him back my sled is beside the door hurry and load it with supplies while i harness the dogs as she talked the girl's hands searched beneath the blankets upon which lay the body of the skulls squaw and with a low cry she drew forth the moss bag which she handed to brent take it she said and do not trust it to the sled we have no time to look into it now but that little bag contains the secret of my life and i will guard it with my own cried brent as he took the bag from her hand hurry now and harness the dogs i'll throw in some grub and blankets and we will finish the outfit at my cabin where we'll pick up joe pete while brent worked at the lashings of the sled pack snowdrift slipped silently into the cabin and crossing to the bunk bent low over the still form of the squaw good-bye when onabish she sobbed as she pressed her lips to the wrinkled forehead i don't know what you have done nor why you did it but i forgive you she turned to see brent examining the two heavy crotches that were fixed one on either side of the doorway on the inside that is our lock explained the girl see there is the bar that goes across the door-the door-way that goes across the door-and-the door that is our lock explained the girl see there is the bar that goes across the door like the bar at the post at fort norman wananabish made it and every night when we were inside she placed the bar in the crotches and no one could have got in without smashing the door to pieces ever since i returned from the mission wananabish has feared some one and now i know it was claw

if we could only drop the bar from the outside mused brent maybe we could gain a lot of time i know claw and when he finds that he has all the indians with him and that we are only two he is not going to give you up without a struggle by george he exclaimed suddenly i believe i can do it he motioned the girl outside and slipped the bar into the crotch at the hinge side of the door then driving a knife upon the inside he rested the bar upon it and stepping outside banged the door shut the knife held and opening the door he loosened the blade a little and tried again this time the banging of the door jarred the knife loose it fell to the floor and the heavy bar dropped into place and the man smiled with satisfaction as he threw his weight against the door that will keep them busy for a while he said they'll think we're in there and they know we're armed so they won't be any too anxious to mix things up at close quarters swiftly the dogs flew up the well-packed trail toward brent's cabin the night was dark and the indians were fighting over the rum cask that claw had abandoned as they hurried down the river the two cast more than one glance over their shoulders toward the cabin where the indians milled about in the firelight at the first bend of the river they paused and looked back shots were being fired in scattering volleys and suddenly snowdrift grasped brent's arm look she cried at our cabin

at first brent could see nothing but the distant glow of the brush fires then from the direction of the cabin they had just left a tongue of flame shot upward through the darkness there were more shots and the flames widened and leaped higher they're piling brush against the cabin cried brent they think they'll burn us out come on we haven't a minute to lose for when claw learns that we are not in the cabin you'll be on our trail at his own shack brent tore the lashings from the sled and began to rearrange the pack adding supplies from his stores joe pete stared in astonishment come on here cried brent get to work we're off for dawson and we've got to take grub enough to last till we hit fort norman all day long you have been on the trail cried the girl you are tired can't we stand them off here until you are arrested brent shook his head you saw what happened at the other cabin he answered and here it would be even worse with the window and the door on the same side they could burn us out in no time but they will trail us and we must travel heavy she pointed to the loaded sled we will take our chances in the open said brent grimly and if luck favors us we will get a long lead the indians may get too drunk to follow or they may stop to loot my cabin and even if they should overtake us we can give a good account of ourselves we have three rifles and the indians can't shoot and claw will not risk his own hide strike out straight for fort norman joe pete we will take turns breaking trail at daylight they camped upon the apex of a high ridge that

commanded a six or seven mile sweep of the back trail, and all three noted with relief that the stiff wind had filled their trail with the shifting snow. All through the night they had avoided the timbered swamps and the patches of scrub, both for the purpose of allowing the wind full sweep at their trail and also to force their pursuers to expose themselves to the open. It was decided that until danger of pursuit was passed, they would travel only at night and thus eliminate in so far as possible the danger of a surprise attack. Because the men had been on the trail almost constantly for 24 hours, Snowdrift insisted upon standing first watch, and as Brent unrolled his blankets, he removed the moss bag from his shoulders and handed it to the girl.

Both he and Joe Pete were asleep the instant they hit the blankets, and for a long time snowdrift sat with the moss bag hugged close, and her eyes fixed upon the long sweep of back trail. At length she thrust her hand into the bag and withdrew the packet, secure in its waterproof wrapping. Over and over she turned it in her hand, as she speculated womanlike upon its contents. Time and again she essayed to untie the throng that bound it,

but each time her fingers were stilled before the knot was undone. Oh, I am afraid, afraid, she murmured, when her burning curiosity urged her fingers to do their task. Suppose he, my father was a man like, like those two. Suppose he was claw himself." She shuddered at the thought. "'No, no,' she whispered. Wananabish said that he was good.

"'My mother, then, who was she? Is some terrible stigma attached to her name? Better never to know who I am than to know that.' For a moment she held the packet above the little flames of her fire, as though she would drop it in. But even as she held it, she knew she would not destroy it, for she decided that even to know the worst would be better than the gnawing of lifelong uncertainty.

He too has the right to know, she murmured, and we will open it together. And with a sigh she replaced the packet in the bag and returned to her scrutiny of the back trail. despite the agreement to divide equally the time of watching the girl resolved to let the men sleep until midday before calling brent who was to take the second watch at noon brent awoke of his own accord and the girl was startled by the sound of his voice in her ear anything doing no she answered not even a wolf or a caribou has crossed the open have you explored that he indicated the moss bag with a nod and the girl was quick to note the carefully suppressed eagerness of the words no i waited i wanted you and oh i was afraid nonsense darling laughed the man i am not afraid give me the bag again i swear to you i do not care who you are

You are mine, and nothing else matters. Snowdrift slipped her hand into the bag and withdrew the packet, and she handed it to Brent. He placed his arm about her shoulders and drew her close against his side, and with her head resting upon his shoulders, her eyes followed his every moment as his fingers fumbled at the knot. carefully he unwrapped the waterproof covering and disclosed a small leather notebook and a thick packet wound round with a parchment deerskin on the fly-leaf of the notebook in a round clear hand was written the name murdo macfarlane and below lashing water murdo mcfarland cried brent why that's the name in the book that told of herne's lost minds the book that brought me over here

and the name on the knife see i have it here exclaimed the girl but go on who was macfarlane and what is he to do with me eagerly brent read aloud the closely written pages that told of the life of murdo mcfarland of his boyhood in Scotland, of his journey to Canada, his service with the Hudson's Bay Company, his courtship of Margot Malare, and their marriage to the accompaniment of the booming of the bells of St. Anne's, of the birth of their baby, the little Margot, of his restless longing for gold, that his wife and baby need not live out their lives in the outlands, of the visit of wananabish and her little band of dog ribs of his venture into the barons accompanied by his wife and little baby of the cabin beside the nameless lake and the year of fruitless search for gold in the barons oh that is it that is it the memory cried the girl what do you mean what memory what memory always i have had it the memory time and again it comes back to me but i can never seem to grasp it a cabin a beautiful woman who leaned over me and talked to me

and a big man who took me up in his arms a lake beside the cabin and that is all dim and elusive always i have tried for hours at a time to bring it sharply into mind but it was no use the memory would fade and in its place would be the tepee or my little room at the mission but go on what became of murdo mcfarland and margot of my father and my mother and why have i always lived with wananabish brent read the closing lines with many a pause and with many a catch in his voice the lines which told of the death of margot and of his determination to take the baby and leave her with wananabish until he should return to her of his leaving with the squaw all of his money five hundred pounds in good bank-notes, with instructions to use it for her keep and education in case he did not return. And so he came to the concluding paragraph, which read, In the morning I shall carry my wee margot to the Indian woman. It is the only thing I can do, and then I shall strike north for gold.

But first I must return to this cabin and bury my dead. god why did she have to die she should be buried beside her mother in the little graveyard at st anne's but it cannot be upon a high point that jets out on to the lake i will dig her grave upon a point where we used often to go and watch the sunset she and i and the little one and there she will lie while far below her the boomer in the thunder of the wind-lashing waters of the lake, will rise about her like the sound of bells, her requiem, like the tolling of the bells of St. Anne's. Oh, where is he now? My father! sobbed the girl, as he concluded. Brent's arm tightened about her shoulders.

He is dead, he whispered. He has been dead for these many years, or he would have found you. he swept his arm toward the barons somewhere in this great white land your father met his death and it was a man's death the kind of death he would have welcomed for he was a man the whole north is his grave and out of it his spirit kept calling calling and the call was heard by a drunkard in a little cabin on the yukon i am that drunkard and into my keeping the spirit of murdo mcfarland has entrusted the life of his baby his wee margot brent paused and his voice suddenly cut hard as steel and may god almighty strike me dead if i ever violate that trust slender brown fingers were upon his lips don't talk like that dear it scares me see i am not afraid and you are not a drunkard i got drunk on the belvalu didn't i say we couldn't expect to win all the battles and i carry my bottle with me he reached into his blankets and drew out the bottle of rum and the cork has not been pulled flashed the girl and you have carried it

ever since you left the whaler." "'Yes, darling,' answered the man softly. "'And I always shall keep it, and I never will pull the cork. I can give you that promise now. I can promise you, on the word of a Brent, that—' "'Not yet, sweetheart, please,' interrupted the girl. "'Let us hold back the promise till we need it. That promise is our heavy artillery.

this is only the beginning of the war and no good general would show the enemy all he has got right in the beginning you wonder woman laughed brent as he smothered the upraised eyes with kisses but see we have not opened the packet carefully he unwound the parchment wrapping and disclosed a closely packed pile of banknotes so long had they remained undisturbed that their edges had stuck together so that it was with difficulty he succeeded in counting them one hundred he announced at length one hundred five-pound notes of the bank of england why wananabish never used any of the money cried the girl brent shook his head not a penny has been touched i doubt that she ever even opened the packet poor old wananabish murmured the girl and she needed it so but she saved it all for me when darkness gathered they again hit the trail A last look from the ridge disclosed no sign of pursuit, and that night they made twenty-five miles. For three more nights they traveled,

and then upon the shore of Great Bear Lake, they gave up the night travel and continued their journey by daylight. Upon the evening of the eighteenth day, they pulled into Fort Norman, where they outfitted for the long trail to the Yukon. before she left snowdrift paid the debt of a thousand skins that mctavish had extended to the indians and the following morning the outfit pulled out and headed for the mountains which were just visible far to the westward End of Chapter 21. Recording by Roger Maline.

Chapter 22 of Snowdrift, a story of the land of the strong cold by James B. Hendricks. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline. Snow Drift by James B. Hendricks. Chapter 22. Claw hits for Dawson. when claw returned to the flame-lighted clearing a scant half-hour after he had fled from the avenging figure of brent it was to find his keg of rum more than half consumed and most of the indians howling drunk close about him they crowded pressing skins upon him and demanding more liquor the man was quick to see that despite the appearance of brent and the girl he held the upper hand

the indians would remain his as long as the rum held out ask him where the white man went him and the girl he ordered yondo the indian pointed to the cabin of wananabish and a devilish gleam leaped into claw's eyes tell em i'll give him a whole keg of rum or a hundred dollars cash money to the man that kills him he shouted and another keg to the one that brings me the girl the drunken savages heard the offer with a whoop and yelling like fiends they rushed to the cabin the barred door held against the barred door held against the their attack, and with sinister singleness of purpose they rushed back to the fires, and securing blazing faggots began to pile brush against the wall of the building. With an evil grin in his face, Claw took up his position behind a stump that gave unobstructed view of the door, through which the two must rush from the burning cabin, and waded, revolver in hand. louder roared the fire and higher and higher shot the flames but the door remained closed claw waited knowing that it would take some time for the logs to burn through

but when at length the whole cabin was a mass of flames and the roof caved in his rage burst forth in a tirade of abuse they lied he shrilled they wasn't in there ace in the hole wouldn't never stayed in there and burnt up the indians lied and he's layin to get me maybe he's got a bead on me right now and in a sudden excess of terror the man started to burrow into the snow yondo stopped and in the bright light of the flames examined the trail to the river then he pointed down the stream in the direction of brent's cabin and claw too examined the trail they've pulled out he cried pulled out for his shack tell em to come on we'll burn em out up there i ain't a goin to let her get away from me now and to hell with cap jenkins i'll take her to dawson and make real money off'n her an'n er and i'll git e'n the hole too i found that girl first she's mine and by god i'll have her he started for the river at the top of the bank he paused what's ailing em he roared why don't they come standin there goggling like fools they say explained yondo in jargon that they want to see the rum first tell em i left it up to his shack roared the man tell em anything just so they come get my dogs and come on we'll lead out and they'll faller if they think there's hooch in it

yondo headed the dogs down the trail and cloth threw himself upon the sled and watched the drunken indian string out behind yelling whooping staggering and falling in their eagerness for more hooch when they came inside of the cabin claw saw that it was dark you slip up and see what you can find out he ordered yondo and i'll stay here with the dogs and handle the indians when they come along five minutes later the indian returned and reported that there was no one in the cabin and that the door was open with the curse claw headed the dogs up the bank and pushed through the open door. Match in hand, he stumbled and fell sprawling over the body of the captain of the Bellevilloo, uttering a shriek of terror as his bare hand came in contact with the hairy face. Scambling to his feet, he fumbled for another match, and with trembling fingers, managed to light the little bracket lamp. Choked him to death bare-handed, he cried in horror.

And he'd have done me that way to-one. too. But where be they? Look, they've been here. The man pointed to the disordered supplies that had been thrown about in the haste of departure. They've pulled out, he cried. Get out there and find their trail. Yondo returned and pointed to the westward, holding up three fingers and making the sign of a heavily loaded sled. That'll be him and her and the Indian, said Claw, and they're hitting for Fort Norman. Reaching down, he picked up a sack of flour, and carrying it out to the sled, ordered Yondo to help with the other supplies. Suddenly he sprang erect and gazed toward the west. I wonder if he would, he cried aloud. I'll bet he'll take her clean to Dawson.

He laughed harshly. And if he does, she's mine, mine, and no trouble nor risk taking her there. Once back among the saloons, ace in the hole will start in the hooch, and then I'll get her. From far up the river came the whoop-ruroo of the drunken Indians. Quick, cried Claw, get that pack throwed together. When they get here and find out they ain't no more hooch, they'll butcher me and you. and almost before the indian had secured the lashings claw started the dogs and leaving the indian to handle the g-pole struck out on the trail of brent it was no part of claw's plan to overtake the trio indeed it was the last thing in the world he wanted to do at midnight they camped with a good ten miles between themselves and the drunken dog-ribs

in the morning they pushed on keeping a sharp look out ahead soon brent's trail began to drift full of snow and by noon it was obliterated altogether thereupon claw ordered the indian to shape his own course for fort norman and because of yondo's thorough knowledge of the country arrived in sight of the post on the evening of the sixteenth day when he learned from an indian woodchopper that no other outfit had arrived claw pulled a mile up the river and waited two days later from the summit of a nearby hill he saw the outfit pull in and with glittering eyes he watched it depart knowing that brent would hit for the yukon by way of the bonnet plume pass claw paid off yondo and struck straight westward along alone, crossing the divide by means of a steep and narrow pass known only to a few. Thus, shortening the trail by some four or five days, he showed up in Cutter Malone's Klondike palace at the height of an evening's hilarity. Cutter greeted him from behind the bar.

Hello, Claw! Thought you was over with the whalers! Was, answered Claw. Just got back. he drained the glass malone had set before him and with a sidewise quirk of the head sauntered into a little back room a few minutes later cutter followed carefully closing and locking the door after him what's on your mind he asked as he seated himself beside the little table there is a plenty on it but mostly it's a girl what's the matter one get away from you she ain't yet but she's damn near it she'll be here in a few days and she's the prettiest piece that ever hit the yukon must be right pert then cause that's covering quite a better territory yes and you could cover twice as much and still not find nothin that would touch her for looks where is she she's comin ace in the hole's bringing her in

ace in the hole you're crazy as hell first place ace and the hole ain't here no more folks say old r e morse got him and he drownded hisself in the river camillo bill and that bunch he used to trot with has combed dawson with a fine-tooth comb for him and they ain't find him nowhere's drownded hell exclaimed claw ain't i bend his shack on the copper mine? Didn't he come up to the belvalu and get drunk, and then get lost, and then find his way back to his shack and choke the life out of Cap Jenkins? Yes, sir, bare-handed. I looked at Cap's throat where he lay dead on the floor, and it was damn near squaws and two. And he'd have squoes mine if he could caught me. What about the gal? What's he got to do with her? her he wouldn't stand for no such doings and you'd ought to know it didn't he knock you down for wailing one with a dog whip yes and i'll even up the score growled claw savagely

and me and you will shove a heft of dust in the safe for profits it's like this she's his girl and he's bringing her here his girl say claw What you hand in me? Time was when Ace in the hole could have had his pick of any of them. But that time's gone. They wouldn't know Clutch look at him twice now. He's that far gone with the hooch. He's a bum. You know a hell of a lot about it. Didn't you just get through telling me he was drowned? And now he's a bum? Both of which they ain't neither one right by a damn sight. He's been out there where they ain't no hooch, and he's as good a man as he ever was, as long as he can't get the hooch. But here in Dawson he can get it, see? And me and you has got to see that he does get it. And we'll get the girl. I've figured it all out coming

over. Was going to fetch her myself, but it would have been a hell of a job, and then there's the mounted but this way we can get her delivered c o d right to our door you might say starting about day after to-morrow we'll put lookouts on the klondike river and the indian river they're coming in over the bonnet plume when they get here the lookout will tell us where they go then we rig up some kind of excuse to get him away and when we've got him paralyzed drunk we'll send a message to the girl that he needs her, and we'll bring her here, and, well, the middle room above the little dance hall upstairs will hold her. It's held them before. Malone grinned. Guess I didn't know what I was up to when I built that room, eh? They can yell their head off, and you can't hear him outside the door. All right, Claw, you tend to the getting her here, and I'll pass the word around amongst the love.

live ones that's got the dust. We ain't had no new ones in this winter, and the boys'll appreciate it. It was evening. Brent and Snowdrift had climbed from the little trail camp at the edge of the timber line to the very summit of the great bonnet plume pass to watch the sun sink to rest behind the high-flung peaks of the almighty Alaskan ranges. Oh, isn't it grand and wonderful! cried the girl as her eyes swept the vast panorama of glistening white mountains how small and insignificant i feel and how stern and rugged and hard it all looks yes darling whispered brent as his arm stole about her waist it is stern and rugged and hard but it is clean and honest and grand it is the world as good God made it. I have never been in the mountains before, said the girl.

I have seen them from the McKenzie, but they were so far away, they never seemed real. We have always hunted upon the barons. Tell me, is it all like this? And where is the Yukon? Brent smiled at her awe of the vastness. Pretty much all like this, he answered. Alaska is a land of mountains. Of course, there are wide valleys and mighty rivers, and along the rivers are the towns and the mining camps.

I have never seen a town, breathed the girl. What will we do when we get there? We will go straight to the Reeves's, he answered with a glad smile. Reeves is the man who staked me for the trip into the barons, and his wife is an old old friend of mine we were born and grew up in the same town and we will go straight to them i wonder whether she will like me i have known no white women except sister mercedes darling she will love you cried brent everyone will love you and we will be married in their house but what will he think when you tell him you have not made a strike brent laughed he will be the first to see that i have made a strike dear the richest strike in all the north and you didn't tell me cried the girl tell me about it now was it on the copper mine yes it was on the copper mine i made the great strike one evening in the moonlight when the dearest girl in the world told me she loved me snowdrift raised her wondrous dark eyes to his isn't it wonderful to love as we love she whispered to be all the world to each other

i do not care if we never make a strike all i want is to be with you always and if we do not make a strike we will live in our tepee and snare rabbits and hunt and be happy always. Brent covered the upturned face with kisses. I guess we can manage something better than a tee-pee, he smiled. I've got more than half of Rees's dust left, and I've been thinking the matter over. The fact is, I don't think much of that copper-mine country for gold. I reckon we'll get a house and settle down in Dawson for a while, and I'll take the job Reeves' eyes. offered me and work till i get him paid off and camillo bill and enough ahead for a grub steak and then we'll see what's to be done we'll have lots of good times too there's the reeveses and-and brent paused and the girl smiled what's the matter can't you think of any more well to tell the truth i don't know any others who that is married folks our kind you know the men i knew best are all single men but lots of people have come in with the dredge companies the reeves will know them there is that girl you called kitty suggested

snowdrift. Yes, answered Brent, a little awkwardly. That's so, but she's a little different. But I will like her, I am sure, because she nursed you when you were sick. I know what you mean, she exclaimed abruptly, and Brent saw that the dark eyes flashed. You mean that people pointed her the finger of scorn, as they would have pointed at me. had i been as i thought i was but it is all wrong and i will not do that and i will hate those who do and i will tell them so she stamped her moccasined foot in anger and the man laughed my goodness he exclaimed feigning alarm i can see from here where i better get home to meals on time and not forget to put the cat out

now you are making fun of me she pouted but it is wrong and you know it is and maybe the very ones who do the pointing are worse in their hearts than she is you said it cried brent the ones that look down upon the frailties of others are the very ones who need watching themselves and that is a good thing to remember in picking out friends and darling you can go as far as you like with kitty i'm for you she's got a big heart and there's a lot more to her than there is to most of em but come it's dark and we must be getting back to camp see the little fire down on the edge of the timber line it looks a thousand miles away and as they picked their way side by side down the long slope the long slope the brent was conscious that with the growing tenderness that each day's association with his wonder woman engendered there was also a growing respect for her outlook upon life her years in the open had developed a sense of perception that was keen to separate the dross from the pure gold of human intent she's a great girl he breathed as he glanced at her profile half hidden in the starlight she deserves the best that's in a man and she'll get it end of chapter twenty two recording by roger maline chapter twenty three of snowdrift a story of the land of the strong cold by james b hendricks this librivox recording is in the public domain recording by roger maline snowdrift by james b hendricks

chapter twenty three in the toils late one afternoon a dog sled with joe pete in the lead and brent and snowdrift following swung rapidly down the klondike river a few miles from dawson the outfit overtook a man walking leisurely toward town a rifle swung over his shoulder recognizing him as one zin a former hanger on at cutter malone's brent called a greeting damned if it ain't ace in the hole cried the man in well-simulated surprise they'll be rolling em high in dawson to-night brent laughed and hurried on and behind him upon the trail zin quickened his pace at the outskirts of town the three removed their snow-shoes and ordering joe p to take the outfit to his own shack brent and snowdrift hurried toward the reeves as they passed up the street brent noticed that the dark eyes of the girl were busily drinking in the details of the rows upon rows of low-frame houses at last you are in dawson he said including with a sweep of the arm the mushroom city that had sprung up in the shadow of moose-hide mountain. Does it look like you expected it would? Are you going to like it? The girl smiled at the eagerness in his voice.

Yes, dear, I shall love it, because it will be our home. It isn't quite as I expected it to look. The houses, all placed side by side, with the streets running between, are as I thought they would be, but the houses themselves are different. They are not of logs or of the thin iron, like the warehouse of the new trading company and the McKenzie, and they are not made of bricks and stones, and very tall like the pictures of cities in the books. Brent laughed. No, Dawson is just halfway between. Since the sawmills came, the town has rapidly outgrown the log cabin stage, although there are still plenty of them here,

but it has not yet risen to the dignity of brick and stone. But the houses of brick and stone will come, cried the girl enthusiastically, and take the place of the houses of wood, and we shall be here to see the building of another great city. Brent shook his head. I don't know, he replied doubtfully. It all depends on the gravel.

I wouldn't care to do much speculating in Dawson real estate right now. The time for that has passed. The next two or three years, we'll tell the story. If I were to do any predicting, I'd say that instead of the birth of a great city, we are going to witness the lingering death of an overgrown town. He paused and pointed to a small cabin of logs that stood deserted, half buried in snow. do you see that shack over there that's mine it don't look like much now but i gave five thousand in dust for it when i made my first strike the girl's eyes sparkled as she viewed the dejected-looking building and that will be our home she cried not by a long shot it won't laughed brent we'll do better than that i never want to see the inside of the inside of

of the place again. Yes, I do, just once. I want to go there and get a book, the book that lured me to the copper mine, the book in which is written the name of Murdo McFarlane. We will always keep that book, darling, and someday we will get it bound in leather and gold. Before a little white-painted house that stood back from the street, the man paused. The Reeveses live here, he announced, and as he turned into the neatly shoveled path that led to the door, he reached down and pressed the girl's hand reassuringly. Mrs. Reeves is an old, old friend, he whispered, she will be a sister to you. As Brent led the way along the narrow path, his eyes rested upon the slope of snow-buried earth that pitched sharply against the base of the water. of the house.

Hardest work I ever did, he grinned. Hope the floor kept warm. As he waited the answer to his knock upon the door, he noticed casually that Zim sauntered past and turned abruptly into the street that led straight to Cutter Malones. The next instant the door was opened and Reba Reeves stood framed in the doorway. Brent saw that in the gloom of early,

in the gloom of early evening she did not recognize him. Is Mr. Reeves home? he asked. Yes, won't you step in? answered the woman, standing aside. Thank you, I think we will. Something in the man's tone caused the woman to step quickly forward and peer sharply into his face. Carter Brent, she cried, and the next instant the man's hands were in both of the moment.

of hers, and she was pulling him into the room. Like a flash, Brent remembered that other time she had called his name in a tone of intense surprise, and that there had been tears in her eyes then, even as there were tears in her eyes now, but this time there were tears of gladness. And then, from another room, came Reeves, and a pair of firm hands were laid upon his shoulders, and he was spun around to meet the gaze of the surrogens. searching gray eyes that stared into his own. Brent laughed happily as he noted the start of surprise that accompanied Reeves's words.

Good Lord! What a change! A hand slipped from his shoulder and grasped his own. A moment later, Brent freed the hand, and as Mrs. Reeves lighted the lamp, turned and drew snowdrift toward him. And now I want you to meet, Miss. miss margot mcfarland within a very few hours she is going to become mrs carter brent you see he added turning to riba reeves i brought her straight to you the hotel isn't the sentence was never finished already the two women were in each other's arms and riba reeves was smiling at him over the girl's shoulder carter brent if you had dared to even think of taking her to the hotel i'd never have spoken to you again you just let me catch you talking about hotels when your folks are living right here

and now take off your things because supper is most ready you'll find warm water in the reservoir of the stove and i'll make an extra lot of good hot coffee because i know you will be tired of tea never in his life had brent enjoyed a meal as he enjoyed that supper in the dining-room of the reeves's with snowdrift radiant with happiness beside him and his host and hostess eagerly plying him with questions i think it is the most romantic thing i ever heard of cried reba reeves when snowdrift had finished telling of her life among the indians and at the mission it's easy enough to see why carter chose you but for the life of me i can't see how you came to take an old scapegrace like him she teased and the girl smiled i took him because i love him she answered because he is good and strong and brave and because he can be gentle and tender and-and he understands and he is not a scape-grace any more she added gravely. He has told me all about how he drank hooch until he became a bunt. A what? A bun... Is it not that when a man drinks too much hooch? A bum, supplied Brent, laughing. So many new words, smiled the girl. But I will learn them all. Anyway, we will fight the hooch together, and we will win.

You bet we'll win, cried Reeves heartily. And if I'm any judge, I'd say you've won already. How about it, Brent? Deliberately, thoughtfully, Brent nodded. She has won, he said. On the word of a Brent? Reba Reeves' eyes were looking straightened his own as she asked the question. Yes, he answered.

on the word of a brent a moment silence followed the words after which he turned to reeves and now let's talk business i have used about half the dust you loaned me there is nothing worth while on the copper mine now he smiled as his eyes rested upon the girl so i have come back to take that job you offered me eleven hundred miles we came under the chaperonage of joe pete and a very capable chaperonage it was laughed reeves funniest thing i ever saw in my life there in your cabin the morning you started it was then i learned to know joe pete but go on that's about all there is to it except that i'd like to keep the rest of the dust and pay you back in installments that is if the job is still open i've got to borrow enough for a start somewhere and i reckon you're about the only friend i've got left how about that fellow camillo bill i thought he was a friend of yours i thought so too but when i was down and out and wanted a grub steak he turned me down he's all right though square as a die about that job continued reeves gravely i am a little afraid you wouldn't just fill the bill for a moment brent felt as though he had been slapped in the face he had counted on the job needed it the next instant he was smiling maybe you're right he said i reckon i am a little rusty on hydraulics and-i'd take a chance in the high

hydraulics, laughed Reeves. But, before we go any further, what would you take for your title to those two claims that Camillo Bill has been operating? Depends on who wanted to buy him, grinned Brent. What would you sell them to me for? What will you give? How would ten thousand for the two of them strike you? Brent laughed. don't you go speculating on any claims he advised i'd be tickled a death to get ten thousand dollars or ten thousand cents out of those claims but not from you it would be highway robbery and if i didn't buy them from you at ten thousand or a hundred thousand you would be only a piker of a robber as compared to me what do you mean

i mean that if anybody offers you a million for him you laugh at him exclaimed reeves because they're worth a whole lot more than that brent stared at the man as though he had taken leave of his senses who has been stringing you he asked the fact is those claims are a liability and not an asset camillo bill took them over to try to get the million i owed him out of him and he couldn't do it. And when Camillo Bill can't get the dust out, it isn't there. How do you know he couldn't do it? Because he told me so. He lied. Brent flushed. I reckon you don't know, Camillo Bill, he said gravely. As I told you, he wouldn't grub stake me when I needed a grub steak, and I don't understand that. but i'd stake my life on it that he never lied about those claims never tried to beat me out of him when i was down and out why man he won them in a game of stud and he wouldn't stake them but he lied to you just the same insisted reeves and brent saw that the man's eyes were twinkling and it was because he is one of the best friends a man ever had that he did lie to you you and that he wouldn't grubstake you you said a while ago that i was about the only friend you had left let me tell you a little story and then judge for yourself

about a week after you had gone inquiries began to float around town as to your whereabouts i didn't pay any attention to them at first but the inquiries persisted they searched dawson and all the country around for you when i learned that the inquiries emanated from such men as camillo bill and old beddles and moose-hide charlie and a few more of the heaviest men in the camp i took notice and quietly sent for camillo bill and had a talk with him it seems that after he had taken his million out of the claims he went to you for the purpose of turning them back he had not seen you for some time and he was well it didn't take him but a minute to see what would happen if he turned back the claims and dumped a couple of million dollars worth of property into your hands at that time so he told you they had petered out then he hunted up a bunch of the real estate sowerdows who are your friends and they planned to kidnap you and take you away for a year keep you under guard in a cabin a hundred miles from nowhere and keep you off the liquor and make you work like a nigger till you found yourself again. They laid their plot, and when they came to spring it, you had disappeared. Brent listened, with tight-pressed lips, and as Reeves finished, he asked,

"'And you say he got out his million, and there is still something left in the gravel?' Reeves laughed. "'I would call it something. Camillo Bill says he only worked one of the claims, and only about half of that. Yes, I would say there was something left. I reckon a man don't always know his friends, murmured Brent after a long silence. I wonder where I can find Camillo Bill. He's in town somewhere. I saw him this afternoon.

Brent turned to Snowdrift, who had listened, wide-eyed, to the narrative you wait here dear he said and i'll hunt up a parson and a ring and camillo bill i need a-a-best man oh why don't you wait a week or so and give us time to get ready so we can have a real wedding cried mrs reeves brent shook his head i reckon this one'll be real enough he grinned and besides we've waited quite a while already. As he turned into the street from the path leading from the door, he almost bumped into a man in the darkness. Hello, is that you, ace in the hole? You're the man I'm hunting for.

Friend of yearns hurt and wants to see you. Who is it, Zinn? And how did he know I was in town? It's Camillo Bill. I was telling I see you coming in. an hour or so back and stoles. Then Camillo, he goes down to the sawmill to see about some lumber, and a log flies off the carriage and hits him. He's busted up pretty bad. Guess he's going to cash in. They carried him to a shack over back of the mill, and he's hollering for you.

Come on then, quick, cried Brent. What the hell are you standing there for? Have they got a doctor? Yep, answered Zinn, as he hurried toward the outskirts of the town. He'll be there by now. Along the dark streets, and through a darker lumber yard, hurried Zinn, with Brent close at his heels, urging him to greater speed. At length they passed around behind the sawmill, and Brent saw that a light showed dimly in the window of a disreputable log shack that stood upon the edge of a deep ravine.

The next moment he had pushed through the door and found himself in the presence of four as evil-looking specimens as ever broke the commandments. One of them he recognized as Stumpy Coolly, a man who, two years before, had escaped the noose only by prompt action of the mountain, after he had been duly convicted by a meeting of outraged miners of robbing a can,

cash. "'Where's Camillo Bill?' demanded Brent, his eyes sweeping the room. "'Took him to the hospital just now,' informed Stumpy. "'Huspital!' cried Brent. "'Yes, built one since he was here. But you don't need to be in no hurry, because he's out of his head now.' The man produced a bottle, and, pulling the cork, offered it to Brent. Might's well have a little drink, and we'll be going. To hell with your drinks, cried Brent. Where is this hospital?

Suddenly he sensed that something was wrong, and whirling saw that two of the men had slipped between himself and the door. He turned to Stumpy to see an evil grin upon the man's face. When I ask anyone to drink with me, he most generally does it, he sneered. or i know the reason why there's the reason roared brent and quick as a flash his right fist smashed into the man's face the blow knocking him clean across the room the next instant a man sprang into brent's back and another dived for his legs while a third struck at him with a short piece of scantling brent fought like a tiger weaving this way and that and stumbling about the room in a vain effort to rid himself of the two men who clung to him like leeches stumpy staggered toward him and brent making a frenzied effort to release one of his pinioned arms saw him raise the heavy quart whiskey bottle the next instant it descended with a full arm swing brent saw a blinding flash of light a stab of pain seemed to pierce his very brain his knees buckled suddenly and he was falling down down

down into a bottomless pit of intense blackness end of chapter twenty three recording by roger maline chapter twenty four of snow drift a snowdrift a a story of the land of the strong cold by james b hendricks this lubrovoc's recording is in the public domain recording by roger maline snowdrift by james b hendricks chapter twenty four the fight at cutter malone's the porter at cutter malone's klondike palace was lighting the huge oil lamps as the girl called kitty sauntered to the bar with her dancing partner, who loudly demanded wine. Cutter Malone himself, standing behind the bar in earnest conversation with Johnny Claw, set out the drinks, and as the girl raised her glass, a man brushed past her. She recognized Zinn, one of Malone's despicable lieutenants, and was quick to note that something unusual was in the air.

A swift meaning glance passed between Claw and. and Malone, and as Zinn stepped around the bar to deposit his rifle, he whispered earnestly to the two who stepped close to listen. Unperceived, Kitty managed to edge near, and the next instant she was all attention. For as the detached words that came to her ears, she made out ace in the hole, and the girl, and then Malone, whose voice carried above the others, issued an order, the shack behind the sawmill get him soused knock him out if you have to but don't kill him once we get the girl here me and claw the rest of the sentence was lost as it blended with an added order of claws ace in the hole thought kitty what did it mean and who is the girl ace in the hole is dead and yet she glanced toward claw whose beady eyes were glittering with excitement he just came back from somewhere maybe he knows something

she saw zin cross the room and speak in a whisper to four men who were playing solo at a table near the huge stove she knew those men stumpy coolly and his three companions the men nodded and went on with their game and zin returned and resumed his conversation with malone and claw but the girl could hear nothing more the professor was loudly banging out the notes of the next dance upon the piano and her partner was pulling at her arm for two hours kitty danced and between dances she drank wine at the bar and always her eyes were upon the four men at the solo table, and upon Zinn, who loafed close by, and upon Malone and Claw, who she noted were drinking more than usual, as they hobnobbed behind the bar. The evening crowd foregathered. The music became faster, the talk louder, the laughter wilder. At the conclusion of a dance, Kitty saw Malone speak to Zin, who immediately slipped out the door the four men at the table threw down their cards and sauntered casually from the room and declined the next dance

the girl dashed up the stairway to her room where she kicked off her high-heeled slippers pulled a pair of heavy woolen stockings over her silk ones and hurriedly laced her moccasins she jammed a cap over her ears and slipping into a heavy fur coat stepped out into the hall and came face to face with johnny claw where do you think you're going asked the man with a sneer it's none of your business snapped the girl i don't have to ask you when i want to go anywhere and i don't have to tell you where i'm going either you haven't got any strings on me well forget it cause you ain't goin nowhere's not right now "'Get out of my way, damn you,' cried the girl. "'If I had a gun here, I'd blow your rotten heart out.' "'But you ain't got none, and I have. So it's the other way around. Only, I ain't going to kill you if you do like I say.

Listen here, I seen you easing over and trying to hear what me and Malone and Zinn was talking about. I don't know how much you heard. but you heard enough, so you kept pretty close cases on all of us. Go on back in your room for I put you there. What the hell do you care anyhow? All we want is the girl. Once we'd get her up in the strong room, you can have ace in the hole. And as long as she's around, you ain't nowhere with him.

Why don't you use your head? You fool, screamed the girl. in a sudden fury, and as she tried to spring past him, Claw's fist caught her squarely in the chin, and without a sound she crashed backward across the door sill. Swiftly, the man reached down and dragged her into the room, removed the key from the lock on the inside, closed and locked the door,

and thrusting the key into his pocket, turned and walked downstairs. How long she lay there, kitty did not know consciousness returned slowly she was aware of a dull ache in her head and after what seemed like a long time she struggled to her knees and drew herself on to the bed where she lay trying to think what had happened faintly from below drifted the sound of the piano so they were still dancing down there then suddenly the whole train of events flashed through her brain. She leaped to her feet and staggered grogily to the door. It was locked. In vain she screamed and beat upon the panels. She rushed to the window, but its double sash of heavily frosted pains, nailed tight for the winter, was immovable. In a sudden frenzy of rage, she seized a chair and smashed the glass. The inrush of cold air felt good to her throbbing temper.

and wrenching a leg from the chair she beat away the jagged fragments until only the frame remained leaning far out she looked down her room was at the side of the building near the rear and she saw that a huge snowdrift had formed where the wind eddied around the corner only a moment she hesitated then standing upright on the sill she leaped far out and landed squarely in the center of the huge drift. Struggling to her feet, she wallowed to the street and ran swiftly through the darkness in the direction of the sawmill. And at that very moment, Zinn was knocking upon the door of the Reeves' home. When the door had closed behind Brent, Mrs. Reeves had insisted upon snowdrifts,

taking a much-needed rest upon the lounge in the living room, and dispatching reeves upon an errand to a neighbors busied herself in the kitchen the girl lay back among the pillows wondering when her lover would return when the sound of the knock sent her flying to the door she drew back startled when instead of brent she was confronted by the man they had passed on the river is there a lady here name a snowdrift asked the man a sudden premonition of evil shot through the girl's heart she paled to the lips where was brent had something happened yes yes she answered quickly i am snowdrift what has happened why do you want me it's him your man ace in the hole he answered oh what is it cried the girl in a frenzy of impatience has he answered has he been hurt well not just hurt you might say he's loading up on hooch some of us friends o his an try'd to make him go easy but it ain't no use i seen you and him comin in on the river and i figured maybe you could handle him we're afraid someone'll rob him when he gets good and drunk and not more than an hour ago he had given his promise on the word of a brent a promise that mrs reeves had just finished telling her would never be broken a low sob that ended in a moan trembled upon the girl's lips

wait she commanded and slipping into the room caught up her cap and parka and stepping out into the darkness closed the door noiselessly behind her take me to him quickly she said surely he will listen to me that's what i figured answered the man and turning led the way down the dark street presently the subdued light that filtered through the frosted windows of the man and turning led the way down the dark street presently the subdued light that filtered through the frosted windows of the klondike palace came into view and as they reached the place zin led the way to the rear and pushed open a door snowdrift found herself in a dimly lighted hallway cutter malone stepped forward with a smile just a minute lady better put this here veil over your face he's upstairs and we got to go in through the bar there's a lot of folks in there and they ain't no use to you bein gopped at with this on they won't notice but what it's one of the women that lives here snowdrift fastened the heavy veil over her face and taking her arm malone piloted her through the bar room and up the stairs through the mesh of the veil snowdrift caught a confused vision of many men standing before a long time long bar of other men and women in gay colors dancing upon a smooth stretch of floor and her ears rang with the loud crashing of the piano bewildered confused she tightened her grasp upon malone's arm at the head of the stairs the man paused and opened a door you can take off the veil now he said as he locked the door behind them they ain't no one

one up here a sudden terror possessed the girl and she glanced swiftly into the man's face but where is he oh he's on up he assured her this way he led the way across the room known as the small dance hall and through a passage from which doors opened on either side to a flight of stairs in the rear at the head of the stairs the girl could see a lot of the stairs the girl could see a lot of the door burning. He motioned her to proceed, and as she gained the top, a man stepped out from the shadow and seized her arms. One look into his face, and the girl gave a wild shriek of terror. The man was Johnny Claw. The next moment she found herself thrust into her room lighted only by a single candle. It was a bare, forbidding-looking room, windowless, and windowless. with the door of thick planking secured by a hasp and padlock upon the outside. Its single article of furniture was a bed.

"'So!' leered claw, "'you thought you could get away from me, did you? Thought you was playing hell when you and Aeson the hole hit for Dawson, did you?' "'Well, you played hell all right, but not like you figured. You're mine now.' trembling so that her limbs refused to support her snowdrift sank down upon the bed oh where is he she moaned claw laughed oh he's all right he mocked he's sous to the guards by this time and after i and some friends of mine get him to sign a deed to a couple of claims he owns we'll feed him to the fish the girl tried to rise but her muscles refused to obey the dictates of her brain and she sank back upon the bed you'll be all right here when you get used to it the girls all have a lot of fun

i'm going below now you stay here and think it over d ain't no use to holler this room's built a purpose to tame the likes of you in some of em that's been in here is walked up out and some of em has been carried out but none of em has ever got out and just so you don't take no fool notion to burn the house down i'll take this candle along i got a horror of burning again he laughed harshly and the next moment snowdrift found herself in darkness and heard the padlock rattle in the hasp kitty drew swiftly into the intense blackness between the next moment snowdrift found herself in darkness and heard the padlock rattle in the hasp kitty drew swiftly into the intense blackness two lumber piles. She heard the sound of voices coming toward her, and a moment later she could distinguish the words. Damn him! He liked a busted my jaw. God, what a wallop he's got! But I fixed him when I smashed that quart over his head. Maybe he'll bleed to death, ventured another. Nah, he ain't cut bad. I've seen the guy. gash over his eye. He's bloody as hell, but he looks worse than he is. Say, you sure you tied him tight?

He's been out damn near an hour, and he'll be coming too for long, and believe me! The men passed out of hearing, and Kitty slipped from cover and sped toward the shack, the outline of which she could see beyond the corner of the sawmill. She made sure that all four of the men together so she pushed in without hesitation hello she called softly ace in the hole you hear no answer and she moved further into the room and stumbled over the prostrate form of a man swiftly she dropped to her knees and assured herself that his hands and feet were tied deftly her fingers explored his pockets until they found his knife and a moment later the thongs that bound him were severed her hand rested for a second upon his forehead and with a low cry she withdrew it wet and sticky with blood leaping to her feet she procured a handful of snow which she dashed into his face again and again she repeated the performance and then he moved he muttered feebly and received more snow then she bent close to his ear listen ace in the hole it's me kitty kitty murmured the man uncertainly snow drift

yes i lit in a snowdrift all right when i jumped out the window but how did you know come wake up is there a light here where am i in the shack back of the sawmill where's camillo bill camillo bill he's up at stoles i guess but listen give me a match clumsily brent fumbled in his pocket and produced a match kitty seized it and in the flare of its flame saw a candle upon the table she held the flame to the wick and in the flickering light brent sat up and glanced about him the air was heavy with the reek of the whisky from the broken bottle his head hurt and he raised his hand and withdrew it red with blood then he leaped unsteadily to his feet damn him he roared it was a plant what's their game i know what it is cried kitty quick tell me have you got a girl here in dawson yes yes at reeves her name is snowdrift and she come then we ain't got any time to lose it's cut em alone in that damned johnny claw johnny claw cried brent claw is a thousand miles from here on the copper mine he's right this minute in the klondike palace and your girl will be there too if you don't shake your legs they framed this play to get her and i heard him partly if i'd known where she was i'd have gone there first but i didn't know

already brent was staggering from the room and kitty ran close beside him the cold air revived the man and he ran steadily when he reached the street tell me panted kitty at his side this girl is she straight i'm going to marry her to-night cried the man then hurry for christ's sake sobbed kitty oh hurry hurry hurry at a certain street corner kitty halted suddenly and brent ran on he rushed into reeves's house like a whirlwind where's snowdrift he cried as the reeves stared while wide-eyed at the blood-soaked apparition. What has happened? Where is she? yelled Brent, his eyes glaring like a madman's. I, we don't know.

I was in the kitchen and... But Brent had dashed from the room, and when Reeves found his hat, the madman had disappeared in the darkness. Quite a group of old-timers had four gathered at Stowles, Moosehide Charlie drifted in, and seeing Camillo Bill, Swiftwater Bill, and old Bettles standing at the bar, he joined them. What do you say we start a regular old He-Man's game of stud, he asked?

We ain't had no real game for quite a while. Camillo Bill shook his head slowly. No, not for me. I'll play a reasonable game, but do you know, since Ace in the hole went plum to hell the way he'd done over the game, I kind of took a dislikein to it. It was the hooch more than the stud, argued Betel's. Maybe it was, but damn it was him both. There was one ombre I liked. Wonder if he'll come back, mused Swiftwater Bill.

Sure as hell, affirmed Camillo. Will he have sense of him? enough to lay off the hoot? I don't know, but I got twenty thousand dollars says he will. Camillo Bill looked defiantly around. Take it, cried Swiftwater Bill, and I hope to hell I'll lose. The door burst open, and Kitty, gasping for breath, hurtled into the room. Camillo Bill, she screamed, quick, all of you!

Hey, you sourdows! Her voice rose to a shriek, and men crowded from the tables in the rear. Come on, Ace in the Hole needs us. He's back, and he's brought a girl. They're going to be married, but Claw and Cutter Malone framed it to steal her. He's gone down there now, she panted.

Come on, they hired a gang to get Ace in the Hole, and they damn near did. With a yell, Camillo Bill reached clear over the bar and grabbed one of Stoll's guns, and an instant later, followed by a crowd of lesser lights, the big men of Yukon rushed down the street, led by Kitty and Camillo Bill, and Stole himself, who another gun in hand had vaulted the bar without waiting to put on his coat or his cap. They'll take her upstairs, way up, gasped Kitty. as she ran.

And for God's sake, hurry! Bareheaded, his face covered with blood, a human cyclone burst through the door of the Klondike Palace. Straight for the bar, he rushed, bowling men over like ten pins. Cutter Malone flashed one startling glance and reached for his gun, but before he could grasp it, the shape hurtled the bar and the two went to the floor in a crash of glass. brent's hand first found the gun and gripping it by the barrel he brought it crashing down on cutter's head leaping to his feet he fired and the bartender bunged starter in hand sprawled on top of his employer

across the room came a rush of men stumpy coolly zinn and others again brent fired and zin crumpled slowly to the floor stumpy whirled a chair above his head and brent dodged as the missile crashed into the mirror above the back bar the bar room was a pandemonium of noise men crowded in from the dance-hall bent upon overpowering the madman who had interrupted their frolic screaming women rushed for the stairs brent was lifted from his feet and rushed bodily half-way across the room the very numbers of his assailants protecting him from a hundred blows weaving milling the crowd surged this way and that striking at brent and hitting each other they surged against the stove and it crashed upon its side filling the room with smoke from the toppling pipe and covering the floor with blazing chunks of wood and live coals suddenly through the doors swept a whirlwind of human shapes the surging crowd went down before the onrush and brent struggled madly to free himself from the thrashing arms and legs revolvers barked chairs crashed against heads and against other chairs roulette and ferro layouts were splintered and poker tables were smashed like kindling wood men seizing upon the legs for weapons and above all rose the sound of crashing glass and the shrill shrieks of women the room filled with choking smoke flames ate into the floor and shot up the wooden walls

the door at the head of the stairs opened suddenly and brent caught sight of the white face of claw he was afraid to shoot for the frenzied girls instead of seeking safety in the street had crowded upon the stage and were pouring through the door which Claw was vainly trying to close. The smoke sucked upward, and the flames crackled more loudly, fanned by the new-formed draft. Struggling through the fighting-surging men, Brent gained the foot of the stairs. He saw Claw raise his gun, and the next instant a figure flashed between. The gun roared, and the figure crumpled to the floor. it was kitty with an oath brent sprang up the stairway as the flames roared behind him he turned for an instant and as his eyes swept the room he saw camillo bill stoop and gather kitty into his arms and stagger toward the front door other men were helping the wounded from the room some one yelled at brent to come down and save himself he glanced toward the speaker it was bettles and even as he looked the man was forced to retreat before the flames and was lost to view

at the head of the stairs brent slammed the door shut the little dance hall was full of girls huddled together shrieking other girls were stumbling from their rooms with their belongings in their arms from the narrow hallway that led to the rear rushed claw the man seemed beside himself with terror his eyes were wide and staring and he made for a window cursing shrilly as he forced his way through the close-packed crowd of girls striking them knocking them down and trampling on them he did not see brent and seizing a chair drove it through the window the floor was hot and the air thick with smoke claw was about to leap to safety when like a panther brent sprang upon him and bore him to the floor he reached out swiftly and his fingers buried themselves in the man's throat as they had buried themselves in the captains he glared into the terror-wide eyes of the worst man in the north and laughed aloud an unnatural maniacal laugh it was that chilled the hearts of the cowering girls kill him shrilled one hysterically kill him kill him kill him others took up the cry brent threw claw onto his belly placed his knees upon the small of his back locked the fingers of both hands beneath the man's chin and pulled slowly and steadily upward backward came claw's head as he tore frantically at brent's arms with his two hands upward and backward and backward came the man's head and shoulders and brent shortened his leg

leverage by suddenly slipping his forearms instead of his fingers beneath Claw's chin. Strangling sounds came gurgling from his throat. Brent leaned backward, adding the weight of his body to the pull of his arms. Claw's back was bent sharply upward, just in front of the knees that held him to the floor, and summoning all his strength, Brent surged backward, straining every muscle of his body until it seemed he could not pull another pound. Suddenly there was a dull, audible snap and claw folded backward. Brent released his grip and, leaping to his feet, rushed back through the hallway and up the stairs. A door of thick planking stopped him,

and upon a hasp he saw a heavy padlock. Jerking the gun from his belt, he placed the muzzle against the lock and pulled the trigger. There was a deafening explosion, and the padlock flew open and swung upon its staple. Dashing into the room, Brent snatched snowdrift into his arms and rushed down the stairs. Pausing at the window, Clah had smashed,

he stood the girl upon her feet, and, knocking the remaining glass from the sash with the butt of the gun, he grabbed one of the screaming girls and pitched her into the big snowdrift that ranged along the whole length of the burning building. It was light as day now. The flames were leaping high above the roof at the front, and already tongues of red were showing around the doorway at the head of the stairs.

A great crowd had collected, and at the sight of the girl's form hurtling through the air, they surged to the spot. spurts of smoke and tiny jet-like flames were finding their way through the cracks of the floor brent realized there was no time to lose and seizing another girl he pitched her out then he took them as they came big ones and little ones fully dressed and half dressed screaming fighting struggling to get away or to be taken next he pitched them out until only snow-dress drift remained. Lifting her to the window, he told her to jump and watch to see her light safely in the snow. Smoke was pouring through the fast-widening cracks in the floor. Brent leaped to the window-sill. As he stood poised, a section of the floor between himself

and Claw dropped through, and a rush of flames shot upward. Suddenly he saw Claw's arms thrash wildly. My God, the man shrieked. My back's broke. I'm burning up. The whole floor let go, and a furnace of overpowering flame rushed upward as he jumped, almost into the waiting arms of Camillo Bill. It's ace in the hole all right, yelled the big man, as he grasped Brent's shoulders

and rocked him back and forth. And by God, he's. She's as good a man as he ever was." "'Where's Kitty?' asked Brent, when he could get his breath. "'I saw her go down. She stopped Claw's bullet that was meant for me, and I saw you carry her out.' "'Kitty's all right,' whispered Camillo Bill in his ear, and Brent glanced quickly into the man's shining eyes.

"'Just nicked in the shoulder, and say, i've always wanted her but she wouldn't have me but now you're out of the way i told her all over again how i stood and damned if she didn't take me the end end of chapter twenty four end of snowdrift a story of the land of the strong cold by james b hendricks