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him aside。
〃See here； old man； what's this mean？〃 Corry demanded in a low
tone； indicating Lashka with his eyes。
〃I can hardly see； Corry； where you can have any concern in the
matter；〃 Pentfield answered mockingly。
But Corry drove straight to the point。
〃What is that squaw doing on your sled？ A nasty job you've given
me to explain all this away。 I only hope it can be explained away。
Who is she？ Whose squaw is she？〃
Then Lawrence Pentfield delivered his stroke； and he delivered it
with a certain calm elation of spirit that seemed somewhat to
compensate for the wrong that had been done him。
〃She is my squaw；〃 he said； 〃Mrs。 Pentfield； if you please。〃
Corry Hutchinson gasped； and Pentfield left him and returned to the
two women。 Mabel； with a worried expression on her face； seemed
holding herself aloof。 He turned to Dora and asked； quite
genially； as though all the world was sunshine：… 〃How did you stand
the trip； anyway？ Have any trouble to sleep warm？〃
〃And； how did Mrs。 Hutchinson stand it？〃 he asked next； his eyes on
Mabel。
〃Oh； you dear ninny！〃 Dora cried； throwing her arms around him and
hugging him。 〃Then you saw it； too！ I thought something was the
matter； you were acting so strangely。〃
〃II hardly understand；〃 he stammered。
〃It was corrected in next day's paper；〃 Dora chattered on。 〃We did
not dream you would see it。 All the other papers had it correctly；
and of course that one miserable paper was the very one you saw！〃
〃Wait a moment！ What do you mean？〃 Pentfield demanded； a sudden
fear at his heart； for he felt himself on the verge of a great
gulf。
But Dora swept volubly on。
〃Why； when it became known that Mabel and I were going to Klondike；
EVERY OTHER WEEK said that when we were gone； it would be lovely on
Myrdon Avenue； meaning； of course； lonely。〃
〃Then〃
〃I am Mrs。 Hutchinson；〃 Dora answered。 〃And you thought it was
Mabel all the time〃
〃Precisely the way of it；〃 Pentfield replied slowly。 〃But I can
see now。 The reporter got the names mixed。 The Seattle and
Portland paper copied。〃
He stood silently for a minute。 Mabel's face was turned toward him
again； and he could see the glow of expectancy in it。 Corry was
deeply interested in the ragged toe of one of his moccasins； while
Dora was stealing sidelong glances at the immobile face of Lashka
sitting on the sled。 Lawrence Pentfield stared straight out before
him into a dreary future； through the grey vistas of which he saw
himself riding on a sled behind running dogs with lame Lashka by
his side。
Then he spoke； quite simply； looking Mabel in the eyes。
〃I am very sorry。 I did not dream it。 I thought you had married
Corry。 That is Mrs。 Pentfield sitting on the sled over there。〃
Mabel Holmes turned weakly toward her sister； as though all the
fatigue of her great journey had suddenly descended on her。 Dora
caught her around the waist。 Corry Hutchinson was still occupied
with his moccasins。 Pentfield glanced quickly from face to face；
then turned to his sled。
〃Can't stop here all day； with Pete's baby waiting；〃 he said to
Lashka。
The long whip…lash hissed out； the dogs sprang against the breast
bands； and the sled lurched and jerked ahead。
〃Oh； I say； Corry；〃 Pentfield called back； 〃you'd better occupy the
old cabin。 It's not been used for some time。 I've built a new one
on the hill。〃
TOO MUCH GOLD
This being a storyand a truer one than it may appearof a mining
country； it is quite to be expected that it will be a hard…luck
story。 But that depends on the point of view。 Hard luck is a mild
way of terming it so far as Kink Mitchell and Hootchinoo Bill are
concerned； and that they have a decided opinion on the subject is a
matter of common knowledge in the Yukon country。
It was in the fall of 1896 that the two partners came down to the
east bank of the Yukon； and drew a Peterborough canoe from a moss…
covered cache。 They were not particularly pleasant…looking
objects。 A summer's prospecting； filled to repletion with hardship
and rather empty of grub； had left their clothes in tatters and
themselves worn and cadaverous。 A nimbus of mosquitoes buzzed
about each man's head。 Their faces were coated with blue clay。
Each carried a lump of this damp clay； and； whenever it dried and
fell from their faces； more was daubed on in its place。 There was
a querulous plaint in their voices； an irritability of movement and
gesture； that told of broken sleep and a losing struggle with the
little winged pests。
〃Them skeeters'll be the death of me yet；〃 Kink Mitchell whimpered；
as the canoe felt the current on her nose； and leaped out from the
bank
〃Cheer up； cheer up。 We're about done；〃 Hootchinoo Bill answered；
with an attempted heartiness in his funereal tones that was
ghastly。 〃We'll be in Forty Mile in forty minutes； and then
cursed little devil！〃
One hand left his paddle and landed on the back of his neck with a
sharp slap。 He put a fresh daub of clay on the injured part；
swearing sulphurously the while。 Kink Mitchell was not in the
least amused。 He merely improved the opportunity by putting a
thicker coating of clay on his own neck。
They crossed the Yukon to its west bank； shot down…stream with easy
stroke； and at the end of forty minutes swung in close to the left
around the tail of an island。 Forty Mile spread itself suddenly
before them。 Both men straightened their backs and gazed at the
sight。 They gazed long and carefully； drifting with the current；
in their faces an expression of mingled surprise and consternation
slowly gathering。 Not a thread of smoke was rising from the
hundreds of log…cabins。 There was no sound of axes biting sharply
into wood； of hammering and sawing。 Neither dogs nor men loitered
before the big store。 No steamboats lay at the bank； no canoes；
nor scows； nor poling…boats。 The river was as bare of craft as the
town was of life。
〃Kind of looks like Gabriel's tooted his little horn； and you an'
me has turned up missing；〃 remarked Hootchinoo Bill。
His remark was casual； as though there was nothing unusual about
the occurrence。 Kink Mitchell's reply was just as casual as though
he； too； were unaware of any strange perturbation of spirit。
〃Looks as they was all Baptists； then； and took the boats to go by
water；〃 was his contribution。
〃My ol' dad was a Baptist；〃 Hootchinoo Bill supplemented。 〃An' he
always did hold it was forty thousand miles nearer that way。〃
This was the end of their levity。 They ran the canoe in and
climbed the high earth bank。 A feeling of awe descended upon them
as they walked the deserted streets。 The sunlight streamed
placidly over the town。 A gentle wind tapped the halyards against
the flagpole before the closed doors of the Caledonia Dance Hall。
Mosquitoes buzzed； robins sang； and moose birds tripped hungrily
among the cabins； but there was no human life nor sign of human
life。
〃I'm just dyin' for a drink；〃 Hootchinoo Bill said and
unconsciously his voice sank to a hoarse whisper。
His partner nodded his head； loth to hear his own voice break the
stillness。 They trudged on in uneasy silence till surprised by an
open door。 Above this door； and stretching the width of the
building； a rude sign announced the same as the 〃Monte Carlo。〃 But
beside the door； hat over eyes； chair tilted back； a man sat
sunning himself。 He was an old man。 Beard and hair were long and
white and patriarchal。
〃If it ain't ol' Jim Cummings； turned up like us； too late for
Resurrection！〃 said Kink Mitchell。
〃Most like he didn't hear Gabriel tootin'；〃 was Hootchinoo Bill's
suggestion。
〃Hello； Jim！ Wake up！〃 he shouted。
The old man unlimbered lamely； blinking his eyes and murmuring
automatically： 〃What'll ye have； gents？ What'll ye have