by Jack London
CHAPTER XIII
Gregory St. Vincent swiftly became an important factor in the sociallife of Dawson. As a representative of the Amalgamated PressAssociation, he had brought with him the best credentials a powerfulinfluence could obtain, and over and beyond, he was well qualifiedsocially by his letters of introduction. It developed in a quiet waythat he was a wanderer and explorer of no small parts, and that he hadseen life and strife pretty well all over the earth's crust. Andwithal, he was so mild and modest about it, that nobody, not even amongthe men, was irritated by his achievements. Incidentally, he ranacross numerous old acquaintances. Jacob Welse he had met at St.Michael's in the fall of '88, just prior to his crossing Bering Straitson the ice. A month or so later, Father Barnum (who had come up fromthe Lower River to take charge of the hospital) had met him a couple ofhundred miles on his way north of St. Michael's. Captain Alexander, ofthe Police, had rubbed shoulders with him in the British Legation atPeking. And Bettles, another old-timer of standing, had met him atFort o' Yukon nine years before.
So Dawson, ever prone to look askance at the casual comer, received himwith open arms. Especially was he a favorite with the women. As apromoter of pleasures and an organizer of amusements he took the lead,and it quickly came to pass that no function was complete without him.Not only did he come to help in the theatricals, but insensibly, and asa matter of course, he took charge. Frona, as her friends charged, wassuffering from a stroke of Ibsen, so they hit upon the "Doll's House,"and she was cast for Nora. Corliss, who was responsible, by the way,for the theatricals, having first suggested them, was to take Torvald'spart; but his interest seemed to have died out, or at any rate hebegged off on the plea of business rush. So St. Vincent, withoutfriction, took Torvald's lines. Corliss did manage to attend onerehearsal. It might have been that he had come tired from forty mileswith the dogs, and it might have been that Torvald was obliged to puthis arm about Nora at divers times and to toy playfully with her ear;but, one way or the other, Corliss never attended again.
Busy he certainly was, and when not away on trail he was closetedalmost continually with Jacob Welse and Colonel Trethaway. That it wasa deal of magnitude was evidenced by the fact that Welse's mininginterests involved alone mounted to several millions. Corliss wasprimarily a worker and doer, and on discovering that his thoroughtheoretical knowledge lacked practical experience, he felt put upon hismettle and worked the harder. He even marvelled at the silliness ofthe men who had burdened him with such responsibilities, simply becauseof his pull, and he told Trethaway as much. But the colonel, whilerecognizing his shortcomings, liked him for his candor, and admired himfor his effort and for the quickness with which he came to grasp thingsactual.
Del Bishop, who had refused to play any hand but his own, had gone towork for Corliss because by so doing he was enabled to play his ownhand better. He was practically unfettered, while the opportunities tofurther himself were greatly increased. Equipped with the best ofoutfits and a magnificent dog-team, his task was mainly to run thevarious creeks and keep his eyes and ears open. A pocket-miner, first,last, and always, he was privately on the constant lookout for pockets,which occupation did not interfere in the least with the duty he owedhis employer. And as the days went by he stored his mind withmiscellaneous data concerning the nature of the various placer depositsand the lay of the land, against the summer when the thawed surface andthe running water would permit him to follow a trace from creek-bed toside-slope and source.
Corliss was a good employer, paid well, and considered it his right towork men as he worked himself. Those who took service with him eitherstrengthened their own manhood and remained, or quit and said harshthings about him. Jacob Welse noted this trait with appreciation, andhe sounded the mining engineer's praises continually. Frona heard andwas gratified, for she liked the things her father liked; and she wasmore gratified because the man was Corliss. But in his rush ofbusiness she saw less of him than formerly, while St. Vincent came tooccupy a greater and growing portion of her time. His healthful,optimistic spirit pleased her, while he corresponded well to heridealized natural man and favorite racial type. Her first doubt--thatif what he said was true--had passed away. All the evidence had gonecounter. Men who at first questioned the truth of his wonderfuladventures gave in after hearing him talk. Those to any extentconversant with the parts of the world he made mention of, could notbut acknowledge that he knew what he talked about. Young Soley,representing Bannock's News Syndicate, and Holmes of the Fairweather,recollected his return to the world in '91, and the sensation createdthereby. And Sid Winslow, Pacific Coast journalist, had made hisacquaintance at the Wanderers' Club shortly after he landed from theUnited States revenue cutter which had brought him down from the north.Further, as Frona well saw, he bore the ear-marks of his experiences;they showed their handiwork in his whole outlook on life. Then theprimitive was strong in him, and his was a passionate race pride whichfully matched hers. In the absence of Corliss they were much together,went out frequently with the dogs, and grew to know each otherthoroughly.
All of which was not pleasant to Corliss, especially when the briefintervals he could devote to her were usually intruded upon by thecorrespondent. Naturally, Corliss was not drawn to him, and other men,who knew or had heard of the Opera House occurrence, only accepted himafter a tentative fashion. Trethaway had the indiscretion, once ortwice, to speak slightingly of him, but so fiercely was he defended byhis admirers that the colonel developed the good taste to thenceforwardkeep his tongue between his teeth. Once, Corliss, listening to anextravagant panegyric bursting from the lips of Mrs. Schoville,permitted himself the luxury of an incredulous smile; but the quickwave of color in Frona's face, and the gathering of the brows, warnedhim.
At another time he was unwise enough and angry enough to refer to theOpera House broil. He was carried away, and what he might have said ofthat night's happening would have redounded neither to St. Vincent'scredit nor to his own, had not Frona innocently put a seal upon hislips ere he had properly begun.
"Yes," she said. "Mr. St. Vincent told me about it. He met you forthe first time that night, I believe. You all fought royally on hisside,--you and Colonel Trethaway. He spoke his admiration unreservedlyand, to tell the truth, with enthusiasm."
Corliss made a gesture of depreciation.
"No! no! From what he said you must have behaved splendidly. And Iwas most pleased to hear. It must be great to give the brute the reinnow and again, and healthy, too. Great for us who have wandered fromthe natural and softened to sickly ripeness. Just to shake offartificiality and rage up and down! and yet, the inmost mentor, sereneand passionless, viewing all and saying: 'This is my other self.Behold! I, who am now powerless, am the power behind and ruleth still!This other self, mine ancient, violent, elder self, rages blindly asthe beast, but 'tis I, sitting apart, who discern the merit of thecause and bid him rage or bid him cease!' Oh, to be a man!"
Corliss could not help a humoring smile, which put Frona upon defenceat once.
"Tell me, Vance, how did it feel? Have I not described it rightly?Were the symptoms yours? Did you not hold aloof and watch yourselfplay the brute?"
He remembered the momentary daze which came when he stunned the manwith his fist, and nodded.
"And pride?" she demanded, inexorably. "Or shame?"
"A--a little of both, and more of the first than the second," heconfessed. "At the time I suppose I was madly exultant; thenafterwards came the shame, and I tossed awake half the night."
"And finally?"
"Pride, I guess. I couldn't help it, couldn't down it. I awoke in themorning feeling as though I had won my spurs. In a subconscious way Iwas inordinately proud of myself, and time and again, mentally, Icaught myself throwing chests. Then came the shame again, and I triedto reason back my self-respect. And last of all, pride. The fight wasfair and open. It was none of my seeking. I was forced into it by thebest of motives. I am not sorry, and I would re
peat it if necessary."
"And rightly so." Frona's eyes were sparkling. "And how did Mr. St.Vincent acquit himself?"
"He? . . . . Oh, I suppose all right, creditably. I was too busywatching my other self to take notice."
"But he saw you."
"Most likely so. I acknowledge my negligence. I should have donebetter, the chances are, had I thought it would have been of interestto you--pardon me. Just my bungling wit. The truth is, I was too muchof a greenhorn to hold my own and spare glances on my neighbors."
So Corliss went away, glad that he had not spoken, and keenlyappreciating St. Vincent's craft whereby he had so adroitly forestalledadverse comment by telling the story in his own modest, self-effacingway.
Two men and a woman! The most potent trinity of factors in thecreating of human pathos and tragedy! As ever in the history of man,since the first father dropped down from his arboreal home and walkedupright, so at Dawson. Necessarily, there were minor factors, notleast among which was Del Bishop, who, in his aggressive way, steppedin and accelerated things. This came about in a trail-camp on the wayto Miller Creek, where Corliss was bent on gathering in a large numberof low-grade claims which could only be worked profitably on a largescale.
"I'll not be wastin' candles when I make a strike, savve!" thepocket-miner remarked savagely to the coffee, which he was settlingwith a chunk of ice. "Not on your life, I guess rather not!"
"Kerosene?" Corliss queried, running a piece of bacon-rind round thefrying-pan and pouring in the batter.
"Kerosene, hell! You won't see my trail for smoke when I get a gait onfor God's country, my wad in my poke and the sunshine in my eyes. Say!How'd a good juicy tenderloin strike you just now, green onions, friedpotatoes, and fixin's on the side? S'help me, that's the firstproposition I'll hump myself up against. Then a general whoop-la! fora week--Seattle or 'Frisco, I don't care a rap which, and then--"
"Out of money and after a job."
"Not on your family tree!" Bishop roared. "Cache my sack before I goon the tear, sure pop, and then, afterwards, Southern California.Many's the day I've had my eye on a peach of a fruit farm downthere--forty thousand'll buy it. No more workin' for grub-stakes andthe like. Figured it out long; ago,--hired men to work the ranch, amanager to run it, and me ownin' the game and livin' off thepercentage. A stable with always a couple of bronchos handy; handy toslap the packs and saddles on and be off and away whenever the feverfor chasin' pockets came over me. Great pocket country down there, tothe east and along the desert."
"And no house on the ranch?"
"Cert! With sweet peas growin' up the sides, and in back a patch forvegetables--string-beans and spinach and radishes, cucumbers and'sparagrass, turnips, carrots, cabbage, and such. And a woman insideto draw me back when I get to runnin' loco after the pockets. Say, youknow all about minin'. Did you ever go snoozin' round after pockets?No? Then just steer clear. They're worse than whiskey, horses, orcards. Women, when they come afterwards, ain't in it. Whenever youget a hankerin' after pockets, go right off and get married. It's theonly thing'll save you; and even then, mebbe, it won't. I ought 'a'done it years ago. I might 'a' made something of myself if I had.Jerusalem! the jobs I've jumped and the good things chucked in my time,just because of pockets! Say, Corliss, you want to get married, youdo, and right off. I'm tellin' you straight. Take warnin' from me anddon't stay single any longer than God'll let you, sure!"
Corliss laughed.
"Sure, I mean it. I'm older'n you, and know what I'm talkin'. Nowthere's a bit of a thing down in Dawson I'd like to see you get yourhands on. You was made for each other, both of you."
Corliss was past the stage when he would have treated Bishop's meddlingas an impertinence. The trail, which turns men into the same blanketsand makes them brothers, was the great leveller of distinctions, as hehad come to learn. So he flopped a flapjack and held his tongue.
"Why don't you waltz in and win?" Del demanded, insistently. "Don'tyou cotton to her? I know you do, or you wouldn't come back to cabin,after bein' with her, a-walkin'-like on air. Better waltz in while yougot a chance. Why, there was Emmy, a tidy bit of flesh as women go,and we took to each other on the jump. But I kept a-chasin' pocketsand chasin' pockets, and delayin'. And then a big black lumberman, aKanuck, began sidlin' up to her, and I made up my mind to speak--only Iwent off after one more pocket, just one more, and when I got back shewas Mrs. Somebody Else.
"So take warnin'. There's that writer-guy, that skunk I poked outsidethe Opera House. He's walkin' right in and gettin' thick; and here'syou, just like me, a-racin' round all creation and lettin' matrimonyslide. Mark my words, Corliss! Some fine frost you'll come slippin'into camp and find 'em housekeepin'. Sure! With nothin' left for youin life but pocketing!"
The picture was so unpleasant that Corliss turned surly and ordered himto shut up.
"Who? Me?" Del asked so aggrievedly that Corliss laughed.
"What would you do, then?" he asked.
"Me? In all kindness I'll tell you. As soon as you get back you goand see her. Make dates with her ahead till you got to put 'em onpaper to remember 'em all. Get a cinch on her spare time ahead so asto shut the other fellow out. Don't get down in the dirt toher,--she's not that kind,--but don't be too high and mighty, neither.Just so-so--savve? And then, some time when you see she's feelin'good, and smilin' at you in that way of hers, why up and call her hand.Of course I can't say what the showdown'll be. That's for you to findout. But don't hold off too long about it. Better married early thannever. And if that writer-guy shoves in, poke him in thebreadbasket--hard! That'll settle him plenty. Better still, take himoff to one side and talk to him. Tell'm you're a bad man, and that youstaked that claim before he was dry behind the ears, and that if hecomes nosin' around tryin' to file on it you'll beat his head off."
Bishop got up, stretched, and went outside to feed the dogs. "Don'tforget to beat his head off," he called back. "And if you're squeamishabout it, just call on me. I won't keep 'm waitin' long."
