by Jack London
CHAPTER XX
Where nature shows the rough hand, the sons of men are apt to respondwith kindred roughness. The amenities of life spring up only in mellowlands, where the sun is warm and the earth fat. The damp and soggyclimate of Britain drives men to strong drink; the rosy Orient lures tothe dream splendors of the lotus. The big-bodied, white-skinnednorthern dweller, rude and ferocious, bellows his anger uncouthly anddrives a gross fist into the face of his foe. The supplesouth-sojourner, silken of smile and lazy of gesture, waits, and doeshis work from behind, when no man looketh, gracefully and withoutoffence. Their ends are one; the difference lies in their ways, andtherein the climate, and the cumulative effect thereof, is thedetermining factor. Both are sinners, as men born of women have everbeen; but the one does his sin openly, in the clear sight of God; theother--as though God could not see--veils his iniquity with shimmeringfancies, hiding it like it were some splendid mystery.
These be the ways of men, each as the sun shines upon him and the windblows against him, according to his kind, and the seed of his father,and the milk of his mother. Each is the resultant of many forces whichgo to make a pressure mightier than he, and which moulds him in thepredestined shape. But, with sound legs under him, he may run away,and meet with a new pressure. He may continue running, each newpressure prodding him as he goes, until he dies and his final form willbe that predestined of the many pressures. An exchange ofcradle-babes, and the base-born slave may wear the purple imperially,and the royal infant begs an alms as wheedlingly or cringe to the lashas abjectly as his meanest subject. A Chesterfield, with an emptybelly, chancing upon good fare, will gorge as faithfully as the swinein the next sty. And an Epicurus, in the dirt-igloo of the Eskimos,will wax eloquent over the whale oil and walrus blubber, or die.
Thus, in the young Northland, frosty and grim and menacing, menstripped off the sloth of the south and gave battle greatly. And theystripped likewise much of the veneer of civilization--all of itsfollies, most of its foibles, and perhaps a few of its virtues. Maybeso; but they reserved the great traditions and at least lived frankly,laughed honestly, and looked one another in the eyes.
And so it is not well for women, born south of fifty-three and rearedgently, to knock loosely about the Northland, unless they be great ofheart. They may be soft and tender and sensitive, possessed of eyeswhich have not lost the lustre and the wonder, and of ears used only tosweet sounds; but if their philosophy is sane and stable, large enoughto understand and to forgive, they will come to no harm and attaincomprehension. If not, they will see things and hear things whichhurt, and they will suffer greatly, and lose faith in man--which is thegreatest evil that may happen them. Such should be sedulouslycherished, and it were well to depute this to their men-folk, thenearer of kin the better. In line, it were good policy to seek out acabin on the hill overlooking Dawson, or--best of all--across the Yukonon the western bank. Let them not move abroad unheralded andunaccompanied; and the hillside back of the cabin may be recommended asa fit field for stretching muscles and breathing deeply, a place wheretheir ears may remain undefiled by the harsh words of men who strive tothe utmost.
Vance Corliss wiped the last tin dish and filed it away on the shelf,lighted his pipe, and rolled over on his back on the bunk tocontemplate the moss-chinked roof of his French Hill cabin. ThisFrench Hill cabin stood on the last dip of the hill into EldoradoCreek, close to the main-travelled trail; and its one window blinkedcheerily of nights at those who journeyed late.
The door was kicked open, and Del Bishop staggered in with a load offire-wood. His breath had so settled on his face in a white rime thathe could not speak. Such a condition was ever a hardship with the man,so he thrust his face forthwith into the quivering heat above thestove. In a trice the frost was started and the thawed streamletsdancing madly on the white-hot surface beneath. Then the ice began tofall from is beard in chunks, rattling on the lid-tops and simmeringspitefully till spurted upward in clouds of steam.
"And so you witness an actual phenomenon, illustrative of the threeforms of matter," Vance laughed, mimicking the monotonous tones of thedemonstrator; "solid, liquid, and vapor. In another moment you willhave the gas."
"Th--th--that's all very well," Bishop spluttered, wrestling with anobstructing piece of ice until it was wrenched from his upper lip andslammed stoveward with a bang.
"How cold do you make it, Del? Fifty?"
"Fifty?" the pocket-miner demanded with unutterable scorn, wiping hisface. "Quicksilver's been solid for hours, and it's been gittin'colder an' colder ever since. Fifty? I'll bet my new mittens againstyour old moccasins that it ain't a notch below seventy."
"Think so?"
"D'ye want to bet?"
Vance nodded laughingly.
"Centigrade or Fahrenheit?" Bishop asked, suddenly suspicious.
"Oh, well, if you want my old moccasins so badly," Vance rejoined,feigning to be hurt by the other's lack of faith, "why, you can havethem without betting."
Del snorted and flung himself down on the opposite bunk. "Think yerfunny, don't you?" No answer forthcoming, he deemed the retortconclusive, rolled over, and fell to studying the moss chinks.
Fifteen minutes of this diversion sufficed. "Play you a rubber of cribbefore bed," he challenged across to the other bunk.
"I'll go you." Corliss got up, stretched, and moved the kerosene lampfrom the shelf to the table, "Think it will hold out?" he asked,surveying the oil-level through the cheap glass.
Bishop threw down the crib-board and cards, and measured the contentsof the lamp with his eye. "Forgot to fill it, didn't I? Too late now.Do it to-morrow. It'll last the rubber out, sure."
Corliss took up the cards, but paused in the shuffling. "We've a bigtrip before us, Del, about a month from now, the middle of March asnear as I can plan it,--up the Stuart River to McQuestion; upMcQuestion and back again down the Mayo; then across country to MazyMay, winding up at Henderson Creek--"
"On the Indian River?"
"No," Corliss replied, as he dealt the hands; "just below where theStuart taps the Yukon. And then back to Dawson before the ice breaks."
The pocket-miner's eyes sparkled. "Keep us hustlin'; but, say, it's atrip, isn't it! Hunch?"
"I've received word from the Parker outfit on the Mayo, and McPhersonisn't asleep on Henderson--you don't know him. They're keeping quiet,and of course one can't tell, but . . ."
Bishop nodded his head sagely, while Corliss turned the trump he hadcut. A sure vision of a "twenty-four" hand was dazzling him, whenthere was a sound of voices without and the door shook to a heavy knock.
"Come in!" he bawled. "An' don't make such a row about it! Look atthat"--to Corliss, at the same time facing his hand--"fifteen-eight,fifteen-sixteen, and eight are twenty-four. Just my luck!"
Corliss started swiftly to his feet. Bishop jerked his head about.Two women and a man had staggered clumsily in through the door, andwere standing just inside, momentarily blinded by the light.
"By all the Prophets! Cornell!" The pocket-miner wrung the man's handand led him forward. "You recollect Cornell, Corliss? Jake Cornell,Thirty-Seven and a Half Eldorado."
"How could I forget?" the engineer acknowledged warmly, shaking hishand. "That was a miserable night you put us up last fall, about asmiserable as the moose-steak was good that you gave us for breakfast."
Jake Cornell, hirsute and cadaverous of aspect, nodded his head withemphasis and deposited a corpulent demijohn on the table. Again henodded his head, and glared wildly about him. The stove caught his eyeand he strode over to it, lifted a lid, and spat out a mouthful ofamber-colored juice. Another stride and he was back.
"'Course I recollect the night," he rumbled, the ice clattering fromhis hairy jaws. "And I'm danged glad to see you, that's a fact." Heseemed suddenly to remember himself, and added a little sheepishly,"The fact is, we're all danged glad to see you, ain't we, girls?" Hetwisted his head about and nodded his companions up. "Blanche, myd
ear, Mr. Corliss--hem--it gives me . . . hem . . . it gives mepleasure to make you acquainted. Cariboo Blanche, sir. CaribooBlanche."
"Pleased to meet you." Cariboo Blanche put out a frank hand and lookedhim over keenly. She was a fair-featured, blondish woman, originallynot unpleasing of appearance, but now with lines all deepened andhardened as on the faces of men who have endured much weather-beat.
Congratulating himself upon his social proficiency, Jake Cornellcleared his throat and marshalled the second woman to the front. "Mr.Corliss, the Virgin; I make you both acquainted. Hem!" in response tothe query in Vance's eyes--"Yes, the Virgin. That's all, just theVirgin."
She smiled and bowed, but did not shake hands. "A toff" was her secretcomment upon the engineer; and from her limited experience she had beenled to understand that it was not good form among "toffs" to shakehands.
Corliss fumbled his hand, then bowed, and looked at her curiously. Shewas a pretty, low-browed creature; darkly pretty, with a well-favoredbody, and for all that the type was mean, he could not escape the charmof her over-brimming vitality. She seemed bursting with it, and everyquick, spontaneous movement appeared to spring from very excess of redblood and superabundant energy.
"Pretty healthy proposition, ain't she?" Jake Cornell demanded,following his host's gaze with approval.
"None o' your gammon, Jake," the Virgin snapped back, with lip curledcontemptuously for Vance's especial benefit. "I fancy it'd be more inkeeping if you'd look to pore Blanche, there."
"Fact is, we're plum ding dong played out," Jake said. "An' Blanchewent through the ice just down the trail, and her feet's like tofreezin'."
Blanche smiled as Corliss piloted her to a stool by the fire, and herstern mouth gave no indication of the pain she was suffering. Heturned away when the Virgin addressed herself to removing the wetfootgear, while Bishop went rummaging for socks and moccasins.
"Didn't go in more'n to the ankles," Cornell explained confidentially;"but that's plenty a night like this."
Corliss agreed with a nod of the head.
"Spotted your light, and--hem--and so we come. Don't mind, do you?"
"Why, certainly not--"
"No intrudin'?"
Corliss reassured him by laying hand on his shoulder and cordiallypressing him to a seat. Blanche sighed luxuriously. Her wet stockingswere stretched up and already steaming, and her feet basking in thecapacious warmth of Bishop's Siwash socks. Vance shoved the tobaccocanister across, but Cornell pulled out a handful of cigars and passedthem around.
"Uncommon bad piece of trail just this side of the turn," he remarkedstentoriously, at the same time flinging an eloquent glance at thedemijohn. "Ice rotten from the springs and no sign till you're intoit." Turning to the woman by the stove, "How're you feeling, Blanche?"
"Tony," she responded, stretching her body lazily and redisposing herfeet; "though my legs ain't as limber as when we pulled out."
Looking to his host for consent, Cornell tilted the demijohn over hisarm and partly filled the four tin mugs and an empty jelly glass.
"Wot's the matter with a toddy?" the Virgin broke in; "or a punch?"
"Got any lime juice?" she demanded of Corliss.
"You 'ave? Jolly!" She directed her dark eyes towards Del. "'Ere,you, cookie! Trot out your mixing-pan and sling the kettle for 'otwater. Come on! All hands! Jake's treat, and I'll show you 'ow! Anysugar, Mr. Corliss? And nutmeg? Cinnamon, then? O.K. It'll do.Lively now, cookie!"
"Ain't she a peach?" Cornell confided to Vance, watching her withmellow eyes as she stirred the steaming brew.
But the Virgin directed her attentions to the engineer. "Don't mind'im, sir," she advised. "'E's more'n arf-gorn a'ready, a-'itting thejug every blessed stop."
"Now, my dear--" Jake protested.
"Don't you my-dear me," she sniffed. "I don't like you."
"Why?"
"Cos . . ." She ladled the punch carefully into the mugs andmeditated. "Cos you chew tobacco. Cos you're whiskery. Wot I take tois smooth-faced young chaps."
"Don't take any stock in her nonsense," the Fraction King warned, "Shejust does it a-purpose to get me mad."
"Now then!" she commanded, sharply. "Step up to your licker! 'Ere's'ow!"
"What'll it be?" cried Blanche from the stove.
The elevated mugs wavered and halted.
"The Queen, Gawd bless 'er!" the Virgin toasted promptly.
"And Bill!" Del Bishop interrupted.
Again the mugs wavered.
"Bill 'oo?" the Virgin asked, suspiciously.
"McKinley."
She favored him with a smile. "Thank you, cookie, you're a trump.Now! 'Ere's a go, gents! Take it standing. The Queen, Gawd bless'er, and Bill McKinley!"
"Bottoms up!" thundered Jake Cornell, and the mugs smote the table withclanging rims.
Vance Corliss discovered himself amused and interested. According toFrona, he mused ironically,--this was learning life, was adding to hissum of human generalizations. The phrase was hers, and he rolled itover a couple of times. Then, again, her engagement with St. Vincentcrept into his thought, and he charmed the Virgin by asking her tosing. But she was coy, and only after Bishop had rendered the severalscore stanzas of "Flying Cloud" did she comply. Her voice, in a weaklyway, probably registered an octave and a half; below that point itunderwent strange metamorphoses, while on the upper levels it wasdevious and rickety. Nevertheless she sang "Take Back Your Gold" withtouching effect, which brought a fiery moisture into the eyes of theFraction King, who listened greedily, for the time being experiencingunwonted ethical yearnings.
The applause was generous, followed immediately by Bishop, who toastedthe singer as the "Enchantress of Bow Bells," to the reverberating"bottoms up!" of Jake Cornell.
Two hours later, Frona Welse rapped. It was a sharp, insistent rap,penetrating the din within and bringing Corliss to the door.
She gave a glad little cry when she saw who it was. "Oh; it is you,Vance! I didn't know you lived here."
He shook hands and blocked the doorway with his body. Behind him theVirgin was laughing and Jake Cornell roaring:
"Oh, cable this message along the track; The Prod's out West, but he's coming back; Put plenty of veal for one on the rack, Trolla lala, la la la, la la!"
"What is it?" Vance questioned. "Anything up?"
"I think you might ask me in." There was a hint of reproach in Frona'svoice, and of haste. "I blundered through the ice, and my feet arefreezing."
"O Gawd!" in the exuberant tones of the Virgin, came whirling overVance's shoulder, and the voices of Blanche and Bishop joining in alaugh against Cornell, and that worthy's vociferous protestations. Itseemed to him that all the blood of his body had rushed into his face."But you can't come in, Frona. Don't you hear them?"
"But I must," she insisted. "My feet are freezing."
With a gesture of resignation he stepped aside and closed the doorafter her. Coming suddenly in from the darkness, she hesitated amoment, but in that moment recovered her sight and took in the scene.The air was thick with tobacco smoke, and the odor of it, in the closeroom, was sickening to one fresh from the pure outside. On the table acolumn of steam was ascending from the big mixing-pan. The Virgin,fleeing before Cornell, was defending herself with a long mustardspoon. Evading him and watching her chance, she continually daubed hisnose and cheeks with the yellow smear. Blanche had twisted about fromthe stove to see the fun, and Del Bishop, with a mug at rest half-wayto his lips, was applauding the successive strokes. The faces of allwere flushed.
Vance leaned nervelessly against the door. The whole situation seemedso unthinkably impossible. An insane desire to laugh came over him,which resolved itself into a coughing fit. But Frona, realizing herown pressing need by the growing absence of sensation in her feet,stepped forward.
"Hello, Del!" she called.
The mirth froze on his face at the familiar sound and he slowly andunwilling turne
d his head to meet her. She had slipped the hood of herparka back, and her face, outlined against the dark fur, rosy with thecold and bright, was like a shaft of the sun shot into the murk of aboozing-ken. They all knew her, for who did not know Jacob Welse'sdaughter? The Virgin dropped the mustard-spoon with a startled shriek,while Cornell, passing a dazed hand across his yellow markings andconsummating the general smear, collapsed on the nearest stool.Cariboo Blanche alone retained her self-possession, and laughed softly.
Bishop managed to articulate "Hello!" but was unable to stave off thesilence which settled down.
Frona waited a second, and then said, "Good-evening, all."
"This way." Vance had recovered himself, and seated her by the stoveopposite Blanche. "Better get your things off quickly, and be carefulof the heat. I'll see what I can find for you."
"Some cold water, please," she asked. "It will take the frost out.Del will get it."
"I hope it is not serious?"
"No." She shook her head and smiled up to him, at the same timeworking away at her ice-coated moccasins. "There hasn't been time formore than surface-freezing. At the worst the skin will peel off."
An unearthly silence brooded in the cabin, broken only by Bishopfilling a basin from the water-bucket, and by Corliss seeking out hissmallest and daintiest house-moccasins and his warmest socks.
Frona, rubbing her feet vigorously, paused and looked up. "Don't letme chill the festivities just because I'm cold," she laughed. "Pleasego on."
Jake Cornell straightened up and cleared his throat inanely, and theVirgin looked over-dignified; but Blanche came over and took the towelout of Frona's hands.
"I wet my feet in the same place," she said, kneeling down and bringinga glow to the frosted feet.
"I suppose you can manage some sort of a fit with them. Here!" Vancetossed over the house-moccasins and woollen wrappings, which the twowomen, with low laughs and confidential undertones, proceeded toutilize.
"But what in the world were you doing on trail, alone, at this time ofnight?" Vance asked. In his heart he was marvelling at the coolnessand pluck with which she was carrying off the situation.
"I know beforehand that you will censure me," she replied, helpingBlanche arrange the wet gear over the fire. "I was at Mrs. Stanton's;but first, you must know, Miss Mortimer and I are staying at thePently's for a week. Now, to start fresh again. I intended to leaveMrs. Stanton's before dark; but her baby got into the kerosene, herhusband had gone down to Dawson, and--well, we weren't sure of the babyup to half an hour ago. She wouldn't hear of me returning alone; butthere was nothing to fear; only I had not expected soft ice in such asnap."
"How'd you fix the kid?" Del asked, intent on keeping the talk goingnow that it had started.
"Chewing tobacco." And when the laughter had subsided, she went on:"There wasn't any mustard, and it was the best I could think of.Besides, Matt McCarthy saved my life with it once, down at Dyea when Ihad the croup. But you were singing when I came in," she suggested."Do go on."
Jake Cornell hawed prodigiously. "And I got done."
"Then you, Del. Sing 'Flying Cloud' as you used to coming down theriver."
"Oh, 'e 'as!" said the Virgin.
"Then you sing. I am sure you do."
She smiled into the Virgin's eyes, and that lady delivered herself of acoster ballad with more art than she was aware. The chill of Frona'sadvent was quickly dissipated, and song and toast and merriment wentround again. Nor was Frona above touching lips to the jelly glass infellowship; and she contributed her quota by singing "Annie Laurie" and"Ben Bolt." Also, but privily, she watched the drink saturating thebesotted souls of Cornell and the Virgin. It was an experience, andshe was glad of it, though sorry in a way for Corliss, who played thehost lamely.
But he had little need of pity. "Any other woman--" he said tohimself a score of times, looking at Frona and trying to picturenumerous women he had known by his mother's teapot, knocking at thedoor and coming in as Frona had done. Then, again, it was onlyyesterday that it would have hurt him, Blanche's rubbing her feet; butnow he gloried in Frona's permitting it, and his heart went out in amore kindly way to Blanche. Perhaps it was the elevation of theliquor, but he seemed to discover new virtues in her rugged face.
Frona had put on her dried moccasins and risen to her feet, and waslistening patiently to Jake Cornell, who hiccoughed a last incoherenttoast.
"To the--hic--man," he rumbled, cavernously, "the man--hic--thatmade--that made--"
"The blessed country," volunteered the Virgin.
"True, my dear--hic. To the man that made the blessed country.To--hic--to Jacob Welse!"
"And a rider!" Blanche cried. "To Jacob Welse's daughter!"
"Ay! Standing! And bottoms up!"
"Oh! she's a jolly good fellow," Del led off, the drink ruddying hischeek.
"I'd like to shake hands with you, just once," Blanche said in a lowvoice, while the rest were chorusing.
Frona slipped her mitten, which she had already put on, and thepressure was firm between them.
"No," she said to Corliss, who had put on his cap and was tying theear-flaps; "Blanche tells me the Pently's are only half a mile fromhere. The trail is straight. I'll not hear of any one accompanying me.
"No!" This time she spoke so authoritatively that he tossed his capinto the bunk. "Good-night, all!" she called, sweeping the roistererswith a smile.
But Corliss saw her to the door and stepped outside. She glanced up tohim. Her hood was pulled only partly up, and her face shone alluringlyunder the starlight.
"I--Frona . . . I wish--"
"Don't be alarmed," she whispered. "I'll not tell on you, Vance."
He saw the mocking glint in her eyes, but tried to go on. "I wish toexplain just how--"
"No need. I understand. But at the same time I must confess I do notparticularly admire your taste--"
"Frona!" The evident pain in his voice reached her.
"Oh, you big foolish!" she laughed. "Don't I know? Didn't Blanchetell me she wet her feet?"
Corliss bowed his head. "Truly, Frona, you are the most consistentwoman I ever met. Furthermore," with a straightening of his form and adominant assertion in his voice, "this is not the last."
She tried to stop him, but he continued. "I feel, I know that thingswill turn out differently. To fling your own words back at you, allthe factors have not been taken into consideration. As for St. Vincent. . . I'll have you yet. For that matter, now could not be too soon!"
He flashed out hungry arms to her, but she read quicker than he moved,and, laughing, eluded him and ran lightly down the trail.
"Come back, Frona! Come back!" he called, "I am sorry."
"No, you're not," came the answer. "And I'd be sorry if you were.Good-night."
He watched her merge into the shadows, then entered the cabin. He hadutterly forgotten the scene within, and at the first glance it startledhim. Cariboo Blanche was crying softly to herself. Her eyes wereluminous and moist, and, as he looked, a lone tear stole down hercheek. Bishop's face had gone serious. The Virgin had sprawled headand shoulders on the table, amid overturned mugs and dripping lees, andCornell was tittubating over her, hiccoughing, and repeating vacuously,"You're all right, my dear. You're all right."
But the Virgin was inconsolable. "O Gawd! Wen I think on wot is, an'was . . . an' no fault of mine. No fault of mine, I tell you!" sheshrieked with quick fierceness. "'Ow was I born, I ask? Wot was myold man? A drunk, a chronic. An' my old woman? Talk of Whitechapel!'Oo guv a cent for me, or 'ow I was dragged up? 'Oo cared a rap, Isay? 'Oo cared a rap?"
A sudden revulsion came over Corliss. "Hold your tongue!" he ordered.
The Virgin raised her head, her loosened hair streaming about her likea Fury's. "Wot is she?" she sneered. "Sweet'eart?"
Corliss whirled upon her savagely, face white and voice shaking withpassion.
The Virgin cowered down and instinctively thr
ew up her hands to protecther face. "Don't 'it me, sir!" she whined. "Don't 'it me!"
He was frightened at himself, and waited till he could gather control."Now," he said, calmly, "get into your things and go. All of you.Clear out. Vamose."
"You're no man, you ain't," the Virgin snarled, discovering thatphysical assault was not imminent.
But Corliss herded her particularly to the door, and gave no heed.
"A-turning ladies out!" she sniffed, with a stumble over the threshold;
"No offence," Jake Cornell muttered, pacifically; "no offence."
"Good-night. Sorry," Corliss said to Blanche, with the shadow of aforgiving smile, as she passed out.
"You're a toff! That's wot you are, a bloomin' toff!" the Virginhowled back as he shut the door.
He looked blankly at Del Bishop and surveyed the sodden confusion onthe table. Then he walked over and threw himself down on his bunk.Bishop leaned an elbow on the table and pulled at his wheezy pipe. Thelamp smoked, flickered, and went out; but still he remained, fillinghis pipe again and again and striking endless matches.
"Del! Are you awake?" Corliss called at last.
Del grunted.
"I was a cur to turn them out into the snow. I am ashamed."
"Sure," was the affirmation.
A long silence followed. Del knocked the ashes out and raised up.
"'Sleep?" he called.
There was no reply, and he walked to the bunk softly and pulled theblankets over the engineer.
