04-in a far country-第2章

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council；　in　which　the　two　Incapables　had　whined　to　excellent

disadvantage；　was　drawing　to　a　close。

　　'Hudson　Bay　Post；　long　time　ago。　No　use　um　now。'　Jacques

Baptiste's　father　had　made　the　trip　for　the　Fur　Company　in　the　old

days；　incidentally　marking　the　trail　with　a　couple　of　frozen　toes。

　　Sufferin'　cracky！'　cried　another　of　the　party。　'No　whites？'

　　'Nary　white；'　Sloper　sententiously　affirmed；　'but　it's　only　five

hundred　more　up　the　Yukon　to　Dawson。　Call　it　a　rough　thousand　from

here。'

　　Weatherbee　and　Cuthfert　groaned　in　chorus。

　　'How　long'll　that　take；　Baptiste？'

　　The　half…breed　figured　for　a　moment。　'Workum　like　hell；　no　man

play　out；　ten…　twenty…　forty…　fifty　days。　Um　babies　come'　（designating

the　Incapables）；　'no　can　tell。　Mebbe　when　hell　freeze　over；　mebbe

not　then。'

　　The　manufacture　of　snowshoes　and　moccasins　ceased。　Somebody　called

the　name　of　an　absent　member；　who　came　out　of　an　ancient　cabin　at

the　edge　of　the　campfire　and　joined　them。　The　cabin　was　one　of　the

many　mysteries　which　lurk　in　the　vast　recesses　of　the　North。　Built

when　and　by　whom；　no　man　could　tell。　Two　graves　in　the　open；　piled

high　with　stones；　perhaps　contained　the　secret　of　those　early

wanderers。　But　whose　hand　had　piled　the　stones？

　　The　moment　had　come。　Jacques　Baptiste　paused　in　the　fitting　of　a

harness　and　pinned　the　struggling　dog　in　the　snow。　The　cook　made

mute　protest　for　delay；　threw　a　handful　of　bacon　into　a　noisy　pot　of

beans；　then　came　to　attention。　Sloper　rose　to　his　feet。　His　body　was　a

ludicrous　contrast　to　the　healthy　physiques　of　the　Incapables。

Yellow　and　weak；　fleeing　from　a　South　American　fever…hole；　he　had

not　broken　his　flight　across　the　zones；　and　was　still　able　to　toil

with　men。　His　weight　was　probably　ninety　pounds；　with　the　heavy

hunting　knife　thrown　in；　and　his　grizzled　hair　told　of　a　prime　which

had　ceased　to　be。　The　fresh　young　muscles　of　either　Weatherbee　or

Cuthfert　were　equal　to　ten　times　the　endeavor　of　his；　yet　he　could

walk　them　into　the　earth　in　a　day's　journey。　And　all　this　day　he　had

whipped　his　stronger　comrades　into　venturing　a　thousand　miles　of　the

stiffest　hardship　man　can　conceive。　He　was　the　incarnation　of　the

unrest　of　his　race；　and　the　old　Teutonic　stubbornness；　dashed　with　the

quick　grasp　and　action　of　the　Yankee；　held　the　flesh　in　the　bondage　of

the　spirit。

　　'All　those　in　favor　of　going　on　with　the　dogs　as　soon　as　the　ice

sets；　say　ay。'

　　'Ay！'　rang　out　eight　voices…　voices　destined　to　string　a　trail　of

oaths　along　many　a　hundred　miles　of　pain。

　　'Contrary　minded？'

　　'No！'　For　the　first　time　the　Incapables　were　united　without　some

compromise　of　personal　interests。

　　'And　what　are　you　going　to　do　about　it？'　Weatherbee　added

belligerently。

　　'Majority　rule！　Majority　rule！'　clamored　the　rest　of　the　party。

　　'I　know　the　expedition　is　liable　to　fall　through　if　you　don't　come；'

Sloper　replied　sweetly；　'but　I　guess；　if　we　try　real　hard；　we　can

manage　to　do　without　you。　What　do　you　say；　boys？'

　　The　sentiment　was　cheered　to　the　echo。

　　'But　I　say；　you　know；'　Cuthfert　ventured　apprehensively；　'what's　a

chap　like　me　to　do？'

　　'Ain't　you　coming　with　us。'

　　'No…　o。'

　　'Then　do　as　you　damn　well　please。　We　won't　have　nothing　to　say。'

　　'Kind　o'　calkilate　yuh　might　settle　it　with　that　canoodlin'

pardner　of　yourn；'　suggested　a　heavy…going　Westerner　from　the　Dakotas；

at　the　same　time　pointing　out　Weatherbee。　'He'll　be　shore　to　ask　yuh

what　yur　a…goin'　to　do　when　it　comes　to　cookin'　an'　gatherin'　the

wood。'

　　'Then　we'll　consider　it　all　arranged；'　concluded　Sloper。　'We'll　pull

out　tomorrow；　if　we　camp　within　five　miles…　just　to　get　everything

in　running　order　and　remember　if　we've　forgotten　anything。'



　　The　sleds　groaned　by　on　their　steel…shod　runners；　and　the　dogs

strained　low　in　the　harnesses　in　which　they　were　born　to　die。

Jacques　Baptiste　paused　by　the　side　of　Sloper　to　get　a　last　glimpse　of

the　cabin。　The　smoke　curled　up　pathetically　from　the　Yukon

stovepipe。　The　two　Incapables　were　watching　them　from　the　doorway。

　　Sloper　laid　his　hand　on　the　other's　shoulder。

　　'Jacques　Baptiste；　did　you　ever　hear　of　the　Kilkenny　cats？'

　　The　half…breed　shook　his　head。

　　'Well；　my　friend　and　good　comrade；　the　Kilkenny　cats　fought　till

neither　hide；　nor　hair；　nor　yowl；　was　left。　You　understand？…　till

nothing　was　left。　Very　good。　Now；　these　two　men　don't　like　work。

They'll　be　all　alone　in　that　cabin　all　winter…　a　mighty　long；　dark

winter。　Kilkenny　cats…　well？'

　　The　Frenchman　in　Baptiste　shrugged　his　shoulders；　but　the　Indian

in　him　was　silent。　Nevertheless；　it　was　an　eloquent　shrug；　pregnant

with　prophecy。



　　Things　prospered　in　the　little　cabin　at　first。　The　rough　badinage　of

their　comrades　had　made　Weatherbee　and　Cuthfert　conscious　of　the

mutual　responsibility　which　had　devolved　upon　them；　besides；　there　was

not　so　much　work　after　all　for　two　healthy　men。　And　the　removal　of　the

cruel　whiphand；　or　in　other　words　the　bulldozing　half…breed；　had

brought　with　it　a　joyous　reaction。　At　first；　each　strove　to　outdo

the　other；　and　they　performed　petty　tasks　with　an　unction　which

would　have　opened　the　eyes　of　their　comrades　who　were　now　wearing

out　bodies　and　souls　on　the　Long　Trail。

　　All　care　was　banished。　The　forest；　which　shouldered　in　upon　them

from　three　sides；　was　an　inexhaustible　woodyard。　A　few　yards　from

their　door　slept　the　Porcupine；　and　a　hole　through　its　winter　robe

formed　a　bubbling　spring　of　water；　crystal　clear　and　painfully　cold。

But　they　soon　grew　to　find　fault　with　even　that。　The　hole　would

persist　in　freezing　up；　and　thus　gave　them　many　a　miserable　hour　of

ice…chopping。　The　unknown　builders　of　the　cabin　had　extended　the

sidelogs　so　as　to　support　a　cache　at　the　rear。　In　this　was　stored

the　bulk　of　the　party's　provisions。　Food　there　was；　without　stint；　for

three　times　the　men　who　were　fated　to　live　upon　it。　But　the　most　of　it

was　the　kind　which　built　up　brawn　and　sinew；　but　did　not　tickle　the

palate。　True；　there　was　sugar　in　plenty　for　two　ordinary　men；　but

these　two　were　little　else　than　children。　They　early　discovered　the

virtues　of　hot　water　judiciously　saturated　with　sugar；　and　they

prodigally　swam　their　flapjacks　and　soaked　their　crusts　in　the　rich；

white　syrup。　Then　coffee　and　tea；　and　especially　the　dried　fruits；

made　disastrous　inroads　upon　it。　The　first　words　they　had　were　over

the　sugar　question。　And　it　is　a　really　serious　thing　when　two　men；

wholly　dependent　upon　each　other　for　company；　begin　to　quarrel。

　　Weatherbee　loved　to　discourse　blatantly　on　politics；　while　Cuthfert；

who　had　been　prone　to　clip　his　coupons　and　let　the　commonwealth　jog　on

as　best　it　might；　either　ignored　the　subject　or　delivered　himself　of

startling　epigrams。　But　the　clerk　was　too　obtuse　to　appreciate　the

clever　shaping　of　thought；　and　this　waste　of　ammunition　irritated

Cuthfert。　He　had　been　used　to　blinding　people　by　his　brilliancy；　and

it　worked　him　quite　a　hardship；　this　loss　of　an　audience。　He　felt

personally　aggrieved　and　unconsciously　held　his　muttonhead　companion

responsible　for　it。

　　Save　existence；　they　had　nothing　in　common…　came　in　touch　on　no

single　point。　Weatherbee　was　a　clerk　who　had　known　naught　but　clerking

all　his　life；　Cuthfert　was　a　master　of　arts；　a　dabbler　in　oils；　and

had　written　not　a　little。　The　one　was　a　lower…class　man　who　considered

himself　a　gentleman；　and　the　other　was　a　gentleman　who　knew　himself　to

be　such。　From　this　it　may　be　remarked　that　a　man　can　be　a　gentleman

without　possessing　the　first　instinct　of　true　comradeship。　The　clerk

was　as　sensuous　as　the　other　was　aesthetic；　and　his　love　adventures；

told　at　great　length　and　chiefly　coined　from　his　imagination；　affected

the　supersensitive　master　of　arts　in　the　same　way　as　so　many　whiffs　of

sewer　gas。　He　deemed　the　clerk　a　filthy；　uncultured　brute；　whose　place

was　in　the　muck　with　the　swine；　and　told　him　so；　and　he　was

reciprocally　informed　that　he　was　a　milk…and…wa