"No, it wasn't," he growled. "If you'd have told me that, I'd have seen you to hell before I married you, or even kissed you. Blood is blood, and nature's nature, and passion's passion, and gew-gaws don't count—no, nor polite chin-music either. You were my woman, and I wanted you before all the other wimmen on God's earth. It's the little things that don't matter that fills your mind. If men were all tea-slopping, thin-spined, haw-hawing creatures like some I seen here, with never a darned notion of how to dig for their daily bread, though they talked like angels and acted like cardboard saints, this world 'ud be a darned poor show.... Anyway, you've got to learn that.... We're going back to-morrow, and I guess we'd better finish this play-acting. Devonshire's good enough for me if you'll take the London house."

She nodded. That had been her own innermost desire. She was glad he made the suggestion himself. Before coming away he had leased a house in Maida Vale, and had given instructions to Liberty's to furnish it. It would be pleasanter there, in the midst of friends, than planted away in the wilds of Devonshire with a "cowpuncher."

The months that followed were purgatory to Jim. Once or twice he ran up to the club, where he heard things that were not conducive to a happy state of mind. Angela was entertaining on a lavish scale. Cholmondeley told him of the extraordinary "success" of his wife's parties. According to Cholmondeley every other hostess was completely outshone by the beautiful Angela, whose photograph was now an almost permanent feature in the daily press.

It was on one of these visits that he met Claude. The latter shook hands with him heartily, but seemed ill at ease.

"What's wrong, young feller?" queried Jim.

Claude passed off the question with a laugh. Later, however he came to Jim.

"I'm sorry," he said.

Jim looked at him from under his eyebrows.

"Look here, Jim," said Claude impetuously, "can't you make it up with Angela? It seems silly to prolong a quarrel."

"Eh!"

The ejaculation made Claude start.

"Well, whatever you quarreled about, it can't be much. Come along and see her now."

His frank smile dissipated any suspicions in Jim's mind. Claude actually didn't know what was wrong with the Conlans! He believed it to be a mere marital squabble, that would blow over sooner or later.

"Kid," gasped Jim, "you are the pink limit! I guess there ain't nothing that would stop Angela from regarding me as unsifted muck, just as she has since the first time I saw her."

"What!"

"And you didn't know. Wal, it's all in the family, and you may as well git wise to it."

"But she's—she's your wife——!"

"Yep.... Don't hurry, youngster. Get it right back and masticate it well. They've fine heads for business in your family, not to mention play-acting."

Claude flushed. He stood up and gripped a chair by the back.

"Steady," said Jim. "I'm telling you the truth.... But I thought you knew."

Claude was realizing it fast enough.

"Then there was no quarrel?" he gasped. "She—she simply left you?"

"I told her she might—and she did. But you needn't worry none, I've staked bad claims afore."

Claude came over to him, much affected by the deep emotion that had crept into his voice.

"Jim, I didn't know. I swear I didn't know. I warned you because I didn't believe she could love and respect you as you deserve. But when I heard you were engaged I believed you had melted her in a strange way.... I see now where the money came from.... God! and she was mean enough to do that—to my—my friend."

Jim took him by the shoulder and steadied him.

"She saved your people from a big financial crash, anyway—remember that."

"Is that any mitigation? I'd rather die in the gutter than live on money that was obtained by a vulgar fraud. She acted a lie—a damned despicable lie. That sort of thing is done every day, but the man usually knows what he is doing, and hasn't any scruples, and the girl sometimes learns to love him.... So we're living on the benevolence and innocence of a man who isn't good enough to be the real husband of a Featherstone. I wish to God my name were Smith or Jones—or anything that is honest...."

He broke away from Jim, humiliated by the knowledge that had come to him. On the morrow he dropped in at the club, his face set in a way strange to him.

"I dropped in to say good-bye, Jim."

"Eh!"

"We had it all out last night—a real family gathering. I think I got a little militant. Anyhow, it's better this way. What sort of chance is there for a chap like me in Canada, Jim?"

Jim put down his newspaper and stared.

"You don't mean that, kid."

"I do. I leave Liverpool this evening."

Jim stood up and took his hand.

"I reckon you'll do," he said. "But how's the bank? You wouldn't like a kind o' sleeping partner on a fifty-fifty basis, eh?"

Claude shook his head.

"I know what you mean, Jim. But I've money enough to get started at something. If ever I get a partner out there, I shall consider myself lucky if he's half the man you are."

Jim sighed.

"I wish I was coming too.... You're sure about the dough? Come, I'd like to invest a little in a real promising proposition. Say five thousand—jest a small interest——"

Claude gripped his hand.

"You're a real brick, Jim, but it can't be done. No, I can't stay to lunch. I've got one or two calls to make. Good-bye."

"Good-bye."

He was about to leave when he turned again.

"You mustn't mind me saying this, Jim. Meredith is seeing a great deal too much of Angela. There is doubtless nothing in it, but—well, Angela is my sister, and I don't like Meredith."

When he had gone Jim sat and pondered over the words. A similar hint had been dropped by Cholmondeley. So Angela was already considered fair spoil by men like Meredith! Meredith was out to win the love that he had lost. It rankled—it hurt. But behind his fury there lurked the sinister shadow of defeat and humiliation. There were giddy heights to which he could not climb, and to which Meredith was soaring—Meredith, a man he could have taken in his own hands and broken; a cheat, armed with every weapon that culture could forge, and little else.

In the evening he summoned up his failing courage and went to Angela's house. It was one blaze of light and one tumult of sound. A dapper footman opened the door and took his card. He waited in the hall, running his eyes over the rich decorations. From higher up the hall came sounds of revelry, and now and again he caught sight of figures flitting to and fro. The sound of a string band drifted down to him, and then laughter—cultured, high-toned laughter that grated on his nerves.

When eventually he was shown into the drawing-room, he wished he hadn't come. Angela was one blaze of glory. Her guests bowed to him in a fashion that was intended, and succeeded, to make their superiority felt. Angela was cool and remarkably self-possessed.

"I was passing and jest dropped in," he explained.

"That was very nice of you. Will you take anything to drink?"

He shook his head negatively. He only wanted to get away from these people. They were too polite to whisper to each other, but their silence was eloquent enough. They were laughing in their sleeves at this unfortunate husband. A figure dawdled up, and bowing, took Angela's arm with a smirking smile. It was Meredith.

It was a pleasure to breathe the fresher air outside. Jim caught the next train to Devonshire, feeling like a dog that has been kicked by its mistress. He arrived home to find a pile of bills—debts incurred by Angela—awaiting him. He glared at them, half inclined to return them and repudiate responsibility. But he didn't. He wrote numerous checks for considerable sums and sent them away.

"What a pace! But it's got to stop. God, why can't I get a holt on myself. Jim, you ain't a man. They're putting you through your paces like a circus dog, and you're taking it all lying down."

He jammed on his hat and went striding out into the country.



CHAPTER VII

THE CLIMAX

The months passed and a New Year was ushered in. The lonely man at Little Badholme wondered what it held for him. He had seen Angela only once since the evening when he had called on her. She was riding in the Row with Meredith. She had not seen Jim, but Meredith had, and smiled to himself as though he was pleasantly conscious of the pangs he gave the former.

It was after breakfast one morning that the newspaper brought amazing news to Little Badholme. The first piece of news was to the effect that gold had been discovered in big quantities in the Klondyke, and that a vast stampede was taking place. The second was of far greater importance, so far as Jim was concerned. It was announced in a comparatively small headline, but it leaped out to him as he casually glanced over the columns.

BIG CRASH ON THE STOCK EXCHANGE. SECRETARY AND DIRECTORS OF THE AMAZON COPPER COMPANY ABSCOND.

It came as a shock to him. But a few months since he had invested all his money in the Amazon Company! He ran to the telephone and got through to his broker. The reply was what he expected; the Company had gone smash without hope of recovery, the shares were not worth the paper on which they were written. He put up the receiver and sat down to think things over. He was broke. Save for his small bank balance and the house over his head, he had nothing in the world.

He laughed grimly as he reflected upon his meteoric career. In the meantime there was Angela spending as though money came from some eternal fountain! He frowned as he remembered the precious checks that had been paid during the past few months, checks that had reduced his liquid cash reserve to a mere fragment. Though he was unwilling to confess it, it gave him a certain amount of joy to anticipate her fall to earth when she realized that the lavish entertaining must cease—that the source of the magic spring had suddenly dried up.

He took the next train to London, dined at the club, and then prepared to break the news to Angela.

At that moment the adorable Angela was receiving a friend. Hilary Meredith, spotlessly garbed, was lounging in the drawing-room, drinking in the strains of a Chopin Nocturne. Not only were his ears gladdened by romantic music, but his eyes were equally exercised by the radiant figure of Angela, bending over the piano, with the red-shaded lights throwing her bare shoulders into perspective and turning her hair to liquid gold. The nocturne ended, she swung round on Meredith.

"How did you like that, Hilary?"

"Superb—dark avenues on a June night, with odorous breezes and the lap of the sea on the beach below—and you, Angela—always you, dreaming in the moonlight."

"Don't be absurd! Why should I dream in the moonlight? And what should I dream?"

He looked at her from under his long eyelashes.

"Of Love, perhaps—who knows?"

She shrugged her shoulders.

"I think not."

"Is it then so odious to you?"

"Perhaps."

He flung the end of his cigarette into the fireplace and, standing up, walked across to her.

"You are dazzlingly beautiful to-night, Angela."

"You say that almost every night."

"Why not? A truth cannot too often be reiterated."

She ran her white fingers over the notes of the piano, producing a rippling arpeggio that was like running water.

"Compliments are cheap."

"You think that is a mere compliment? No, you know it isn't. You know I love you madly, desperately, Angela. Let us cease this—acting. Aren't we made for each other? I'm tired of London—tired of everything but you."

She stopped playing and sat perfectly still.

"Aren't you a little impatient, Hilary? You seem to forget I have a husband."

"Husband!" he laughed loudly. "I thought you, too, had forgotten that by this time."

"I haven't," she said.

"Well, it must be an unpleasant memory—the most beautiful woman in London wedded to a cowpuncher! Angela, are you going to waste your life tied to an undesirable? Here is love and devotion waiting.... I haven't all the gold in the universe, but doesn't breeding count?"

"Hilary, you are talking the veriest nonsense."

"Am I? Then why did you ask me here to-night? You knew I would talk this nonsense, and yet you asked me."

"I was lonely—that's all."

She stood up and pushed the stool aside. Her shoulder came up against him. In a moment he seized her arm and held her in a passionate embrace.

"Hilary!"

"Angela. It's got to be to-night—or never. I've waited until I can wait no longer. I'll call for you in an hour's time, and we can catch the midnight train——"

She tried to push him away, but he clung on desperately.

"It's impossible!" she cried. "Please let me go."

"Angela——"

Meredith suddenly stopped. His arms fell to his side. Standing just inside the door was Jim Conlan. Angela turned and saw him too—a great grim figure, with head thrust forward and hands on hips.

"How did you get here?" she demanded.

"Your powdered monkey outside got obstinate. Said you weren't at home. Seems as though he made some error."

He came down the room and planted himself opposite Meredith. He raised one arm and pointed to the door.

"Get out!" he snapped.

Meredith looked at Angela. He would have been glad to get out just then, but he wasn't anxious for Angela to be conscious of that desire.

"Did you get me?—get out!"

Meredith fidgeted. Then to his horror Angela said slowly:

"I beg that you will stay, Mr. Meredith."

The latter began to retreat to the settee. But he never got there. He felt a hand of steel grip him by the shoulder, and looked round to find a pair of infuriated eyes blazing down on him.

"You ain't wanted here, you dirty tinhorn!" yelled Jim. He ran him to the door, opened it, and then shot him into the passage. When he came back Angela was standing exactly in the same place. Her face was white with indignation.

"How dare you—you brute!" she said. "I'll have you put out!"

"Sit down!" thundered Jim.

It was the first time he had ever addressed her in that way and she felt decidedly uncomfortable. She dropped leisurely on to a chair.

"Now then, listen! I've got my wind back agin. Oh, I ain't going to start—recriminations—some word, that! It's plain business between me and you. In the first place, we're broke. Did you git that?"

"What!"

"Stoney—clean bust. Wal, money never did cut much ice with me, but it did with you. You've squandered a hell of a lot of money on things that didn't matter, and now here's old man Ruin come to say How-do."

Angela regarded him in astonishment.

"You mean to say—you've lost all your money?"

"Oh no. I only lost some of it. You lost the other. Don't talk. I don't suppose you have any notion of what you've spent in less than six months. Anyway, it's done, and squealing won't help matters.... I jest came to tell you to pack up. Me and you's going to make some more money."

She jumped up.

"What are you talking about?"

"You will pack a box or two with things that are essential for a trip to Alaska."

"Alaska!"

"Jest that. We're joining the stampede—you and me. I'll call for you to-morrow morning at ten. Stampedes don't allow for no waste time. First come first served."

She suddenly burst into laughter. The whole thing was so ridiculous. He imagined she was going to accompany him into the frozen wastes of Alaska to dig gold. It was excruciatingly funny. But when she looked again at him she didn't feel like repeating the laugh. She had never seen such fixity of purpose in any man's expression. He seemed to have added more inches to his colossal height.

"You must be mad!" she said. "I'm sorry you have lost the money, but——"

"You'll be ready at ten o'clock to-morrow."

She saw he was in deadly earnest, but believed he was overreaching himself.

"At any rate, let us talk sense," she said coldly.

"You'll find I'm talking sense all right. I'm through with any other kind of talk," he replied. "I'm making the Klondyke. Ain't it natural for a man to take his wife with him—even though she's only a bought wife?"

"You talk as though I might be fool enough to come. Understand, once and for all, I refuse to go anywhere with you. Please leave me."

He took up his hat.

"I'll be round to-morrow. Get them bags packed, or you'll come without them."

"You are not in Colorado now," she said icily. "You can't abduct women by force in London."

"I guess you'll find I can," he replied. "Good-night!"

After he had gone she sat down and thought the matter over. The financial catastrophe appalled her. She had grown so used to a life of luxury. And the threat? It seemed fantastic, impossible of fulfillment. Never in her life had she been coerced by force. There was one way out—Meredith's way. But she could not bring herself to take that course. Meredith had never succeeded in arousing the slightest passion within her. He had been merely a plaything—a simpering, compliment-throwing nincompoop of a type that most society women felt a need for, as food for their vanity. She decided that the most sensible plan would be to spend the next day with her people.

Jim arrived at ten o'clock precisely, in a cab, with a single bag of luggage. The footman, who had already suffered once at Jim's hands, tremblingly vouchsafed the news that Mrs. Conlan was out.

"Where's she gone?"

He didn't know. She went out very early and had said she might not return that day.

"Tell her maid to get some clothes packed up for her mistress—strong ones. Have 'em ready in an hour."

The man stared.

"Beat it!" growled Jim, "or I'll come and superintend it myself. If they're not ready when I come back, watch out for trouble!"

He ran down the steps and told the driver to drive to Lord Featherstone's house. Instinctively he guessed Angela's port of refuge. Arriving there, a burly footman told him that His Lordship was not at home. The next instant Jim was in the hall. The second flunkey looked at the first. They had received strict instructions that Mr. Conlan was not to be admitted. They both came to the conclusion that physical obstruction in this case was tantamount to suicide.

"Lead the way," said Jim.

"Sir——"

"Lead the way, you powdered nanny-goats!"

Ultimately he arrived at the drawing-room door. He knocked loudly and entered. Angela was sitting reading. Lady Featherstone was doing likewise, and His Lordship was standing before the fire with his hands in his pockets.

"Conlan!" gasped the latter. "How dare you come here?"

Jim fixed his eyes on Angela, who had closed the book and was regarding him in amazement.

"I've come," he said grimly. "Get your clothes on."

"What is the meaning of this?" asked Featherstone.

"I've come to remove my property," said Jim. "You didn't think I was hiking to the Klondyke and leaving fifty thousand pounds' worth of property lying about, did you?"

Featherstone felt the jibe, but he was furious at the intrusion. Jim turned to Angela.

"I'm waiting," he snapped.

"You'd better go," she reported. "You merely succeed in making a fool of yourself."

"Oh dear!" moaned Lady Featherstone. "The man is dangerous. Claude, call John and Henry."

"Yep, call in your tame leopards. Gee—I'm starving for a fight!"

Featherstone, eyeing this six-feet-three of hard knotted muscle, attempted to bring diplomacy to the rescue.

"Conlan," he pleaded, "I beg you to act reasonably. I understand you are going to the Klondyke. But you can scarcely expect Angela to accompany you there. There are certain limits to a wife's marital responsibilities."

Jim's eyes narrowed.

"There ain't no sentiments in business. I bought her for fifty thousand. I'm not writing off anything for depreciation, cos I allow there ain't no depreciation, in a material sense. I'm jest hanging on to my property till I can get a price that leaves a margin of profit—say ten per cent. Make the bidding and I'll quit."

Nothing was more calculated to arouse Featherstone's unbridled wrath.

"You vulgar cowpuncher!" he retorted. "You dare insult me in that way! You dare treat my daughter as bag and baggage—to be sold at auction like an Asiatic slave——!"

"I made the offer," said Jim casually, "because I thought, from experience, that was your line of business."

"Leave my house!" stormed Featherstone.

"Sartenly. Angela, come on, we ain't wanted."

Angela sat like a statue. Suddenly Jim sprang to action.

"I'm giving you two minutes," he snapped.

"If you ain't ready then I'll carry you out. And if any guy tries buttin' in, wal——"

Lady Featherstone gave a shriek of terror.

"Call the police," she wailed.

"My dear Conlan——" commenced His Lordship.

"I'm through with talking. One minute gone!"

Angela stood up.

"I'm not coming to Alaska," she said defiantly, "but I'll come with you out of this house, to save my mother and father further annoyance and insult."

Jim walked to the door and held it open.

"We leave for Liverpool at five o'clock to-morrow morning," he said.

She got her hat and coat and walked majestically to the cab.



CHAPTER VIII

THE WHITE TRAIL

It was a "squaw man" rejoicing in the name of "Slick George" who first revealed the magic wealth of the Klondyke. Whilst making a fire on a small creek now known to the world as Bonanza Creek wherewith to cook his evening meal, he thawed out some of the frozen gravel, and, in the manner of the born prospector, carelessly washed it, to find himself the possessor of nearly a thousand dollars in raw gold.

Making Forty Mile with a view to dissipating his newly found wealth in a gormandizing "jag," he sent the settlers in that ramshackle camp into wild excitement by producing nuggets of a size hitherto unmatched.

In a few hours Forty Mile was a deserted place. Every able-bodied man, and not a few others, responded to the lure of gold with an alacrity that was remarkable. Anything that would float was pushed into the muddy Yukon, and poled up the fifty-two miles river to the new Eldorado.

The news spread with the speed amazing in so sparsely populated a country. From all the townships lying on the banks of the Yukon, from Sitka and from the Canadian borderland, came endless processions—good men, bad men, women and children—all with the gold-lust overleaping any other considerations.

Dawson, the center of all this itinerant humanity, grew from a struggling camp on a frozen muskeg to a teeming Babylon. The strike proved to be genuine. Already tens of thousands of dollars had been unearthed along some of the smaller creeks. The price of commodities rose as the population increased. When the Arctic winter settled down, and the mountain-locked country was frozen a hundred feet down from the surface, the thousands who had made the journey in ignorance of the conditions obtaining found the food supply inadequate to meet the needs of the wanderers. The law of Supply and Demand operating, only the lucky stakers were able to pay the huge prices demanded for every single commodity.

The news filtered through to the outer world. From the Eastern States and the Pacific Slope, from far-away Europe, came more wanderers. Late in their quest, but hopeful nevertheless, they prepared for the terrible journey over the Chilcoot Pass and down across the frozen lakes to the land of gold.

At Dyea thousands were struggling to get over the Pass. Women and children and dogs and Indians constituted the human octopus spread out over the snow at the mouth of the Dyea Canyon, which is the entrance to the Pass. Rearing above them was the white precipitous peak over which every pound of their gear and food had to be packed.

Included in this crowd were two familiar figures—an immense man, looking even more immense in his bearskin parkha, and a woman, garbed in similar fashion, whose faces were set and cold. They folded up their tent as the first light of the morn struck the white pinnacle above, and packed it with the other multitudinous things that formed a dump on the snow beside them.

"Got to make the passage now. There's wind coming," said Jim.

Angela said nothing. She had got beyond repartee. The immediate past was a nightmare, filled with terrible journeying, close proximity with the sweepings of the gutter, and sights that at times almost froze the blood within her. And yet the worst had not arrived! Twice she had tried to escape from this enforced pilgrimage, but had failed utterly. Jim had brought her back by brute force. She became aware of the difficulties that faced her. She was his wife—his property. Had any modern Don Quixote felt like rescuing a beautiful woman in distress, he might well have hesitated at sight of the husband. As civilization was left behind so the hope of escape lessened.

Her brain swam as she beheld this terrifying thing over which she was expected—nay, compelled—to travel. Yet other women were doing it—women with children in their arms! But perhaps they loved the men they accompanied, whilst she—— She bit her lips as she looked at the grim face of Jim.

All the gear had to be packed over that awful height. Jim, anxious to save time, collared three wiry Indians and bargained with them. For ten cents a pound they were ready to pack the gear. He agreed, and she saw them take on to their backs an immense burden. Each of them carried no less than 200 pounds. With these crushing weights they were going to climb the dizzy path. It was amazing!

The Indians having started, Jim began to strap the rest of the packages about him. Despite her hate, she could not but feel a sense of admiration. When she thought his back was about to break he still added more, grunting as he took up the packages. All but a sack of beans found lodgment on that huge body. The latter he placed into her hands.

"Take that," he said.

She hesitated, and then took it, carrying it in her arms as she might a child.

"Better shoulder it," he growled.

"I can carry it better this way," she retorted.

He said no more but began the ascent. In a few minutes she found herself almost exhausted. She moved the sack to her shoulder and found this method much easier.

Looking at it from the base, the Chilcoot had been terrifying enough, but on the slope it was a thousand times worse. She remembered a conversation between Jim and a man on the steamer who had made the ascent many times.

"Say, is this Chilcoot as husky a thing as they make out?" queried Jim.

"Wal, stranger, I calculated it would be steepish, but darn me if I thought it would lean back!" the other had replied.

She was beginning to realize how nearly true this was. She had made up her mind she would not give way to the terrific fear that gripped her. She hated to think that she might appear contemptible in his eyes. But the last thousand feet broke all her resolutions. It shot up in one unbroken, dizzy ascent. She saw the Indians, like black ants, climbing and resting alternately. She took a few faltering steps, looked down and shivered. Far below was the black train of climbers, reaching away as far as the eye could see. But above—she dare not risk that awful path. She sat down.

"I can't do it!" she cried.

Jim turned.

"Come on!"

"I can't—I can't!"

He came down to her, slipping and sliding on the frozen snow.

"There's a big wind coming. You'll be blown off if you stay here."

He caught her fingers with his one free hand and began to climb. Step by step they proceeded. Her heart felt cold within her. The Indians had disappeared over the top. It must be flat there, she thought!

A few snowflakes began to fall, and a sullen roar came from the north.

"The blizzard!" growled Jim.

He hastened the pace, dragging her now. The roar increased. The sky to the north and east was inky black. Below them several parties were hastily dumping their packs on the snow and preparing to meet this Arctic monster.... They arrived at the summit at the same moment as the blizzard. She saw a whirling mass of snow, heard a roar like ten thousand demons let loose, and felt the strong grip of Jim pulling her down on the snow.

For an hour it raged. It was beyond her wildest imagination. Never had she beheld or even conceived anything so utterly merciless and devastating. Great masses of snow were lifted from the mountain-top and driven before the almost solid wind. It lashed her few inches of exposed flesh, until she found the antidote by placing her heavy mittens before her face and burying her head close to the ground.

Then it lifted, and the sun shone in dazzling radiance from a frozen sky. The packs and the party were white as the landscape that yawned away on all sides. Before them was a slope as precipitous as that they had just negotiated—but it went down. The Indians dug out their packs and, taking their pay, went on in search of further jobs.

Angela wondered how Jim was going to negotiate the dizzy downward path. It ran almost perpendicularly to Crater Lake, beyond which it was easier going.

Jim took the big sled to the top of the slide, and commenced to dump the various packages on to it. With a coil of hemp rope he lashed this load into one compact mass. It hung on the sheer edge of a precipice, ready for instant flight. The meaning of it suddenly came to her.

"You—you aren't going to slide down?"

"I jest am," he said. "Sit you down there."

Reluctantly she obeyed, clinging tightly to the knotted rope. She saw him give the sled a violent push and jump aboard. It started down the incline, gathering momentum at a dreadful rate. In twenty seconds it was rushing onward like a cannon-ball raising the snow and shrieking as it went.... The speed eventually decreased. They passed the frozen lake and made for Linderman, Jim dragging the sled and Angela pushing on the gee-pole.

After that it was a nightmare. Angela's impression was of one endless white wilderness, broken only by a network of frozen lakes and occasional icy precipices. At nights they pitched their tent amid the vast loneliness, banking it with snow to keep out the freezing cold. At times they were held up for days, confined to the evil-smelling tent with a blizzard blowing outside. The oilstove was a blessing, despite its sickening odor, and only the piled-up snow kept the small tent from being blown to ribbons. It was little more than an Esquimo igloo.

When the wind went this merciless husband downed the tent, packed up, and was off again into the wilderness—and there were 400 miles of this! The glare of the sun on the white snow blinded her, until she accepted the snow goggles which she had at first indignantly refused. The stillness frightened her. Never had she imagined such terrible soul-torturing silence; at times she asked questions merely for the pleasure of hearing a human voice. When they overtook some struggling party the desire to stop and talk was all-consuming. But Jim wasn't for wasting time in useless conversation.

She hated him for that. She hated him for all the agony and pain that he had brought her. Fits of uncontrollable anger possessed her. She gave vent to her feelings in bitter rebuke. It had some effect, too. She knew it hurt him by the queer light in his eyes, but he said nothing—which made her angrier still.

He had become even more silent than she. One thing, however, he did regularly. When they partook of the evening meal—a sickly concoction of beans and coffee, or canned meat, and nestled down inside the bearskin sleeping-bags beside the eternal oilstove, his deep voice growled:

"Good-night, Angela!"

Sometimes she responded and sometimes she did not. But it made no difference—the "Good-night" was always uttered.

The last stage of the journey was a fight with time. They struck the Yukon River and went down over the sloppy ice. The break-up was coming, and Dawson was eighty miles away. Despite her bitter feelings she found excitement in the combat. At any moment the ice might split with thundering noise and go smashing down to the sea, piling up in vast pyramids as it went. Each morning they expected to wake and find the ice in movement.

"She'll hold," cried Jim. "Another twenty miles and we're through!"

So they plowed their way to the Eldorado of the North. It was when they were but three miles from Dawson that the break-up came. It was heralded by ear-splitting explosions. Jim put all his weight on to the sled.

"She won't move much yet," he growled. "Mush on!"

For another mile they kept the river trail, and then with deafening crashes from behind them the whole ice began to move. No time was to be lost now. Jim dragged the sled inland and made the bank at a suitable landing.

An hour later they made Dawson City. The streets were filled with half-melted snow, through which a mixed humanity trudged, laden with all kinds of gear and provisions. Tents were pitched on every available piece of land. Saloons were filled with mobs clamoring for drink and food. Around the Yukon agent's office were crowds waiting to register "claims" that might or might not make their owners millionaires. All the creeks within miles of Dawson had been staked long since, and late-comers were staking likely spots further afield. News came of rich yields in some barren God-forsaken place and immediately a stampede was made for it.

Angela, who had pined for any kind of civilization rather than a continuance of the eternal snows, wondered if this were any better. Jim pitched the tent under some spruce-trees and high up on a bluff beyond the city.

"Wal, we're here," he said.

"Yes," she replied bitterly. "You've got so far. And what next?"

"We're going to git gold. Yep, we sure are—and you're going to help."

She shut her mouth grimly. This was a big city; there were men here going back to civilization after making their fortunes. In a few weeks the river would be free and steamers would be making Vancouver. It oughtn't to be so difficult to find someone who would help her to escape from a man like this!



CHAPTER IX

HIGH STAKES

Before many days had passed Angela realized how wisely Jim had traded in Vancouver. At the time she had wondered why he had been so prodigal in the matter of food. It seemed to her sheer lunacy to travel over icy mountains with what appeared to be enough food for a traveling circus. Now she saw that but for his foresight they might have felt the fine edge of starvation as others were doing.

With remarkable suddenness the cold had vanished and the thermometer mounted daily. A dank, warm atmosphere embraced the country. Under the vanishing snow were green buds that burst into bloom at the first direct rays of the sun. An unwelcome visitor invaded the camp—the mosquito. He rose from the swampy river in myriads, and made life a torture.

Jim had got his usual hustle on. Very quickly he became a popular figure in the town. But two days after his arrival he met an old friend—a gaunt, lanky figure, with a beard a foot long.

"Why, darn me if it ain't Colorado Jim!"

He turned and saw Dan, late owner of the Medicine Bow Hotel, looking wonderfully prosperous and happy.

"Hello, Dan!"

"Gosh, you ain't altered none. Come and hev' some poison."

They pushed their way into a crowded saloon, and Dan flung down a small poke of gold-dust for a bottle of whisky, from which he received no change.

"What's your lay, Jim?"

"Prospectin'."

"Wal, yore sure a queer cuss. Why in hell d'ye want to go prospectin' with a million of the best in the bank?"

Jim laughed.

"I'm broke, Dan."

"What!"

"Yep. An' I'm married."

Dan nearly choked. Then he clapped his hand on his leg and roared with delight.

"Married. Wal, I guess she's a lucky gal, even if you are bust. But how'd it happen?"

"Bad speculation. But I'm through with that. See here, Dan, I'm wantin' to stake a couple of claims, but every darn piece of dirt seems pegged out."

Dan stroked his beard.

"Yore late. I got wise to what it'd be like, so I hiked up here early. Staked twenty-two on Bonanza and sold out yesterday to the Syndicate. Five hundred thousand I got, and never thawed out more'n a square yard of dirt. And now I'm mushing for the bright lights."

Jim's face contracted.

"I hope you'll like 'em, Dan. They sure gave me the croup. Maybe I ain't built that way, and you are. 'Pears to me that the Klondyke is a mission-hall compared to London or New York. They'll take the gold filling from yore false teeth out there."

Dan surveyed him carefully.

"What's wrong, Jim? You seem kinder moody like. Someone kicked you in the hip?"

"You got it."

"Wal, I guess you'll git over it," said Dan philosophically. "Mebbe you'd like me to take some message back, eh?"

"She ain't back there," said Jim. "She's right here."

Dan looked as though he had been shot.

"What's that? You ain't telling me——?"

"Why not?"

"This is a hell of a place for ladies."

Jim frowned. He knew that perfectly well. Now and again a feeling of self-reproach came, but he strangled it by reflecting upon the trick that had been played upon him. After all, he had bought her at her own price, and he meant to keep her.

Two or three of Dan's lucky friends were scanning Jim's enormous figure with obvious interest.

"Say, boys, 'member I told you about a husky guy at Medicine Bow who made a pile and sold out?"

"Sure!"

"Wal, this is him all right. Ain't he a beaut?"

They shook hands with Jim and ordered more whisky. Like Dan they were overburdened with money, and remarkably free with it. They were beguiling the time in innocent "jags" pending the arrival of the boat in the river that was to take them out of the Klondyke.

"Looking for a claim?" inquired one of them.

"Thet's so."

"Nothin' doing this side of Blackwater, but there's a dinky little creek five mile up-river. What do they call that creek where Dave staked, Whitey?"

"Red Ruin," replied Whitey.

"Yep, Red Ruin. There's a mile or so at the lower end unstaked, and if there ain't gold there, my name ain't what it is. Dave staked 250 feet yesterday, and he's sure nuts on gold."

Dan nodded.

"You hike there, Jim, afore it goes to someone else."

"Ain't a healthy sort of name—Red Ruin," said Jim with a laugh.

"Names don't count."

Jim was finally persuaded to try his luck there. He left the party, followed by their best wishes for success, and made for the camp up the hill. He found Angela in a fit of revolt. She had done nothing since he left that morning. Dirty pans and dishes littered the ground and blankets were lying in heaps all round.

"Angela!"

She looked at him.

"You ain't bin hustling overmuch."

She flared up in an instant.

"I'm sick of this. You brought me here by brute force. I won't go on with it. Do you understand? I've tramped over that icy wilderness with you. I've suffered until I can suffer no longer. You never were a gentleman, and ordinary courtesy and respect for a woman are unknown to you, but surely you have a heart somewhere within you. Can't you see this is killing me? Do you want to break my heart?"

"Hearts are hearts, ain't they? And breaking one ain't no worse than breaking another. No, I'm no gentleman—not the kind you bin used to. That's why I came here—because here they're only men, and I'd jest as soon be a man as anything else on earth. I reckon that where a man goes his woman should go too."

She flushed at the appellation "woman."

"You talk like a barbarian. I'm not your woman—you understand? Not your woman."

"Figure out how you may," he retorted, "when you buy a thing, you buy it, and it's yours until someone pays you to git it, or someone is hefty enough to take it from you. As for that, if any guy thinks about cuttin' in, he's welcome to try."

The true sense of his position was made patent. His rough philosophy was good. Had she been his by mere conquest, no man in the Klondyke would have disputed it. Being his wife, legally, his position was doubly strong. Only cunning could win through. She meant to exercise that faculty as soon as opportunity presented itself. And the opportunity was close at hand.

"I'm going up-river to-morrow," he said, "to prospect a creek, and to stake two claims if it's a promising place. I'll be back before sundown.... Ain't you goin' to git supper?"

She was on the point of refusing to carry out the necessary abhorrent domestic work, but the chance of escape which his words gave rise to brought discretion to the forefront. She cooked a dish of beans and opened some canned fruit, and they took their meal, thrusting it beneath the shielding mosquito-nets which seldom left their heads.

Half an hour later they made ready for sleep, in very close proximity to the hard ground, with a hanging canvas curtain between them.

"Good-night, Angela!" he said.

She returned no answer.

Down in the town things were just beginning to wake up. No one worried about time in Dawson City. The nights were like the days, the only difference being that the nights were more noisy. Time was stretched and manipulated with as much ease as an elastic band. Men went to bed at eight in the morning, and woke up to take their breakfast at three or four in the afternoon. Thereafter came dancing, drinking, mirth, and boisterous song. The conditions of the northern summer aided and abetted this queer juggling with time, for it was never dark, and 3 A.M. was not much different to 3 P.M. And as a rule, the life of the saloons was too busy a thing to take notice of any changes in the position of the sun.

The next morning Jim, armed with a pick and shovel and some stakes, left for Red Ruin. Angela watched him disappear over a bluff, and immediately prepared to put into operation her scheme for escape. She packed a small sack with the few things she would require, and wrote a short note which she pinned to the flap of the tent.

"I warned you I should go. There is no other way but this.—ANGELA."

She took the sack and descended to the crowded town. The river was still belching ice into the Bering Sea, but the last floes were leaving the upper reaches, and she knew that in a few hours navigation would be possible, up-stream. Whilst many parties were content to wait for the steamer's arrival, others, less patient, were preparing to "make out" up the river and lakes and over the Chilcoot.

She began to put out a few furtive inquiries, and secured the names of several men who were preparing for immediate departure. She was wise enough to take a look at these worthies before committing herself to their charge, and most of them did not please her. Wandering in the back areas at noon, she noticed a rough shack bearing an obviously new announcement "For Sale." Already a queue of prospective purchasers was lining up. When the owner—a sallow man of about fifty—appeared, he was besieged. The shack was sold in a few minutes to the highest bidder. Angela, nervous but determined, interrogated the sallow man.

"Excuse me, but are you leaving?"

He ran his keen eyes over her, immediately impressed by her beauty and her bearing.

"I am."

"Soon?"

"To-morrow morning if the river's clear."

"Alone?"

"No—two others."

Angela breathed a sigh of relief. There was safety in numbers.

"I want to go to England—or to New York. Will you take me? I've no money or food, but I'll pay you well when I get away."

The man stared.

"As soon as I can cable to my people they will send me money," she resumed. "Take me as far as the first cable station, and in forty-eight hours I will get money to recompense you," she added quickly.

His brows contracted.

"What's the hurry?"

"I want to get away from someone."

"Ah—I see."

"Will you—will you take me? I'll work."

He looked at her soft, exquisite face and figure, and grinned as he reflected that the work she could do was negligible; but the suggestion had its fascination. She was beautiful—and beautiful women were rare in the Klondyke. He opened the door of the shack and called "Tom!" Tom appeared in his shirt-sleeves—a big awry figure with a face like a chimpanzee.

"Got a grub-staker. What do you say?"

Tom's face relaxed into a smirking smile as he also took a long survey of Angela.

"Canoe's purty full up, but I dare say we can find room. Where'd ye want to go?"

"Anywhere out of this. Some place from where I can cable to England—for money."

He looked at "Connie," the sallow man, and nodded. The latter turned to Angela.

"We're off in the morning. Is that your grip?"

"Yes."

"Better leave it in the shack. There's a small room at the back you kin hev' to sleep in to-night."

She thanked him and went inside the shack. Big bundles lay on the floor ready for the journey, and from the window in the back room she saw a long, newly made canoe. She put down her sack, and decided to get some food in the town with the few dollars she possessed, before taking refuge in the shack from Jim, who would doubtless return by the evening.

When she returned the third man was present. She smiled at the three of them as pleasantly as she knew how, and repaired to the back room. She imagined Jim's amazement and wrath when he discovered she had gone. But it was extremely doubtful if he would find her in the short time that remained before her departure.

Time passed slowly enough. From outside came the sound of low voices. She crept to the keyhole and saw her three future companions sitting round the rough table engrossed in a game of cards—poker. Close to hand were two bottles and three mugs. Now and again a low curse came to her ears. She began to wish the door possessed a lock and key!

She went back to the mattress and endeavored to get to sleep, but her brain was too full of the impending adventure to permit its flight into unconsciousness. Moreover, the card party began to get boisterous. She wondered if they were going to keep it up all night. A few minutes later there was a loud crash. She sat up and heard fierce arguments proceeding from the inner room. All three of them were talking at once, and she could not hear any intelligent sentence, but it was all to do with the "deal." She went again to the keyhole just as they settled down again to play.

To her amazement they were playing with matches. The big chimpanzee man, Tom, had a huge pile in front of him. In the center of the table was another pile. She saw Tom put down his cards and growl "Three Queens," picking up the matches in the pool with a triumphant laugh.

"Last deal," said Connie.

"Yep. It's between me and you, Connie, but I guess she's mine."

"Chickens ain't hatched yet."

"She ain't no chicken—she's peaches. Gee—some stake that!"

Angela suddenly felt sick as the truth came to her. She saw now the meaning of those matches. They were not playing for money, but for her! She sprang to the window, but escape that way was impossible, for it was not more than a foot square. Her heart beat in terrible suspense. She realized her dreadful position—out here, a mile or more from the town, she was utterly at the mercy of these brutes. They considered her fair prey, as most women were considered in the Klondyke at that time. Pleading a husband would make no difference. A woman ought to know better than to leave her husband. Unwittingly she had placed herself in that position.

There was only one way out, and that way lay through the inner room. She resolved to take it. She took the small sack and approached the door. A look through the keyhole revealed them engrossed in the decisive "hand." With heaving bosom she turned the handle and walked swiftly through the door.

She was almost past the table before they recovered from their surprise. Then the chimpanzee man put out a huge arm and caught her by the wrist.

"'Ere, what's this?"

"Let me go."

He grinned maliciously.

"I should say. Why, I've jest won you!"

She struggled in vain in his iron grip.

"Git back to thet room!" he ordered, and flung her towards the door.

It was the first time any man had laid hands on her, and it aroused the devil. Her face and neck went crimson. Some of the fear vanished under this storm of violent repugnance. She noticed a naked hunting-knife on a ledge by the window. She flew to it and gripped it menacingly.

She came nearer and raised it to strike any obstructors. Then Connie's lean figure leapt forward. The knife rattled to the floor and her wrist ached from the blow he had dealt it. He took her by the shoulders.

"Cut that! Tom's won you, and you'd better get wise to that."

"You brutes! Do you think you can——"

Her voice petered out as she saw the horrible expression in Tom's eyes. There was no hope of mercy there. Words were lost on this monster. All the evening he had dwelled with rapture upon the object of the gamble. He took her from Connie and held her fast in his arms. Connie laughed.

"You allus had the luck. Wal, perhaps she'll transfer her affections later!"

"Let me go!" she cried, now thoroughly panic-stricken. "Oh, God!—let me go!"

The chimpanzee-man merely gurgled in his throat. He lifted her from the ground and made for the inner room. One of her hands became free. She seized a bunch of his hair until it was wrenched from his hard scalp.

"Ugh!" he grunted. "Go on—it's my turn in a minnit."

"You monster!"

"Good-night—boys!" he cried mockingly.

"Happy dreams!" sneered Connie. "Don't forget we start——"

The third man, a silent, morose individual, suddenly gave a gasp as the outer door was flung open. The others turned and saw the enraged face of Colorado Jim behind a big six-shooter.



CHAPTER X

ANGELA MEETS A FRIEND

"Hands up!" snapped Jim.

Connie and the silent man obeyed. Tom, clasping his prize, looked thunderstruck.

"Did you git that, you human gorilla? Put 'em up."

Tom let Angela slip to the floor.

"What's all this?" he growled.

Jim gripped the deal table with one huge hand and flung it across the room. He advanced on Connie and slapped the latter's pockets.

"No guns? Good!"

Connie went flying from a violent shove, likewise the silent man.

"Come here—you!" bawled Jim.

Tom came forward, his ugly face curved in a look of intense hate. He felt Jim snatch the revolver from his belt and pocket it.

"What's your lay?" he growled.

Jim put his own revolver away and Tom's hands dropped to his side.

"So you took a fancy to my property, eh?"

Tom recoiled before the blazing eyes of his adversary. He was big and hefty enough, but no match for the well-proportioned, muscular giant before him. He was good at assessing physical values, and he felt scared.

"She's mine," he said. "I won her."

Angela, crouching at the end of the room, saw the storm brewing. She suddenly remembered the knife, and retrieved it lest one of the trio should lay hands on it. She saw Connie and his silent friend edging behind Jim, and one quick glance from Tom's vile face told her that the three were filled with a common purpose. Connie suddenly snatched up a log of wood.

"Jim!" she cried, as the three men suddenly sprang forward.

The big figure moved like a streak of lightning. Tom was caught by two powerful arms and lifted clean off his feet. He hung for one brief second, six inches from the ground, and then executed an arc in thin air to come down with a crash against the match-boarded wall. The other two were close upon him. He dealt with the log-swinging man first. Connie's arm was already raised and the thick piece of wood was on the point of coming down. Had it descended, the Honorable Angela might have been a widow there and then, but a fifty-inch leg prevented that untimely catastrophe. It came out from Jim's thigh, true in the horizontal plane, and smote Connie in the tenderest part of his anatomy. He made no sound whatever, but dropped in a crumpled heap and lay still. The silent man was caught in mid-air. He had never expected the amazingly quick movement of the arms that held him. He was a miserable specimen, physically, and turned green when he saw the big fist drawn back to strike.

"No, you ain't big enough to hit," said Jim. "You seem to like me; come closer honey, come close!"

He gathered the man close in and, exerting all his strength, crushed every atom of breath from the man's body. Angela, sick with the sight of this animal manifestation, protested.

"You'll kill him! He never did me any harm."

Jim dropped his victim with a grunt. A queer reaction set in. He was sorry. He could have rescued her without this horse-play, but the sight of her in the arms of a human chimpanzee, who knew no morality but that of the cave-man, had aroused all the innate fury within him. After all, he loved her! Even though she despised him, and preferred the company of licentious beachcombers, he worshiped her. The very thought seemed to mock at him from within.

"Do I have to yank you back, or will you come freely?" he said in a low voice.

"I'll come," she replied.

They walked back to the tent in silence. She noticed that the note had gone from the flap. How he had tracked her down was a mystery. He refrained from mentioning the adventure, but she saw that it had had a great effect upon him. He ate no supper, but sat smoking through the mosquito-netting, gazing pensively at the starry heavens. When they retired he uttered his customary "Good-night, Angela."

"Good-night," she replied.

The next morning found him busy caulking a big flat-bottomed boat, which was already half laden with stores. She looked at him inquiringly.

"Going down the river," he informed her. "I've staked two claims along a creek called 'Red Ruin.'"

"Is it far?"

"Matter of five miles."

"A-ah!"

The remaining gear was placed in the boat. Angela took a seat in the bows whilst Jim threw his weight on the pole, the sole means of propulsion. There was a loud crack, and the punter was almost thrown over the side as the rotten pole broke in the middle. The strong current sent the craft whirling down-stream. Jim grabbed a coil of rope, made it fast to a ring-bolt, and went over the side. He reached the bank and pulled the craft inshore.

"Throw out the ax. I'll go cut a new pole."

She handed him the weapon, keen as a razor, and watched him tramp up the steep bank. A slight breeze shifted the mist from the sprawling, muddy river and the sun clove through. An isolated mass of ice swirled along, melting as it went. A small island in the center of the stream was gashed and scoured by the recent ice-flow. Trees along the bank had been shorn clear by the enormous pressure of the bergs as they fought their way to freedom. She was sitting thinking of the inscrutable future when a canoe hove into sight. The occupants—two Indians and a white man—were driving it up-stream at amazing speed, considering the fact that the down current was running at a speed of at least five knots. They were passing her, scarcely a dozen yards distant, when she gave a cry of astonishment.

"D'Arcy!"

The white man ceased paddling and looked up sharply. He turned to the Indians and rapped out an order. The canoe drifted in towards Angela's craft and D'Arcy held out his hand, with absolute wonder written in his eyes.

"Angela Featherstone, by all that's holy! What are you doing here?"

"I'm with my husband," she replied bitterly.

"But I thought—I read that you were giving house parties, attending race-meetings, and all that sort of thing. I came to Canada the week before you were married. I read about it and wondered who the happy man was."

Angela's hand played with the running water. D'Arcy was scarcely more than an acquaintance, but at least he was one of her own set. Like a lot of other men, D'Arcy had made love to her and been repulsed.

"Look here, I don't understand this," rejoined D'Arcy. "You—you aren't prospecting?"

She nodded.

"Great Scott! It's bad enough for men, but for a woman——!" He looked round. "Is your husband about?"

"He's up the bank cutting a new pole."

"I see."

He gave her another searching look, the meaning of which was clear to her. In the same mute but eloquent language she gave him to understand the chief fact—she was unhappy.

"To bring you here—to bring a cultured woman into a country like this——!"

Words failed him. He touched her hand softly.

"Where are you making for?"

"A creek down the river called 'Red Ruin.' He has staked two claims there."

He nodded reflectively.

"I'm making for Dawson for some gear. I'll drop in and see you some day if I may?"

"Do. I should enjoy a talk with you."

"Your—your husband won't object?"

"Does it matter?"

He laughed and, shaking her hand, paddled his frail craft out into the stream. Looking up, she saw Jim coming down the bank, with the ax swinging in one hand and a new pole over his shoulder. He unfastened the rope and entered the boat.

"Who was that?" he asked.

"An old friend," she replied coldly.

She saw his eyes flash as he threw his weight on the pole and sent the boat hurtling down the river. But for the bitterness rankling within her, she might have found time to admire her pilot. Big as he was, there was nothing ungainly about him. Every movement was beautiful in its perfect exhibition of muscular energy. The hard knotted muscles in his bare arms swelled and relaxed as they performed the work allotted them. Little beads of perspiration sparkled on the bare neck, and the wind played among the streaming mass of his black hair. But she had no eyes for this. From the moment when he had unceremoniously forced her on this journey of horror and desolation her wounded pride had smothered every other emotion. Her soul hungered for one thing—escape. Thwarted though her other attempts had been, she meant to try again. To try, and try, until he grew sick of holding a woman against her will. The unexpected genesis of D'Arcy raised her hopes to high pitch.

They ultimately entered the narrow, sluggish creek, and Jim beached the boat on the northern side. She saw several stakes driven in the earth, and realized that these marked the boundaries of the two claims.

They pitched the tent some distance from the claims—high up on the bank, to guard against the trickling water that ran down the bluff and into the creek.

On the morrow Jim started digging. She condescended to take a little interest in this, for the experience was novel. A lucky strike might mean freedom from this life of hardship and misery. Once back in England—— The thought was tantalizing. She watched Jim commence to drive a hole through the matted undergrowth, exhibiting surprise when the pick rang hard on the frozen earth beneath.

"Rock?" she queried.

"Nope—earth. It's froze right down for a hundred feet. Bed-rock ought to be three or four feet down. That's where the gold is—or ought to be."

"And if it isn't there?"

"Sink another hole, an' keep on doin' it till I git it."

Later in the day he reached bed-rock, at a depth of six feet from the surface. The washing-pan came into operation, and he sought eagerly for the golden dust—in vain.

"Muck!" he ejaculated.

The next pan, and the next, produced similar results. He commenced another hole about six feet from the first, driving through fallen trees and vegetable matter that had lain there for tens of centuries. When the evening came no sign of gold had appeared. He went to the tent and partook of the meal that Angela had prepared.

"Any luck?" she asked.

"Nope, but it'll come. If not here, then somewhere else. But there's five hundred feet of frontage to be bored yet."

Angela shrugged her shoulders. He talked as though time was of no importance. She knew he would go on and on until he had achieved what he set out to do. The summer was short—a brief four months. In October down would come the winter, freezing everything solid for eight long months. Between October 21 and November 8 the Yukon would close until the middle of May. She realized that she had, as yet, tasted but the latter end of winter. To live through the whole length of the Arctic night, away in the vast wilderness of the North, was a prospect that appalled her.

She wandered up the bank, and through the dense growth of hemlock that led to a precipitous hill. High up on its slope she stopped and surveyed the landscape. Despite the bitterness of her soul, she could not repress an exclamation of wonderment.

Stretching away in all directions was tier upon tier of snow-clad peaks, aglow with the soft radiance of the low-lying sun as it swept the horizon towards the North in its uninterrupted circuit of the heavens. The southern end of the Alaskan range seemed like an opalescent serrated bow, changing to violet through all the darker hues of the spectrum by some strange freak of the atmosphere, only to leap into glorious amber as the fringe of a cloud passed across the origin of illumination.

Everything seemed so vast, so forbidding, it reduced her to a state of ignominy. If one desired a sense of Eternity, here it was. Time and space merged into one inscrutable entity—the Spirit of the North. She had felt that Spirit when crossing the passes that led to the Klondyke. Here it was limned in clearer form. The everlasting peaks; the aquamarine glaciers, roaring and plunging into the sea; the vast forests sprawling across the valleys and up the bases of the mountains to some two thousand feet, virgin as they were ten thousand years ago; the noisy fiords cumbered with the ice of crystal rivers, breaking the deathlike silence with ear-splitting concussions—all combined in one awe-inspiring picture of nature's incomparable handiwork.

And here under her feet were fragrant flowers, lured from the shallow covering of earth and matted creeper to last but a brief season, and then to sleep the whole long winter under the snow.

She sighed and made her way down the hill towards the tent. Beside the fire was Jim, gazing into the past. She thought her husband was like this strange immense land—cruel but magnificent, primal and alluring, yet hateful. As she approached, a similar comparison entered Jim's mind, with her as the object.

"Cold and proud as a mountain peak," he muttered. "There's no sun that can melt her, no storm that can move her. God, but she's beautiful!"



CHAPTER XI

FRUITLESS TOIL

The two claims on Red Ruin became as honeycombed as a wasp's nest. Day after day Angela watched the bare-armed, red-shirted figure at work, witnessing his failure with a set face. It became patent that the claims were bad ones, and that Red Ruin was living up to its name. All the labor of driving through matted undergrowth and frozen gravel was vain. "Hope long deferred maketh the heart sick," and it made Angela's sick. She knew that sooner or later Jim must accept the inevitable and abandon the quest—there. She hoped it would be soon. After all, failure meant the same as success—to her.

If Red Ruin failed, what else could he do but pack up and go home, as thousands of others were doing? The patched-up steamers that were now plying up the river were packed with a queer gathering of "failures" and "successes." Men who had staked all on this promising gamble were going back to the harness of civilization, sadder and wiser beings. The relatively few successful ones were making programmes for the future—a future in which an unaccustomed luxury figured prominently. Disease and famine were taking their toll of the participants in the great adventure. From all along the Yukon watershed came news of pestilence and panic. Scurvy raged in Circle City, and a hungry mob at Forty Mile was only quelled by troopers with loaded rifles. A boat coming up-river laden with 200 belated gold-mad men and women was stopped by the Commissioner, and all but those who had foresight enough to bring a twelve-months' food supply were refused a landing, for the famine was acute.

These pitiful facts came to Angela's ears. Even money could no longer purchase food. The knowledge put a terrible weapon into her hands. If she destroyed their food supply freedom was assured. For one hour she even contemplated this means of escape. Was it not for his good too? Could he hope to win where thousands had failed? She tried to convince herself that it would be no act of treachery but one of kindness. The lie rankled in her brain. A revulsion of feeling came as she reflected upon the immediate past, for despite all her antagonism she could not but admire the indomitable will of him. Failure was written all over the two honeycombed claims, but it never daunted him. She heard the spade and ax ringing on the hard earth from early morning till late evening, and saw him swinging up the hill, a little grim, but otherwise unchanged.

She was impatiently waiting for him to confess his failure, but he never did. There was still some hundred feet of river front to be "tried out," and Jim calmly went on boring his monotonous holes. It was maddening to watch him.

One morning two men came poling down the creek in a flat-bottomed boat packed with gear and food. They pulled up at sight of Jim. He recognized them as the owners of two claims farther up the creek.

"Still diggin', pard?" queried one.

"Yep."

"Wal, it's sure a waste of time. There ain't no pay dirt on this yere creek. We got five hundred feet up yonder plum full of holes, and we ain't shoveled out naught but muck."

Jim stretched himself.

"'Tain't panning out up to schedule," he grunted, "but I'm going through with this bit afore I hit the trail again."

"Better cut it, Cap," said the second man. "I gotta hunch they didn't call this Red Ruin for nothin'. See here, I found six abandoned claims half a mile up. I reckon the guys who pitched that lot over were the same as did the christening of this bit of water."

Jim laughed carelessly. He had little doubt that the location was bad, but it went against his nature to quit before he had carried out his task. The first man stuck a wad of tobacco between his back teeth.

"That pardner o' yourn don't seem to take kindly to diggin'," he ejaculated.

Jim stared at him, and then tightened his lips.

"No need to fly off the handle, Cap. I had a pard like him once, strong on paper but liked the other fellow to do the diggin'."

"What the blazes are you talkin' about?" demanded Jim. "I ain't inviting you to give opinions. What's more, she ain't a him. You go to hell—and quick about it!"

The man looked at his comrade and they both grinned. Jim put down the spade in a way that caused them to stare blankly.

"Wal, you're some joker. Pete, am I blind? It's no odds, anyway, and no offense meant, but by ginger! it's the first time I've seen a woman smoke a two-dollar cigar."

"What's that?"

Jim suddenly felt dazed as a new explanation entered his mind. He stepped down towards the boat.

"What's all this?" he inquired. "I'm kinder interested."

The first man explained.

"I bin campin' way back there. The other guys who abandoned them claims played hell with the timber—gormandized the whole lot—must have gone in for the timber business. So I bin cuttin' spruce up there on the hill. Wal, I often seen you drilling holes in this muck, but damn me if I ever seen your pard put a hand to the spade. He seems to live in that darned tent. I seen him twice hiking out—to Dawson, for a jag, I guess. Didn't seem on the level to me——"

Jim's mouth twitched. He had no doubt about the veracity of this statement. Someone had been visiting Angela, and she had said nothing of it.

"Didn't know he went to Dawson," he replied evasively. "Thanks for the information. I'll sure talk to him about it."

They nodded and began to pole down the creek and out into the river. Jim sat down on a pile of muck and mopped his brow. The tent was approachable from the river on the other side of the bluff. The spruce-trees that surrounded it hid it from the view of one working by the creek, though any occupant would have the advantage of seeing without being seen. He remembered reaching the tent a few days before, to find Angela singularly embarrassed. Was that the day on which the stranger had called? Despite his heartache he could think no wrong of her. She was lonely, pining for the life she had left. Between him and her loomed an apparently unbridgeable gulf. If she had found a friend in that mixed crowd back in Dawson, hadn't she a right to see him and speak with him? His heart answered in the affirmative, but it hurt just the same.

He said nothing to Angela on the subject, but carried on with his thankless task, with a strange mixture of pride and jealousy eating into his heart. When more wood was needed he innocently(?) hewed down two spruce-trees in close proximity to the tent, whose removal afforded him a view of the tent entrance from the scene of his daily "grind."

For a whole week he kept his eyes intermittently on the brown bell-tent, but the stranger came not. He wondered if Angela had become aware of the increased vision afforded him by the felled trees, and was careful to keep her strange friend away. He noticed some slight change in her disposition—a queer light in her eye and a mocking ring in the monosyllabic replies which she gave to any questions he found it necessary to put to her.

Their conversation had not improved with time. If he addressed her at all it was with reference to the domestic arrangements. She, on her part, never interrogated him on any subject. Every movement of her lips, and of her body, made it clear that she regarded him as a complete stranger under whose jailership certain circumstances had placed her. Her determination was scarcely less than his own. She meant to break his stubborn spirit—to arouse in him, if possible, a violent aversion to her presence. Already the summer was vanishing. The few birds—swallows, swifts, and yellow warblers—that had immigrated at the coming of spring were preparing for a long journey South. Cold winds were turning the leaves brown, and the whole landscape deepened into autumn glory. Angela noted the change with an impatience that was evident to any observer.

Jim, testing the last few yards of claim, pondered over the problem of her change of front. She even sang at times, in a way that only succeeded in deepening his suspicions. Was she singing on account of some happiness newly found?—some interest in life which lay beyond himself and the immediate surroundings?

It seemed to be the case, and the consciousness of this disturbing truth caused him acute mental agony. Some other man could bring her happiness. Some other man had succeeded in breaking into that icy reserve against which all attempts on his part had been vain. Was it worth while continuing the drama? If he let her escape, forgetfulness might come. Time had its reward no less than its revenges. Why suffer, as he was suffering, all the agonies of burning, unrequited love. At nights, with that hateful curtain between them, he had writhed in anguish to hear the soft breathing within a foot or so of his head. More than once a mad desire to rise up and claim her as mate came to him, only to be cast aside as the better part of him prevailed over these primal instincts.

"She's mine," he argued, "mine by purchase, an' if I was anything of a man I'd go and take her now."

But just because he was a man he didn't. She owed her sanctity to the fact that this rough son of Nature loved her with a love that seemed to rend his heart in twain. The thin canvas between them was as safe a partition as walls of granite. She might have found time to admire the quality of his love, considering the circumstances prevailing, but her pride left scant room for any sentiment of that sort. She merely took these things for granted.

Jim, with the last hole bored in the iron earth, and the precious glint of gold still as absent as ever, gazed back at the tent with knitted brows. Red Ruin was a failure, as he had long known it to be. The future loomed dark and uncertain. There were no more creeks near Dawson worth the staking, but gold lay farther afield—over the vast repelling mountains. It would mean suffering, misery, for her. A winter in the Great Alone, harassed by blizzards, bitten by the intense cold, tracked by wolves and all the ferocious starved things of the foodless wilderness, was all he had to offer—that, and a burning love of which she seemed totally unconscious, or coldly indifferent. Why not let her go now? To see her suffer were but to multiply his own suffering a thousandfold, and yet she was his in the sight of God! He emitted a hard, guttural laugh as the mockery of the phrase was made clear to him.

He collected the gear and, slinging it across his shoulders, mounted the hill. Overhead a long stream of birds was beating toward the South. He bade them a mute farewell, knowing that he would miss their silvern voices, and their morning wrangling among the spruce and hemlocks.

"I guess life might be beautiful enough," he ruminated, "if one only had the things one wants, but the gittin' of 'em is sure hell!"

He flung the pick and ax and washing-pan to the ground, and looked inside the tent. It was empty, and the cooking utensils were lying about as they were left at breakfast-time. Then he noticed that some of Angela's clothes were missing. The latter fact removed any lingering doubts from his mind. If any further evidence were required, it existed in the shape of a pile of cigar ash on the duckboarding.

"So!" he muttered.

He walked outside and stood gazing over the autumn-tinted country. A stray bird twitted among the trees, but the great silence was settling down every hour as the feathered immigrants mounted from copse and dell into the blue vault of heaven.

"So!" he repeated, as though he were powerless to find any fuller expression of his emotions. He went back into the tent and slipped a revolver into his holster, then with huge strides went over the hill towards Dawson.

He covered the five miles in less than fifty minutes, and entered the congested main street. The saloons were busy as usual, and there seemed to be more people than ever. A trading store was selling mackinaws, parkhas, and snow-shoes, as fast as they could be handled. "Old-timers" lounged in the doorway and grinned at the huge prices paid for these winter necessaries. Jim evaded the throng and made for the river bank. He guessed that Angela and her "friend" would not risk staying long in Dawson, and had doubtless timed their escape to catch the last boat down-river.

At that moment the Silas P. Young gave announcement of its departure by two long blasts from its steam-whistle. Jim came out on the river bank and saw the boat well out in the stream, its paddle churning up the muddy water. Near him was an old man waving a red handkerchief. He recognized Jim and stopped his signaling.

"So you've sent her home, pard? Wal, it's a darn good——"

"What's that?"

"Yore wife. I sent mine too. It's going to be merry hell in this yere town afore the summer comes round——"

Jim stood petrified. He had half expected this, but now that he was face to face with it the blow came harder than he expected it to be. She was going—going out of his life for ever.... Perhaps it was as well that way. He turned to Hanky, the old man.

"Did you see her go?"

"Yep. I saw her go aboard."

"Was—was there any other guy with her?"

"No—leastways, that fellow D'Arcy saw her off. Friend of yours, I take it?"

Jim nodded, scarcely trusting himself to speak. The name was unknown to him, but he remembered the man in the canoe who had spoken to Angela a few months before. It must be the same man—the man who had visited her at the camp, and who had dropped the cigar ash on the floor that morning. D'Arcy had triumphed, then! He concluded that the latter must be aboard, though Hanky had not seen him go on the boat. He thought of Lord Featherstone and all those fine relations and friends of Angela's. How they would chuckle when they heard that she had escaped from her "impossible husband"! His gorge rose as he visualized the scene. They had sold him something only to get it back again for nothing. It wasn't straight dealing—it wasn't on the level. They had bargained on this eventuality when they made the deal. They concluded it would be easy to hoodwink a "cowpuncher."

"No, by God!" he muttered. "I ain't lettin' go."

He turned to Hanky.

"You gotta hoss, Hank?"

"Sure!"

"Will you loan him to me for an hour or two? I'll take care of him. I'm strong on hosses."

"She's yourn," replied Hanky. "Come right along and I'll fix you up. She's stabled at Dan's place."

Ten minutes later Jim was mounted on the big black mare. He waved his hand to Hanky and went up the street like a streak of lightning.



CHAPTER XII

INTO THE WILDERNESS

Hanky's mare, after being cooped up in a stable for a week without exercise, stretched its neck to the fresh air, and under the urging heels of Jim killed space at a remarkable rate. Mounting an almost perpendicular hill, Jim saw the Silas P. Young beating down-stream, a mile or two ahead, at a steady ten knots.

He made queer noises with his lips and his mount responded instantly, leaping with distended nostrils over stone and hummocks, like a piece of live steel. To be on a horse again was glorious. Instantly his form had merged with the animal's—they moved as one creature, raising dust and moss as they thundered down the river.

The boat turned a corner and was lost to view for a few minutes, but a mile lower down he saw it again, with a creamy wake streaming behind it. He was nearer now and going strong. He pressed his hand over the glossy neck of the horse and crooned to it.

"Gee, yore some hoss—you beaut! The man that lays whip on your flanks oughter be shot. We're gaining, honey. Another league and we'll be putting it over that 'honking' bunch of machinery. Stead-dee!"

The thundering pace was maintained. Uphill, downhill, on the flat, it was all the same. Heels were no longer necessary. The horse understood that the big "horse-man" wanted to get somewhere in quick time, and meant to see him through.

Twenty minutes later they were abreast of the Silas P. Young. Then they shot into a deep gully and were lost among a thick forest of spruce-trees. For two miles horse and man evaded low-hanging branches and treacherous footfalls, until the timber thinned and the straggling Yukon came again to view. Away up-stream was the steamboat, crawling down by the near bank. There was no time to be lost if Angela's escape was to be frustrated. He tethered his foam-flecked mount to a tree and crept down the steep bank. The muddied water swirled along at a ramping five knots—a vile-looking cocoa-colored mass that was scarcely inviting to any swimmer. He raised his hands and dived down.

With a powerful over-arm stroke he made for the line which the steamboat was following. In that wide welter of water the bobbing head would in all probability be lost to view, or any kind of shout would be drowned by the clanking noise of the paddle-wheels. The extreme danger of the exploit was not lost upon him, but the resolve, once rooted, stuck fast.

He looked up and saw the Silas P. Young bearing down on him, her squat nose setting her course in dead line with his eyes. Treading water, he waited for the psychological moment. The chief danger lay in the vicinity of the paddle-wheel. To be caught up in that meant certain death. He resolved to fetch the boat as near the bows as possible and on the port side.

He heard a bell ring twice, and then to his horror the boat changed her course. It was barely two hundred yards away, and bore straight down on him. He dived and swam for his life to avoid direct impact.... At that moment a man saw him and yelled out something to the Captain. The latter peered over the side, but saw nothing.

"You're drunk!" he retorted.

"Tell you I seen a man right under her nose. Better stop the boat."

The Captain shrugged his shoulders.

"I guess I'll keep straight on," he replied. "What's it got to do with me, anyway? He ain't a passenger——"

He stopped and gasped as an enormous, saturated spectre climbed over the side. A crowd of men playing cards nearby stopped their game and stared.

"Who in hell are you?" asked the Captain.

Jim shook the wet from his hair and pushed forward without a word. His keen eyes ranged all over the packed decks. Then he grunted as he caught sight of a familiar figure in the stern of the boat. It was Angela, white of face, and amazed at the appearance of this totally unexpected apparition. The crowd, struck dumb with wonderment, made way for him. He strode up to Angela and stopped within a foot of her, gazing fixedly into her eyes.

"You!"

"Yep—it's me all right. Are you ready?"

"Ready——!"

"Can't wait too long. It's a tidy swim, and the river gits wider every mile."

She recoiled from him in horror. For the past hour she had been dreaming of the comforts and joys of civilization. Once in the river, escape had seemed certain—and here was her pugnacious jailer with determination written all over his set features.

"I'm waiting," he said calmly.

"Are you mad?" she retorted. "I'm finished with that terrible life. This time you have come too late. Unless you go ashore now there will not be another chance."

"Then we'll go right now."

"We!"

"Yep—you and me."

He moved towards her and caught her firmly by the arm. A group of men, interested spectators of the drama, thought it was time to interfere. One of them, a grizzled man of fifty, touched Jim on the arm.

"What's all this, stranger?"

"Don't butt in," growled Jim.

His interrogator disregarded him, and turned to Angela.

"Who is this broiler, missie?"

"He is—he is——. He wants to take me back there, to a place I hate! Oh, please bring the Captain!"

The captain was already pushing his way through the crowd, annoyed at this unconventional method of boarding his ship. He put both hands in his pockets, stuck out his little bearded chin, and glared at Jim.

"What the blazes do you mean by boarding my ship? Where's your ticket, eh? And leave that lady alone—she's a passenger of mine."

Some of his indignation vanished when the fierce gray eyes of Jim fixed him in an unflinching stare. He saw trouble looming in the offing. Jim turned his eyes to Angela.

"We'll be mushing," he said briefly.

Linking her arm in his, he began to push through the crowd. The grizzled man said something to his comrade, and they spread out and formed a human barrier to his further progress.

"Don't butt in, boys—'tain't healthy," warned Jim.

"Git him!" whispered the grizzled man, "and yank him back in the river!"

Jim's hand flew to his belt and the big revolver was jerked out in a trice. He pushed it into the stomach of the foremost man, and caused that worthy to shiver with terror. The latter backed away, whilst his friends hunted for firearms.

"Stand aside!" roared Jim.

The lane widened, but at the end of it were two men handling revolvers, with a dangerous glint in their eyes.

"So yore after stoppin' a man eloping with his own wife, eh?"

"Wife——?"

"Thet's so."

The crowd stared. This put a new complexion on matters. The Captain looked at Angela.

"Say, is that husky your 'old man'?"

Angela flushed with embarrassment.

"I hate him, and I won't go with him!" she cried hotly.

The Captain spread out his hands.

"Why in hell didn't you say so afore?" he asked Jim.

"Is it any of your darned business?"

"I guess it's your funeral, all right," chuckled the grizzled man.

"Better come on as far as Eagle. I'll put you off there," said the Captain. "Can't stop just here."

Jim shook his head and moved towards the rail.

"I'm sure in a hurry," he said. "We ain't scared of a drop of water, are we Angy?"

Angela bestowed upon him a look of mingled contempt and terror. The high wooded bank seemed miles away, and the river ran like a millrace.

"I won't come—I won't!" she hissed.

But he had already reached the rail. Her heart seemed to freeze with horror as he lifted her on to the seat and clasped her firmly round the waist, imprisoning her arms so that resistance became impossible.

"Stop!" yelled the Captain. "You can't go that way——"

A gasp came from the crowd as they saw him take a deep breath and leap down with his burden. They disappeared beneath the filthy water, to come to the surface a few seconds later in exactly the same position as they had entered it—Angela with her arms held from behind, and the amazing husband swimming on his broad back, with head towards the nearest bank. The current carried him down-stream, but his inshore progress was swift and certain. A huge yell came from the admiring spectators as the Silas P. Young pursued her course and rounded another bend.

Angela, stunned and terrified by this unexpected precipitation into ice-cold water, lay like a log with eyes closed. She lost all account of time in the mental paralysis that gripped her.... Only when they touched bottom and Jim commenced to carry her to the bank did her full sense come into operation. She stood in her sodden clothing, her pale, beautiful face quivering as she regarded this monster of a man.

"You brute! You heartless ruffian! Oh, if I could only make you feel what I think of you!"

"If I could only make you feel just what I think of you!" he said slowly. "But we're both trying to do just what can't be done. Let's drop it and find the hoss. Better foller behind, and not try running away. Maybe you think it amuses me to yank you back like this every time—but it don't."

He began to tramp along a beaten path that wound up over the hill. Angela followed, with swift steps, for a cold wind blew down the valley and set her teeth chattering. Overhead thick gray clouds obliterated the sun. A mile farther on Jim stopped and, slipping off his coat, went to her.

"You're cold. Put it on."

"No—thanks."

"Put it on!"

"Why this sudden regard for my welfare?"

It was like a stab to him. She saw it and was pleased. But later on she was a little ashamed of that throb of transient joy. She would have liked to express her regrets, but her pride prevented such a descent.

They found the horse, pawing impatiently at the ground. He whinnied plaintively as he heard Jim's footfall and the call that the latter's lips gave utterance to. Without a word Jim lifted Angela into the saddle and mounted behind her. A "cluck" from his lips, and the mare went galloping across the uneven country towards Red Ruin. They arrived there just as the first flakes of snow began to fall.

For a whole week no single word passed between them. The first snow had come, and every day found the thermometer registering a lower temperature. In a week or two the whole land would be in the grip of the pitiless winter. What were Jim's intentions? She saw him pondering over a map and marking routes. After a trip into Dawson he came back with a team of dogs and a new sled, plus dog-feed, snow-shoes, and sundry other gear. One evening he broke the silence.

"Angela!"

She lifted her head from the book that she was reading.

"We're hitting the trail to-morrow."

"To where?"

"North—the Chandalar River district. There's nothing left worth staking down here. But there's gold up there, and we can't afford to waste time."

"Very well," she said icily, and turned to the book again.

He put his arm across and closed the book.

"Better git this thing clear."

"Isn't it clear?"

"Nope. Listen here—we got enough grub to carry us over the winter, that and no more. My last wad of dollars went to buy them dawgs. I guess you think I'm trash, and perhaps I am, but up here in the North men stick by their pardners till they strike gold or leave their bones on the trail. You're my pard now—won't you act on that and make the best of it?"

Her eyes shone defiantly in the glare of the paraffin lamp. Appealing to her sense of justice was useless in the face of circumstances.

"You call it partnership when the one is forced against her will, and the other uses every kind of diabolical means to assist his mastery? I am coming with you because there is no way out of it. You understand. Nothing but force can save me—I see that. Your code of life is based on brute strength devoid of any kind of moral sense."

His lips moved in a way that evidenced his resentment.

"What you call 'moral sense' is a pretty queer thing, I allow. It lets a man sell his daughter for hard cash, and it lets that daughter play with a man's feelings. If that's moral sense I ain't takin' none."

"Will you never forget that? Do you think I would have gone on with that had I believed you misinterpreted the whole thing?"

"Misinterpreted! Say, do your kisses allow of misinterpretation?"

She was amazed at this quick and telling thrust. She had yet much to learn about Colorado Jim. Education is a matter of mind, independent of environment. She made the mistake of believing it to be the special monopoly of high-schools and gentle breeding. She was unable to recognize the diamond in its crude unpolished state.

"When I kissed you, did you think that was a kind o' habit with me?" he queried.

She shrugged her shoulders, not wishing to remember the incident.

"It was the first time anything like that had happened to me," he resumed, "and it was like touching heaven while it lasted. But I see now there was nothing in it—no more than kissing one of them saloon women—— Ugh!"

She felt like striking him, in her anger, at the insulting comparison, but she was not unconscious of the truth of it.... She opened the book again, and strove to forget his presence and the approaching horror of Arctic wanderings. She saw him pull the fur cap down over his ears, and disappear through the tent opening to feed the howling malemutes.