The Washburn times. [volume] (Washburn, Wis.) 1896-1976, 1918-01-17

"Sufferin' crackyi' cried another of
the party. mo whites?'
mary white,'' Sloper sententiously
affirmed. But it's only 500 more up
the Yukon to Dawson. Call it 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 h, no man play out,
ten, twenty, forty, fifty days. Um ba-
bies come" designating the incapa-
bles), mo can tell. Mebbe when h
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 mys-
teries which Turk in the vast recesses
of the north Built when and by
whom no man could tell. Two graves
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 tie struggling dog
in the snow. The cook made mute
protest for delay, threw handful of
bacon into a noisy pot of beans, then
came to attention. Sloper rose to his
feet His body was a ludicrOus con-
trast to the healthy physiques of the
incapables Yellow and weak, fleeing
from a South American fever hole, he
had not broken his fight across the
zones and was still able to toll 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
days journey. And ali this day he
had whipped his stronger comrades
into venturing thousand miles of the
! stiffest hardship man can conceive. He
was the incarnation of the unrest of
his race. and the old TeutOnic stub
bornness, dashed with the quick grasp
and action of the Yankee, held the
flesh in the bondage of the spirit.
"An those in eavor of going on with
the dogs as soon as the ice sets say
aye"
Aver rang out eight voices-voices
destined to string trail of oaths along
many hundred miles of pain.
Contrary minded?'
Nor For the first time the incapa-
bles were united without some COM
promise of personal interests.
"And what are you going to do about
it?" Weatherbee added belligerently.
Majority rule! Major''y rule!" clam
ored the rest of the party.
81 know the expedition is liable to
fall through if you don't come" Sloper
replied sweetly, ''but 1 guess, if we try
real hard, we can manage to do with
out you. What do you say, boysY
The sentiment was cheered to the
echo.
but say, you know" Cuthfert ven
tured apprehensively, whats a chap
like me to do?'
"Ain't you coming with us?"
MOO"
"Then do as you 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 west
erner 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. well pull out to-
morrow, if we camp within five miles,
Just to get everything in running order
and remember if we've forgotten any
thing
The sleds groaned by on their steel
shod runners, and the dogs strained
low i'm the harnesses in which they
were born to die. Jacques Baptiste
paused by the side of Sloper to get
q 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 others
shoulder.
Jacques Baptiste, did you ever hear
of the Kilkenny catsw
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
understandable nothing was left. Very
good. Now, these two men don't like
work. They won't work. We know
that. They'll be all alone in that cabin
all winter-a mighty long, dark winter.
Kilkenny cats-well?"
The Frenchman i'm Baptiste shrugged
his shoulders, but the Indian in him
was silent. Nevertheless it was an
eloquent shrug, pregnant with proph-
ecy.
Things prospered in the little cabin
at first. The rough badinage of their
comrades had made Weatherbee and
Cutbfert conscious of the mutual re-
sponsibility which had devolved upon
them. Besides, there was not so much
work, after all, for two healthy men.
And the removal of the cruel whip
hand, or. in other words, the BULLDOG