Klondike Nuggets | Page 9

you mean?" asked Frank.
"Hardman, Ike Hardman himsilf."
"Who is he?"
"Didn't I tell ye he was the one that robbed me of my money? Sure I did, what is the matter wid ye?"
"You told us about being robbed," said Jeff, "but didn't mention the name of the man who did it."
"I want to inthrodooce mesilf to him!" exclaimed Tim, flushed with indignation; "axscoose me for a bit."
He strode to the door with the intention of hunting up and chastising the rogue, but, with his hand on the knob, checked himself. For a moment he debated with himself, and then, as his broad face lit up with his natural good humor, he came back to his chair, paraphrasing Uncle Toby:
"The world's big enough for the likes of him and me, though he does crowd a bit. Let him git all the good out of the theft he can, say I."
Dyea is at the head of navigation, and is the timber line, being a hundred miles to the northwest of Juneau. It is at the upper fork of what is termed Lynn Canal, the most extensive fiord on the coast. It is, in truth, a continuation of Chatham Strait, the north and south passage being several hundred miles in extent, the whole forming the trough of a glacier which disappeared ages ago.
On the day following the incident described our friends boarded the little, untidy steam launch bound for Dyea. There were fifty passengers beside themselves, double the number it was intended to carry, the destination of all being the gold fields. The weather was keen and biting, and the accommodations on the boat poor. They pushed here and there, surveying with natural interest the bleak scenery along shore, the mountains white with snow, and foretelling the more terrible regions that lay beyond. Hundreds of miles remained to be traversed before they could expect to gather the yellow particles, but neither of the sturdy lads felt any abatement of courage.
"Well, look at that!" suddenly exclaimed Roswell, catching the arm of his companion as they were making their way toward the front of the boat.
Frank turned in the direction indicated, and his astonishment was as great as his companion's. Tim McCabe and the shabby scamp, Ike Hardman, were sitting near each other on a bench, and smoking their pipes like two affectionate brothers. No one would have suspected there had ever been a ripple between them.
Catching the eye of the amazed boys, Tim winked and threw up his chin as an invitation for them to approach. Frank shook his head, and he and Roswell went back to where Jeff was smoking his pipe. They had hardly time to tell their story when the Irishman joined them.
[Illustration: CATCHING THE EYE OF THE AMAZED BOYS, TIM WINKED.]
"I obsarved by the exprission on your faces that ye were a bit surprised," he said, addressing the youths.
"Is that fellow the Hardman you told us about?" asked Roswell.
"The same at your sarvice."
"And the man who robbed you of your money?"
Tim flung one of his muscular legs over the other, and with a twinkle of the eyes said:
"Hardman has made it all right; the matter is fixed atween oursilves."
"Then he give you back your money?" was the inquiring remark of Jeff.
"Not precisely that, though he said he would do the same if he only had it with him, but he run up agin a game at Juneau and was cleaned out. Whin he told me that I was a bit sorry for him. He further obsarved that it was his intintion if he won to stake me agin and add something extra for interest on what he borrowed of me. That spakes well for Hardman, so we shook hands over it," was the hearty conclusion of Tim.
The boys were too astonished to speak. Jeff Graham's shoulders shook, and he looked sideways at his friend with a quizzical expression, unable to do justice to his feelings. As for Tim, his red face was the picture of bland innocence, but he was not through. Astounding as were the statements he had just made, he had a still more astounding one to submit.
CHAPTER IV.
THE AVALANCHE.
It was late in the day that the little steamer arrived at Dyea, which was found to be a village with one log store, a number of movable tents, and without any wharf, the beach being so flat that at high water the tide reaches a half mile or more inland. To guard against losing any of their supplies, Tim McCabe told his friends that it would be necessary to unload them themselves.
"From this p'int," said he, "we must hoe our own row; under hiven we must depind on oursilves. Hardman, lind a hand there, and step lively."
To the astonishment of the youths, the man took hold and wrought with right