The Alaskan | Page 5

she said. "I couldn't help it. I am an American. I love America. I think I love it
more than anything else in the world--more than my religion, even. America, Mr. Holt.
And America doesn't necessarily mean a great many of America's people. I love to think
that I first came ashore in the Mayflower. That is why my name is Standish. And I just
wanted to remind you that Alaska is America."
Alan Holt was a bit amazed. The girl's face was no longer placidly quiet. Her eyes were
radiant. He sensed the repressed thrill in her voice, and he knew that in the light of day he
would have seen fire in her cheeks. He smiled, and in that smile he could not quite keep
back the cynicism of his thought.
"And what do you know about Alaska, Miss Standish?"
"Nothing," she said. "And yet I love it." She pointed to the mountains. "I wish I might

have been born among them. You are fortunate. You should love America."
"Alaska, you mean!"
"No, America." There was a flashing challenge in her eyes. She was not speaking
apologetically. Her meaning was direct.
The irony on Alan's lips died away. With a little laugh he bowed again. "If I am speaking
to a daughter of Captain Miles Standish, who came over in the Mayflower, I stand
reproved," he said. "You should be an authority on Americanism, if I am correct in
surmising your relationship."
"You are correct," she replied with a proud, little tilt of her glossy head, "though I think
that only lately have I come to an understanding of its significance--and its responsibility.
I ask your pardon again for interrupting you. It was not premeditated. It just happened."
She did not wait for either of them to speak, but flashed the two a swift smile and passed
down the promenade.
The music had ceased and the cabins at last were emptying themselves of life.
"A remarkable young woman," Alan remarked. "I imagine that the spirit of Captain Miles
Standish may be a little proud of this particular olive-branch. A chip off the old block,
you might say. One would almost suppose he had married Priscilla and this young lady
was a definite though rather indirect result."
He had a curious way of laughing without any more visible manifestation of humor than
spoken words. It was a quality in his voice which one could not miss, and at times, when
ironically amused, it carried a sting which he did not altogether intend.
In another moment Mary Standish was forgotten, and he was asking the captain a
question which was in his mind.
"The itinerary of this ship is rather confused, is it not?"
"Yes--rather," acknowledged Captain Rifle. "Hereafter she will ply directly between
Seattle and Nome. But this time we're doing the Inside Passage to Juneau and Skagway
and will make the Aleutian Passage via Cordova and Seward. A whim of the owners,
which they haven't seen fit to explain to me. Possibly the Canadian junket aboard may
have something to do with it. We're landing them at Skagway, where they make the
Yukon by way of White Horse Pass. A pleasure trip for flabby people nowadays, Holt. I
can remember--"
"So can I," nodded Alan Holt, looking at the mountains beyond which lay the
dead-strewn trails of the gold stampede of a generation before. "I remember. And old
Donald is dreaming of that hell of death back there. He was all choked up tonight. I wish
he might forget."

"Men don't forget such women as Jane Hope," said the captain softly.
"You knew her?"
"Yes. She came up with her father on my ship. That was twenty-five years ago last
autumn, Alan. A long time, isn't it? And when I look at Mary Standish and hear her
voice--" He hesitated, as if betraying a secret, and then he added: "--I can't help thinking
of the girl Donald Hardwick fought for and won in that death-hole at White Horse. It's
too bad she had to die."
"She isn't dead," said Alan. The hardness was gone from his voice. "She isn't dead," he
repeated. "That's the pity of it. She is as much a living thing to him today as she was
twenty years ago."
After a moment the captain said, "She was talking with him early this evening, Alan."
"Miss Captain Miles Standish, you mean?"
"Yes. There seems to be something about her that amuses you."
Alan shrugged his shoulders. "Not at all. I think she is a most admirable young person.
Will you have a cigar, Captain? I'm going to promenade a bit. It does me good to mix in
with the sour-doughs."
The two lighted their cigars from a single match, and Alan went his way, while the
captain