The Alaskan | Page 7

few
steps away:
"He was mistaken, gentlemen. John Graham should not be hung. That would be too
merciful."
He resumed his way then, nodding at them as he passed. But he had scarcely gone out of

their vision when quick footsteps pattered behind him, and the girl's hand touched his arm
lightly.
"Mr. Holt, please--"
He stopped, sensing the fact that the soft pressure of her fingers was not altogether
unpleasant. She hesitated, and when she spoke again, only her finger-tips touched his arm.
She was looking shoreward, so that for a moment he could see only the lustrous richness
of her smooth hair. Then she was meeting his eyes squarely, a flash of challenge in the
gray depths of her own.
"I am alone on the ship," she said. "I have no friends here. I want to see things and ask
questions. Will you ... help me a little?"
"You mean ... escort you?"
"Yes, if you will. I should feel more comfortable."
Nettled at first, the humor of the situation began to appeal to him, and he wondered at the
intense seriousness of the girl. She did not smile. Her eyes were very steady and very
businesslike, and at the same time very lovely.
"The way you put it, I don't see how I can refuse," he said. "As for the
questions--probably Captain Rifle can answer them better than I."
"I don't like to trouble him," she replied. "He has much to think about. And you are
alone."
"Yes, quite alone. And with very little to think about."
"You know what I mean, Mr. Holt. Possibly you can not understand me, or won't try. But
I'm going into a new country, and I have a passionate desire to learn as much about that
country as I can before I get there. I want to know about many things. For instance--"
"Yes."
"Why did you say what you did about John Graham? What did the other man mean when
he said he should be hung?"
There was an intense directness in her question which for a moment astonished him. She
had withdrawn her fingers from his arm, and her slim figure seemed possessed of a
sudden throbbing suspense as she waited for an answer. They had turned a little, so that
in the light of the moon the almost flowerlike whiteness of her face was clear to him.
With her smooth, shining hair, the pallor of her face under its lustrous darkness, and the
clearness of her eyes she held Alan speechless for a moment, while his brain struggled to
seize upon and understand the something about her which made him interested in spite of
himself. Then he smiled and there was a sudden glitter in his eyes.

"Did you ever see a dog fight?" he asked.
She hesitated, as if trying to remember, and shuddered slightly. "Once."
"What happened?"
"It was my dog--a little dog. His throat was torn--"
He nodded. "Exactly. And that is just what John Graham is doing to Alaska, Miss
Standish. He's the dog--a monster. Imagine a man with a colossal financial power behind
him, setting out to strip the wealth from a new land and enslave it to his own desires and
political ambitions. That is what John Graham is doing from his money-throne down
there in the States. It's the financial support he represents, curse him! Money--and a man
without conscience. A man who would starve thousands or millions to achieve his ends.
A man who, in every sense of the word, is a murderer--"
The sharpness of her cry stopped him. If possible, her face had gone whiter, and he saw
her hands clutched suddenly at her breast. And the look in her eyes brought the old,
cynical twist back to his lips.
"There, I've hurt your puritanism again, Miss Standish," he said, bowing a little. "In order
to appeal to your finer sensibilities I suppose I must apologize for swearing and calling
another man a murderer. Well, I do. And now--if you care to stroll about the ship--"
From a respectful distance the three young engineers watched Alan and Mary Standish as
they walked forward.
"A corking pretty girl," said one of them, drawing a deep breath. "I never saw such hair
and eyes--"
"I'm at the same table with them," interrupted another. "I'm second on her left, and she
hasn't spoken three words to me. And that fellow she is with is like an icicle out of
Labrador."
And Mary Standish was saying: "Do you know, Mr. Holt, I envy those young engineers. I
wish I were a man."
"I wish you were," agreed Alan amiably.
Whereupon Mary Standish's pretty mouth lost its softness for an instant. But Alan did not
observe this. He was enjoying his cigar and the sweet