The Rim of the Desert | Page 5

said: "That was Weatherbee; I never knew another
such man. Always effacing himself when it came to a choice; always
ready to share a good thing. Why, he made some of his friends rich, and
yet in the end, after seven years of it, seven years of struggle of the
worst kind, what did he have to show?"
"Nothing, Foster; nothing but seven feet of earth up there on the edge
of the wilderness." Tisdale's voice vibrated gently; an emotion like the
surface stir of shaken depths crossed his face. "And a tract of
unimproved desert down here in eastern Washington," he added.
"And Mrs. Weatherbee," supplemented Feversham quickly. "You
mustn't forget her. Any man must have counted such a wife his most
valuable asset. Here's to her! Young, charming, clever; a typical
American beauty!" He stopped to drain his glass, then went on. "I
remember the day Weatherbee sailed for Alaska. I was taking the same
steamer, and she was on the dock, with all Seattle, to see the Argonauts
away. It was a hazardous journey into the Unknown in those days, and
scenes were going on all around--my own wife was weeping on my
shoulder--but Mrs. Weatherbee, and she had just been married then,
bridged the parting like a little trump. 'Well, David,' she said, with a
smile to turn a priest's head, 'good-by and good luck. Come back when
you've made your fortune, and I'll help you to spend it.'"
The delegate, laughing deeply, reached for the port decanter to refill his
glass. No one else saw the humor of the story, though the man with the
maimed hand again gave an edge to the silence that followed with his
strained, mirthless laugh. Presently he said: "But he never came back."
"No." It was Foster who answered. "No, but he was on his way out to
the States at last, when the end came. I don't understand it. It seems
incredible that Weatherbee, who had won through so many times,

handicapped by the waifs and strays of the trail,--Weatherbee, to whom
the Susitna country was an open scroll,--should have perished as he did.
But it was you who found him, Hollis. Come, tell us all about it."
Tisdale shook his head. "Some other time, Foster. It's a long story and
not the kind to tell here."
"Go on! Go on!" The urging came from many, and Banks added in his
high, tense key; "I guess we can stand it. Most of us saw the iron side
of Alaska before we saw the golden."
"Well, then," Tisdale began reluctantly, "I must take you back a year. I
was completing trail reconnaissance from the new Alaska Midway
surveys in the Susitna Valley, through Rainy Pass, to connect with the
mail route from the interior to Nome, and, to avoid returning another
season, kept my party late in the field. It was the close of September
when we struck Seward Peninsula and miserably cold, with gales
sweeping in from Bering Sea. The grass had frozen, and before we
reached a cache of oats I had relied on, most of our horses perished; we
arrived at Nome too late for the last steamer of the year. That is how I
came to winter there, and why a letter Weatherbee had written in
October was so long finding me. It was forwarded from Seattle with
other mail I cabled for, back to Prince William Sound, over the
Fairbanks-Valdez trail, and out again by the winter route three thousand
miles to Nome. It was the middle of March when I received it, and he
had asked me to buy his half interest in the Aurora mine. He needed the
money to go out to the States."
Tisdale's voice broke a little; and for a moment he looked off through
the open door. "Perhaps some of you remember I grub-staked him for a
half share when he left the Tanana to prospect down along the Alaska
Range. After he located, I forwarded him small amounts several times
to carry on development work. I never had been on the ground, but he
explained he was handicapped by high water and was trying to divert
the channel of a creek. In that last letter he said he had carried the
scheme nearly through; the next season would pay my money back and
more; the Aurora would pan out the richest strike he had ever made.
But that did not trouble me. I knew if Weatherbee had spent two years

on that placer, the gravels had something to show. The point that
weighed was that he was willing to go home at last to the States. I had
urged him before I put up the grub-stake, but he had answered: 'Not
until I have made good.' It was hardly