The Son of the Wolf | Page 4

was the melody of his long-forgotten
Southern vernacular, as he raved of swimming holes and coon hunts
and watermelon raids. It was as Greek to Ruth, but the Kid understood
and felt--felt as only one can feel who has been shut out for years from
all that civilization means.
Morning brought consciousness to the stricken man, and Malemute Kid
bent closer to catch his whispers.
'You remember when we foregathered on the Tanana, four years come
next ice run? I didn't care so much for her then. It was more like she
was pretty, and there was a smack of excitement about it, I think. But
d'ye know, I've come to think a heap of her. She's been a good wife to
me, always at my shoulder in the pinch. And when it comes to trading,
you know there isn't her equal. D'ye recollect the time she shot the
Moosehorn Rapids to pull you and me off that rock, the bullets
whipping the water like hailstones?--and the time of the famine at
Nuklukyeto?--when she raced the ice run to bring the news?
'Yes, she's been a good wife to me, better'n that other one. Didn't know
I'd been there?
'Never told you, eh? Well, I tried it once, down in the States. That's
why I'm here. Been raised together, too. I came away to give her a
chance for divorce. She got it.
'But that's got nothing to do with Ruth. I had thought of cleaning up and
pulling for the Outside next year--her and I--but it's too late. Don't send

her back to her people, Kid. It's beastly hard for a woman to go back.
Think of it!--nearly four years on our bacon and beans and flour and
dried fruit, and then to go back to her fish and caribou. It's not good for
her to have tried our ways, to come to know they're better'n her people's,
and then return to them. Take care of her, Kid, why don't you--but no,
you always fought shy of them--and you never told me why you came
to this country. Be kind to her, and send her back to the States as soon
as you can. But fix it so she can come back--liable to get homesick, you
know.
'And the youngster--it's drawn us closer, Kid. I only hope it is a boy.
Think of it!--flesh of my flesh, Kid. He mustn't stop in this country.
And if it's a girl, why, she can't. Sell my furs; they'll fetch at least five
thousand, and I've got as much more with the company. And handle my
interests with yours. I think that bench claim will show up. See that he
gets a good schooling; and Kid, above all, don't let him come back.
This country was not made for white men.
'I'm a gone man, Kid. Three or four sleeps at the best. You've got to go
on. You must go on! Remember, it's my wife, it's my boy--O God! I
hope it's a boy! You can't stay by me--and I charge you, a dying man,
to pull on.'
'Give me three days,' pleaded Malemute Kid. 'You may change for the
better; something may turn up.'
'No.'
'Just three days.'
'You must pull on.'
'Two days.'
'It's my wife and my boy, Kid. You would not ask it.'
'One day.'

'No, no! I charge--'
'Only one day. We can shave it through on the grub, and I might knock
over a moose.'
'No--all right; one day, but not a minute more. And, Kid, don't--don't
leave me to face it alone. Just a shot, one pull on the trigger. You
understand. Think of it! Think of it! Flesh of my flesh, and I'll never
live to see him!
'Send Ruth here. I want to say good-by and tell her that she must think
of the boy and not wait till I'm dead. She might refuse to go with you if
I didn't. Goodby, old man; good-by.
'Kid! I say--a--sink a hole above the pup, next to the slide. I panned out
forty cents on my shovel there.
'And, Kid!' He stooped lower to catch the last faint words, the dying
man's surrender of his pride. 'I'm sorry--for--you know--Carmen.'
Leaving the girl crying softly over her man, Malemute Kid slipped into
his parka and snowshoes, tucked his rifle under his arm, and crept away
into the forest. He was no tyro in the stern sorrows of the Northland,
but never had he faced so stiff a problem as this. In the abstract, it was
a plain, mathematical proposition--three possible lives as against one
doomed one. But now he hesitated. For five years, shoulder to shoulder,
on the rivers and trails, in the camps and mines, facing death by field
and flood and famine, had they knitted