The Winds of Chance | Page 9

a
hundred-pound pack without apparent effort. Two flour-sacks upon a
man's back was a rare sight on the roof of the Chilkoot. There were not
many who could master that slope with more than one, but this fellow

had borne his burden without apparent effort; and what was even more
remarkable, what had caused Pierce Phillips to open his eyes in genuine
astonishment, was the fact that the man climbed with a pipe in his teeth
and smoked it with relish. On that occasion the Frenchman had not
stopped at the crest to breathe, but had merely paused long enough to
admire the scene outspread beneath him; then he had swung onward.
Of all the sights young Phillips had beheld in this new land, the vision
of that huge, unhurried Canadian, smoking, had impressed him deepest.
It had awakened his keen envy, too, for Pierce was beginning to glory
in his own strength. A few days later they had rested near each other on
the Long Lake portage. That is, Phillips had rested; the Canadian, it
seemed, had a habit of pausing when and where the fancy struck him.
His reason for stopping there had been the antics of a peculiarly
fearless and impertinent "camp-robber." With a crust of bread he had
tolled the bird almost within his reach and was accepting its scolding
with intense amusement. Having both teased and made friends with the
creature, he finally gave it the crust and resumed his journey.
This was a land where brawn was glorified; the tales told oftenest
around the stoves at Sheep Camp had to do with feats of strength or
endurance, they were stories of mighty men and mighty packs, of long
marches and of grim staying powers. Already the names of certain
"old-timers" like Dinsmore and McDonald and Peterson and Stick Jim
had become famous because of some conspicuous exploit. Dinsmore,
according to the legend, had once lugged a hundred and sixty pounds to
the Summit; McDonald had bent a horseshoe in his hands; Peterson had
lifted the stem-piece out of a poling-boat lodged on the rocks below
White Horse; Stick Jim had run down a moose and killed it with his
knife.
From what Phillips had seen of this French Canadian it was plain that
he, too, was an "old-timer," one of that Jovian band of supermen who
had dared the dark interior and robbed the bars of Forty Mile in the
hard days before the El Dorado discovery. Since this was their first
opportunity of exchanging speech, Phillips ventured to address the
man.

"I thought I had a load this morning, but I'd hate to swap packs with
you," he said.
The Frenchman flashed him a smile which exposed a row of teeth
snow-white against his tan. "Ho! You're stronger as me. I see you
plenty tams biffore."
This was indeed agreeable praise, and Pierce showed his pleasure. "Oh
no!" he modestly protested. "I'm just getting broken in."
"Look out you don' broke your back," warned the other. "Dis Chilkoot
she's bad bizness. She's keel a lot of dese sof' fellers. Dey get seeck in
de back. You hear 'bout it?"
"Spinal meningitis. It's partly from exposure."
"Dat's him! Don' never carry too moch; don' be in soch hurry."
Phillips laughed at this caution. "Why, we have to hurry," said he.
"New people are coming all the time and they'll beat us in if we don't
look out."
His comrade shrugged. "Mebbe so; but s'posin' dey do. Wat's de hodds?
She's beeg countree; dere's plenty claims."
"Are there, really?" Phillips' eyes brightened. "You're an old- timer;
you've been 'inside.' Do you mean there's plenty of gold for all of us?"
"Dere ain't 'nuff gold in all de worl' for some people."
"I mean is Dawson as rich as they say it is?"
"Um--m! I don' know."
"Didn't you get in on the strike?"
"I hear 'bout 'im, but I'm t'inkin' 'bout oder t'ings."
Phillips regarded the speaker curiously. "That's funny. What business

are you in?"
"My bizness? Jus' livin'." The Canadian's eyes twinkled. "You don'
savvy, eh--? Wal, dat's biccause you're lak dese oder feller-- you're in
beeg hurry to be reech. Me--?" He shrugged his brawny shoulders and
smiled cheerily. "I got plenty tam. I'm loafer. I enjoy myse'f--"
"So do I. For that matter, I'm enjoying myself now. I think this is all
perfectly corking, and I'm having the time of my young life. Why, just
think, over there"--Pierce waved his hand toward the northward
panorama of white peaks and purple valleys-- "everything is
unknown!" His face lit up with some restless desire which the
Frenchman appeared to understand, for he nodded seriously.
"Sometimes it scares me a little."
"Wat you scare' 'bout, you?"
"Myself, I suppose. Sometimes I'm afraid I haven't the stuff in me