The Magnetic North. Elizabeth Robins
men have got a great deal out of Alaska and as yet done little but harm here. The government ought to help the natives, and we believe the Government will. All we ask of the captain of the Oklahoma is to sell us, on fair terms, a certain supply, we assuming part of the risk, and both of us looking to the Government to make it good."
"Reckon you'll find that steamer-load down in the ice is worth its weight in gold," said Potts.
"One must always try," replied the Father.
He left the doorpost, straightened his bowed back, and laid a hand on the wooden latch.
"But Nicholas—when you left Pymeut was he—" began the Boy.
"Oh, he is all right," the Father smiled and nodded. "Brother Paul has been looking after Nicholas's father. The old chief has enough food, but he has been very ill. By the way, have you any letters you want to send out?"
"Oh, if we'd only known!" was the general chorus; and Potts flew to close and stamp one he had hardly more than begun to the future Mrs. Potts.
The Boy had thoughtlessly opened the door to have a look at the dogs.
"Shut that da—Don't keep the door open!" howled Potts, trying to hold his precious letter down on the table while he added "only two words." The Boy slammed the door behind him.
"With all our trouble, the cabin isn't really warm," said the Colonel apologetically. "In a wind like this, if the door is open, we have to hold fast to things to keep them from running down the Yukon. It's a trial to anybody's temper."
"Why don't you build a false wall?"
"Well, I don't know; we hadn't thought of it."
"You'd find it correct this draught"; and the priest explained his views on the subject while Potts's letter was being addressed. Andrew put his head in.
"Ready, Father!"
As the priest was pocketing the letter the Boy dashed in, put on the Arctic cap he set such store by, and a fur coat and mittens.
"Do you mind if I go a little way with you?" he said.
"Of course not," answered the priest. "I will send him back in half an hour," he said low to the Colonel. "It's a hitter day."
It was curious how already he had divined the relation of the elder man to the youngest of that odd household.
The moment they had gone Mac, with an obvious effort, pulled himself up out of his corner, and, coming towards the Colonel at the fireplace, he said thickly:
"You've put an insult upon me, Warren, and that's what I stand from no man. Come outside."
The Colonel looked at him.
"All right, Mac; but we've just eaten a rousing big dinner. Even Sullivan wouldn't accept that as the moment for a round. We'll both have forty winks, hey? and Potts shall call us, and O'Flynn shall be umpire. You can have the Boy's bunk."
Mac was in a haze again, and allowed himself to be insinuated into bed.
The others got rid of the dinner things, and "sat round" for an hour.
"Doubt if he sleeps long," says Potts a little before two; "that's what he's been doing all morning."
"We haven't had any fresh meat for a week," returns the Colonel significantly. "Why don't you and O'Flynn go down to meet the Boy, and come round by the woods? There'll be full moon up by four o'clock; you might get a brace of grouse or a rabbit or two."
O'Flynn was not very keen about it; but the Jesuit's visit had stirred him up, and he offered less opposition to the unusual call to activity than the Colonel expected.
When at last he was left alone with the sleeping man, the Kentuckian put on a couple more logs, and sat down to wait. At three he got up, swung the crane round so that the darting tongues of flame could lick the hot-water pot, and then he measured out some coffee. In a quarter of an hour the cabin was full of the fragrance of good Mocha.
The Colonel sat and waited. Presently he poured out a little coffee, and drank it slowly, blissfully, with half-closed eyes. But when he had set the granite cup down again, he stood up alert, like a man ready for business. Mac had been asleep nearly three hours. The others wouldn't be long now.
Well, if they came prematurely, they must go to the Little Cabin for awhile. The Colonel shot the bar across door and jamb for the second time that day. Mac stirred and lifted himself on his elbow, but he wasn't really awake.
"Potts," he said huskily.
The Colonel made no sound. "Potts, measure me out two fingers, will you? Cabin's damn cold."
No answer.
Mac roused himself, muttering compliments for Potts. When he had bundled himself out over the side of the bunk, he saw the Colonel seemingly dozing by the fire.
He waited a moment. Then, very softly, he made his way to the farther end of the swing-shelf.
The Colonel opened one eye, shut it, and shuffled in a sleepy sort of way. Mac turned sharply back to the fire.
The Colonel opened his eyes and yawned.
"I made some cawfee a little while back. Have some?"
"No."
"Better; it's A 1."
"Where's Potts?"
"Gone out for a little. Back soon." He poured out some of the strong, black decoction, and presented it to his companion. "Just try it. Finest cawfee in the world, sir."
Mac poured it down without seeming to bother about tasting it.
They sat quite still after that, till the Colonel said meditatively:
"You and I had a little account to settle, didn't we?"
"I'm ready."
But neither moved for several moments.
"See here, Mac: you haven't been ill or anything like that, have you?"
"No." There was no uncertain note in the answer; if anything, there was in it more than the usual toneless decision. Mac's voice was machine-made—as innocent of modulation as a buzz-saw, and with the same uncompromising finality as the shooting of a bolt. "I'm ready to stand up against any man."
"Good!" interrupted the Colonel. "Glad o' that, for I'm just longing to see you stand up—"
Mac was on his feet in a flash.
"You had only to say so, if you wanted to see me stand up against any man alive. And when I sit down again it's my opinion one of us two won't be good-lookin' any more."
He pushed back the stools.
"I thought maybe it was only necessary to mention it," said the Colonel slowly. "I've been wanting for a fortnight to see you stand up"—Mac turned fiercely—"against Samuel David MacCann."
"Come on! I'm in no mood for monkeyin'!"
"Nor I. I realise, MacCann, we've come to a kind of a crisis. Things in this camp are either going a lot better, or a lot worse, after to-day."
"There's nothing wrong, if you quit asking dirty Jesuits to sit down with honest men."
"Yes; there's something worse out o' shape than that."
Mac waited warily.
"When we were stranded here, and saw what we'd let ourselves in for, there wasn't one of us that didn't think things looked pretty much like the last o' pea time. There was just one circumstance that kept us from throwing up the sponge; we had a man in camp."
The Colonel paused.
Mac stood as expressionless as the wooden crane.
"A man we all believed in, who was going to help us pull through." "That was you, I s'pose." Mac's hard voice