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."