trail swerved to the left, and struck a patch of fresh snow. This
arose about him in frosty smoke, while it reduced his speed. He saw
the tent the instant he struck it, carrying away the corner guys,
bursting in the front flaps, and fetching up inside, still on top of
the tarpaulin and in the midst of his grub-sacks. The tent rocked
drunkenly, and in the frosty vapour he found himself face to face
with a startled young woman who was sitting up in her blankets--the
very one who had called him chechaquo at Dyea.

"Did you see my smoke?" he queried cheerfully.

She regarded him with disapproval.

"Talk about your magic carpets!" he went on.

"Do you mind removing that sack from my foot?" she said coldly.

He looked, and lifted his weight quickly.

"It wasn't a sack. It was my elbow. Pardon me."

The information did not perturb her, and her coolness was a
challenge.

"It was a mercy you did not overturn the stove," she said.

He followed her glance and saw a sheet-iron stove and a coffee-pot,
attended by a young squaw. He sniffed the coffee and looked back to
the girl.