corner of the eye.

"Well, I'm Doc Stine's man," the other went on. "I'm five feet two
inches long, and my name's Shorty, Jack Short for short, and
sometimes known as Johnny-on-the-Spot."

Kit put out his hand and shook.

"Were you raised on bear-meat?" he queried.

"Sure," was the answer; "though my first feedin' was buffalo-milk as
near as I can remember. Sit down an' have some grub. The bosses
ain't turned out yet."

And despite the one breakfast, Kit sat down under the tarpaulin and
ate a second breakfast thrice as hearty. The heavy, purging toil of
weeks had given him the stomach and appetite of a wolf. He could
eat anything, in any quantity, and be unaware that he possessed a
digestion. Shorty he found voluble and pessimistic, and from him he
received surprising tips concerning their bosses, and ominous
forecasts of the expedition. Thomas Stanley Sprague was a budding
mining engineer and the son of a millionaire. Doctor Adolph Stine
was also the son of a wealthy father. And, through their fathers,
both had been backed by an investing syndicate in the Klondike
adventure.

"Oh, they're sure made of money," Shorty expounded. "When they hit
the beach at Dyea, freight was seventy cents, but no Indians. There
was a party from Eastern Oregon, real miners, that'd managed to get
a team of Indians together at seventy cents. Indians had the straps