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The God of His Fathers: Tales of the Klondyke by Jack London
page 88 of 182 (48%)

"Leggo with y'r finger, then! Always in the way!"

"But I can't, Mistah Lawson. It's in the critter's gullet, and nigh
chewed off as 't is."

"Stand by for stays!" As Lawson gave the warning, Jan half lifted
himself, and the struggling quartet floundered across the tent into a
muddle of furs and blankets. In its passage it cleared the body of a
man, who lay motionless, bleeding from a bullet-wound in the neck.

All this was because of the madness which had come upon Jan--the madness
which comes upon a man who has stripped off the raw skin of earth and
grovelled long in primal nakedness, and before whose eyes rises the fat
vales of the homeland, and into whose nostrils steals the whiff of bay,
and grass, and flower, and new-turned soil. Through five frigid years
Jan had sown the seed. Stuart River, Forty Mile, Circle City, Koyokuk,
Kotzebue, had marked his bleak and strenuous agriculture, and now it was
Nome that bore the harvest,--not the Nome of golden beaches and ruby
sands, but the Nome of '97, before Anvil City was located, or Eldorado
District organized. John Gordon was a Yankee, and should have known
better. But he passed the sharp word at a time when Jan's blood-shot
eyes blazed and his teeth gritted in torment. And because of this, there
was a smell of saltpetre in the tent, and one lay quietly, while the
other fought like a cornered rat, and refused to hang in the decent and
peacable manner suggested by his comrades.

"If you will allow me, Mistah Lawson, befoah we go further in this
rumpus, I would say it wah a good idea to pry this hyer varmint's teeth
apart. Neither will he bite off, nor will he let go. He has the wisdom
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