it and bring it out when he comes."

In the silence Captain Scott bellowed the message ashore through the
megaphone:--

"You, Fred Churchill, go to Macdonald--in his safe--small
gripsack--belongs to Louis Bondell--important! Bring it out when you
come! Got it!"

Churchill waved his hand in token that he had got it. In truth, had
Macdonald, half a mile away, opened his window, he'd have got it, too.
The tumult of farewell rose again, the gongs clanged, and the _Seattle
No_. 4 went ahead, swung out into the stream, turned on her heel, and
headed down the Yukon, Bondell and Churchill waving farewell and mutual
affection to the last.

That was in midsummer. In the fall of the year, the _W. H. Willis_
started up the Yukon with two hundred homeward-bound pilgrims on board.
Among them was Churchill. In his state-room, in the middle of a clothes-
bag, was Louis Bondell's grip. It was a small, stout leather affair, and
its weight of forty pounds always made Churchill nervous when he wandered
too far from it. The man in the adjoining state-room had a treasure of
gold-dust hidden similarly in a clothes-bag, and the pair of them
ultimately arranged to stand watch and watch. While one went down to
eat, the other kept an eye on the two state-room doors. When Churchill
wanted to take a hand at whist, the other man mounted guard, and when the
other man wanted to relax his soul, Churchill read four-months' old
newspapers on a camp stool between the two doors.

There were signs of an early winter, and the question that was discussed