busted their lungs. But didn't I see with my own eyes the bottom
of the water-hole? It was yellow with gold like a mustard-plaster.
That's why I staked the Yukon for a minin' claim. That's what made
the stampede. An' then there was nothin' to it. That's what I
said - NOTHIN' to it. An' I ain't got over guessin' yet. -
NARRATIVE OF SHORTY.


JOHN MESSNER clung with mittened hand to the bucking gee-pole and
held the sled in the trail. With the other mittened hand he rubbed
his cheeks and nose. He rubbed his cheeks and nose every little
while. In point of fact, he rarely ceased from rubbing them, and
sometimes, as their numbness increased, he rubbed fiercely. His
forehead was covered by the visor of his fur cap, the flaps of
which went over his ears. The rest of his face was protected by a
thick beard, golden-brown under its coating of frost.

Behind him churned a heavily loaded Yukon sled, and before him
toiled a string of five dogs. The rope by which they dragged the
sled rubbed against the side of Messner's leg. When the dogs swung
on a bend in the trail, he stepped over the rope. There were many
bends, and he was compelled to step over it often. Sometimes he
tripped on the rope, or stumbled, and at all times he was awkward,
betraying a weariness so great that the sled now and again ran upon
his heels.

When he came to a straight piece of trail, where the sled could get
along for a moment without guidance, he let go the gee-pole and
batted his right hand sharply upon the hard wood. He found it
difficult to keep up the circulation in that hand. But while he