"Good-by, Tess," he repeated gently.

"Beast!" she managed to articulate.

She turned and tottered to the bunk, flinging herself face down
upon it, sobbing: "You beasts! You beasts!"

John Messner closed the door softly behind him, and, as he started
the dogs, looked back at the cabin with a great relief in his face.
At the bottom of the bank, beside the water-hole, he halted the
sled. He worked the sack of gold out between the lashings and
carried it to the water-hole. Already a new skin of ice had
formed. This he broke with his fist. Untying the knotted mouth
with his teeth, he emptied the contents of the sack into the water.
The river was shallow at that point, and two feet beneath the
surface he could see the bottom dull-yellow in the fading light.
At the sight of it, he spat into the hole.

He started the dogs along the Yukon trail. Whining spiritlessly,
they were reluctant to work. Clinging to the gee-pole with his
right band and with his left rubbing cheeks and nose, he stumbled
over the rope as the dogs swung on a bend.

"Mush-on, you poor, sore-footed brutes!" he cried. "That's it,
mush-on!"



THE WHITE MAN'S WAY