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Their eyes, playing here and there among the central figures, always returned to Jacob Welse. St. Vincent sat as one dumfounded. Frona thrust a revolver into his hand, but his limp fingers refused to close on it. "Come, Gregory," she entreated. "Quick! Corliss is waiting with the canoe. Come!" She shook him, and he managed to grip the weapon.
If you will view it in the light of a loan from a stranger, I will advance your passage back to the States, and start an Indian over the trail with you to-morrow for Dyea." Once or twice Frona had attempted to interrupt him, but he had waved her imperatively to silence with his hand. "I thank you," she began; but he broke in, "Oh, not at all, not at all."
"How do you know?" Frona asked, doubtingly. "Know!" the man exclaimed. "Know! Why his picture has been in all the papers for the last six weeks. See!" He unfolded a newspaper. "And a pretty good likeness, too. I've looked at it so much I'd know his mug among a thousand." "Then who is the third one?" she queried, tacitly accepting him as a fount of authority.
Yer hand on it, me brave!" It was a stout grip, neither warm nor clammy, but Matt shook his head dubiously. "What's the good iv botherin'?" he muttered to himself as he shuffled the cards for the next deal. "Ye old fool! Find out first how Frona darlin' stands, an' if it's pat she is, thin 'tis time for doin'."
Vance Corliss was repeating to himself. The whole thing seemed a dream, and he reassured himself by turning and looking after her retreating form. Del Bishop and the Indians were already out of sight behind a wall of rock. Frona was just rounding the base. The sun was full upon her, and she stood out radiantly against the black shadow of the wall beyond.
Frona could not hear, but the snicker which went down the line brought the flush of shame to her brow and told her more forcibly than could the words. Her face was hot, for she sat disgraced in her own sight; but she gave no sign. The leader stood aside, and one by one, and never more than one at a time, they made the perilous passage.
If they don't let go the ice, the ice'll scour them clean out of the bed of the Yukon. Sure! But I've got to be chasin' back. Lower ground down our way. Fifteen inches on the cabin floor, and McPherson and Corliss hustlin' perishables into the bunks." "Tell McPherson to be ready for a call," Jacob Welse shouted after him. And then to Frona, "Now's the time for St.
I can understand how the dominant races have come down out of the north to empire. Strong to venture, strong to endure, with infinite faith and infinite patience, is it to be wondered at?" Frona glanced at him in eloquent silence.
For some time Del Bishop had only punctuated the silence with splashes from his oars; but a thought struck him. "You haven't told me your name," he suggested, with complacent delicacy. "My name is Welse," she answered. "Frona Welse." A great awe manifested itself in his face, and grew to a greater and greater awe. "You are Frona Welse?" he enunciated slowly.
Was almighty obliged to him for his night's hospitality to Miss Frona, seein' as he'd ben side-tracked down the line; that any kindness to her was a kindness to him; and that he'd remember it, by God, as long as he had a corner of a blanket to pull over him. Hoped it hadn't put him out. But Dave Harney, who had not come by mistake, avoided gluing himself to the first chair.
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