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Updated: June 29, 2025
But when Sprudell closed his office door, he locked this adamantine, quibbling, frankly penurious, tyrannical man of business inside, and the chameleon does not change its color with greater ease than Sprudell took on another and distinct personality.
I'll try to get down to that cabin on the river. The feller may be there, and again he may have gone for grub. I won't say that I can make it, but I'll do my best." Sprudell said stubbornly: "I won't be left behind! It's every man for himself now." The old man replied, with equal obstinacy: "Then you'll start alone." He added grimly: "I reckon you've never wallered snow neck deep."
Somewhere he had lost the "squaw ax," and dry wood was inaccessible under snow. If it were not for Sprudell, he knew that he could still plod on. His deep breath of exhaustion was a groan as he floundered back and shook the inert figure with all his might. "Git up!" he shouted. "You must keep movin'! Do you want to lay right down and die?" "Lemme be!"
"It's strange," Helen looked up reflectively, "that a cold-blooded murderer like that would have turned over my brother's things would have sent anything back at all." "I made him," said Sprudell.
But now, so far as he could see, everything was in perfect working order and he had only to sit back and enjoy his triumph and receive congratulations; for once more Mr. Sprudell had demonstrated his versatile genius! The invited guests came, all of them a few because they wanted to, and the rest because they were afraid to stay away.
"But," she urged, "there is so much crime and cowardice, so many dreadful things, printed, that I think stories of self-sacrifice and brave deeds like yours should be given the widest publicity a kind of antidote you know what I mean?" "Exactly," Mr. Sprudell acquiesced eagerly. "Moral effect upon the youth of the land.
"What is an alluvial deposit?" inquired Abe Cone, eagerly. Mr. Sprudell looked hard at Abram but did not answer, one reason being that he wished to rebuke the interruption, and another that he did not know. He reiterated: "The richest gold in all alluvial deposits is found upon bed-rock.
It was active with plans for the future, with speculation concerning Sprudell, with the rebuilding of the air castles which had fallen with his failure to find mail. In the restless days of waiting for Toy to get well enough to leave alone for a few days while he went up to Ore City for mail and provisions, a vista of possibilities had unexpectedly opened to Bruce.
A thousand dollars! Wasn't that like a dude? Dudes thought money could do anything, buy anything. Uncle Bill would rather have had a sack of flour just then than all the money Sprudell owned. "Your check's no more good than a bunch of dried leaves. It's endurance that's countin' from now on. We're up against it right, I tell you, with Toy down sick and all." Sprudell stared. "Toy?"
And the wind that took his breath had a curious, piercing quality that hurt, as Uncle Bill had said, like breathing darning needles. "The White Death!" Literally it was that. Panting and quickly exhausted, as he "wallered snow to his neck," T. Victor Sprudell began seriously to doubt if he could make it.
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