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Updated: June 1, 2025
Striking with clubs and the butts of guns, Smoke's party drove back the attacking dogs, while his own dogs, snapping and snarling, awed by so many enemies, shrank in among the legs of their human protectors, and bristled along stiff-legged in menacing prance.
The population of Two Cabins constituted the jury, though, after some discussion, the woman, Lucy, was denied the right to vote on Smoke's guilt or innocence. While this was going on, Smoke, jammed into a corner on a bunk, overheard a whispered conversation between Breck and a miner. "You haven't fifty pounds of flour you'll sell?" Breck queried.
One of them stopped Smoke's lead-dog, and the rest clustered around. "Seen a sled goin' the other way?" was asked. "Nope," Smoke answered. "Is that you, Bill?" "Well, I'll be danged!" Bill Saltman ejaculated in honest surprise. "If it ain't Smoke!" "What are you doing out this time of night?" Smoke inquired. "Strolling?" Before Bill Saltman could make reply, two running men joined the group.
"Me go," Cultus George said very quickly, before the rope could tighten. "An' when that rescue expedition found me," Shorty told it in the Annie Mine, "that ornery Cultus George was the first in, beatin' Smoke's sled by three hours, an' don't you forget it, Smoke comes in second at that.
As the flying sleds swerved toward each other, he leaped, and the instant he struck he was on his knees, with whip and voice spurting the fresh team. The smooth pinched out into the narrow trail, and he jumped his dogs ahead and into it with a lead of barely a yard. A man was not beaten until he was beaten, was Smoke's conclusion, and drive no matter how, Big Olaf failed to shake him off.
"And Smoke's and mine," was Shorty's retort. "I forbid you," Sprague said harshly. "Smoke, if you go another step I'll discharge you." "And you, too, Shorty," Stine added. "And a hell of a pickle you'll be in with us fired," Shorty replied. "How'll you get your blamed boat to Dawson? Who'll serve you coffee in your blankets and manicure your finger-nails? Come on, Smoke. They don't dast fire us.
The last visitor to Surprise Lake, was Smoke's conclusion, as he picked up a lump of gold as large as his doubled fist. Beside the lump was a pepper-can filled with nuggets of the size of walnuts, rough-surfaced, showing no signs of wash. So true had the tale run that Smoke accepted without question that the source of the gold was the lake's bottom.
Smoke's face lay level with his own; and the cat had climbed up with its front paws upon his chest. The lamp had burned low and the fire was nearly out, yet Dr. Silence saw in a moment that the cat was in an excited state. It kneaded with its front paws into his chest, shifting from one to the other. He felt them prodding against him. It lifted a leg very carefully and patted his cheek gingerly.
"Old Smoke's lodges, I b'lieve. Come! let us go! Wah! get up, now, Five Hundred Dollar!" And laying on the lash with good will, he galloped forward, and I rode by his side. Not long after, a black speck became visible on the prairie, full two miles off. It grew larger and larger; it assumed the form of a man and horse; and soon we could discern a naked Indian, careering at full gallop toward us.
The hood of her squirrel-skin parka was tossed back, revealing the cameo-like oval of her face outlined against her heavily-massed hair. Mittens had been discarded, and with bare hands she clung to whip and sled. "Jump!" she cried, as her leader snarled at Smoke's. Smoke struck the sled behind her.
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