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proceeds hired Indian packers to carry him back to Dyea。 But on
the morning Rasmunsen shoved off with his correspondents； his two
rivals followed suit。
'How many you got？〃 one of them； a lean little New Englander；
called out。
〃One thousand dozen；〃 Rasmunsen answered proudly。
〃Huh！ I'll go you even stakes I beat you in with my eight
hundred。〃
The correspondents offered to lend him the money； but Rasmunsen
declined； and the Yankee closed with the remaining rival； a brawny
son of the sea and sailor of ships and things； who promised to show
them all a wrinkle or two when it came to cracking on。 And crack
on he did； with a large tarpaulin square…sail which pressed the bow
half under at every jump。 He was the first to run out of
Linderman； but； disdaining the portage； piled his loaded boat on
the rocks in the boiling rapids。 Rasmunsen and the Yankee； who
likewise had two passengers； portaged across on their backs and
then lined their empty boats down through the bad water to Bennett。
Bennett was a twenty…five…mile lake； narrow and deep； a funnel
between the mountains through which storms ever romped。 Rasmunsen
camped on the sand…pit at its head； where were many men and boats
bound north in the teeth of the Arctic winter。 He awoke in the
morning to find a piping gale from the south； which caught the
chill from the whited peaks and glacial valleys and blew as cold as
north wind ever blew。 But it was fair； and he also found the
Yankee staggering past the first bold headland with all sail set。
Boat after boat was getting under way； and the correspondents fell
to with enthusiasm。
〃We'll catch him before Cariboo Crossing；〃 they assured Rasmunsen；
as they ran up the sail and the Alma took the first icy spray over
her bow。
Now Rasmunsen all his life had been prone to cowardice on water；
but he clung to the kicking steering…oar with set face and
determined jaw。 His thousand dozen were there in the boat before
his eyes； safely secured beneath the correspondents' baggage； and
somehow； before his eyes were the little cottage and the mortgage
for a thousand dollars。
It was bitter cold。 Now and again he hauled in the steering…sweep
and put out a fresh one while his passengers chopped the ice from
the blade。 Wherever the spray struck； it turned instantly to
frost； and the dipping boom of the spritsail was quickly fringed
with icicles。 The Alma strained and hammered through the big seas
till the seams and butts began to spread； but in lieu of bailing
the correspondents chopped ice and flung it overboard。 There was
no let…up。 The mad race with winter was on； and the boats tore
along in a desperate string。
〃W…w…we can't stop to save our souls！〃 one of the correspondents
chattered； from cold； not fright。
〃That's right！ Keep her down the middle； old man！〃 the other
encouraged。
Rasmunsen replied with an idiotic grin。 The iron…bound shores were
in a lather of foam； and even down the middle the only hope was to
keep running away from the big seas。 To lower sail was to be
overtaken and swamped。 Time and again they passed boats pounding
among the rocks； and once they saw one on the edge of the breakers
about to strike。 A little craft behind them； with two men； jibed
over and turned bottom up。
〃W…w…watch out； old man；〃 cried he of the chattering teeth。
Rasmunsen grinned and tightened his aching grip on the sweep。
Scores of times had the send of the sea caught the big square stern
of the Alma and thrown her off from dead before it till the after
leach of the spritsail fluttered hollowly； and each time； and only
with all his strength； had he forced her back。 His grin by then
had become fixed； and it disturbed the correspondents to look at
him。
They roared down past an isolated rock a hundred yards from shore。
From its wave…drenched top a man shrieked wildly； for the instant
cutting the storm with his voice。 But the next instant the Alma
was by； and the rock growing a black speck in the troubled froth。
〃That settles the Yankee！ Where's the sailor？〃 shouted one of his
passengers。
Rasmunsen shot a glance over his shoulder at a black square…sail。
He had seen it leap up out of the grey to windward； and for an
hour； off and on； had been watching it grow。 The sailor had
evidently repaired damages and was making up for lost time。
〃Look at him come！〃
Both passengers stopped chopping ice to watch。 Twenty miles of
Bennett were behind themroom and to spare for the sea to toss up
its mountains toward the sky。 Sinking and soaring like a storm…
god； the sailor drove by them。 The huge sail seemed to grip the
boat from the crests of the waves； to tear it bodily out of the
water； and fling it crashing and smothering down into the yawning
troughs。
〃The sea'll never catch him！〃
〃But he'll r…r…run her nose under！〃
Even as they spoke； the black tarpaulin swooped from sight behind a
big comber。 The next wave rolled over the spot； and the next； but
the boat did not reappear。 The Alma rushed by the place。 A little
riffraff of oats and boxes was seen。 An arm thrust up and a shaggy
head broke surface a score of yards away。
For a time there was silence。 As the end of the lake came in
sight； the waves began to leap aboard with such steady recurrence
that the correspondents no longer chopped ice but flung the water
out with buckets。 Even this would not do； and； after a shouted
conference with Rasmunsen； they attacked the baggage。 Flour；
bacon； beans； blankets； cooking…stove； ropes； odds and ends；
everything they could get hands on； flew overboard。 The boat
acknowledged it at once； taking less water and rising more
buoyantly。
〃That'll do！〃 Rasmunsen called sternly； as they applied themselves
to the top layer of eggs。
〃The h…hell it will！〃 answered the shivering one； savagely。 With
the exception of their notes； films； and cameras； they had
sacrificed their outfit。 He bent over； laid hold of an egg…box；
and began to worry it out from under the lashing。
〃Drop it！ Drop it； I say！〃
Rasmunsen had managed to draw his revolver； and with the crook of
his arm over the sweep head； was taking aim。 The correspondent
stood up on the thwart； balancing back and forth； his face twisted
with menace and speechless anger。
〃My God！〃
So cried his brother correspondent； hurling himself； face downward；
into the bottom of the boat。 The Alma； under the divided attention
of Rasmunsen； had been caught by a great mass of water and whirled
around。 The after leach hollowed； the sail emptied and jibed； and
the boom； sweeping with terrific force across the boat； carried the
angry correspondent overboard with a broken back。 Mast and sail
had gone over the side as well。 A drenching sea followed； as the
boat lost headway； and Rasmunsen sprang to the bailing bucket
Several boats hurtled past them in the next half…hour；small