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sat at a desk all his days； toiled till the Indians were exhausted；
and even out…worked the dogs。 How hard he worked； how much he
suffered； he did not know。 Being a man of the one idea； now that
the idea had come； it mastered him。 In the foreground of his
consciousness was Dawson； in the background his thousand dozen
eggs； and midway between the two his ego fluttered； striving always
to draw them together to a glittering golden point。 This golden
point was the five thousand dollars； the consummation of the idea
and the point of departure for whatever new idea might present
itself。 For the rest； he was a mere automaton。 He was unaware of
other things； seeing them as through a glass darkly； and giving
them no thought。 The work of his hands he did with machine…like
wisdom； likewise the work of his head。 So the look on his face
grew very tense； till even the Indians were afraid of it； and
marvelled at the strange white man who had made them slaves and
forced them to toil with such foolishness。
Then came a snap on Lake Le Barge； when the cold of outer space
smote the tip of the planet； and the force ranged sixty and odd
degrees below zero。 Here； labouring with open mouth that he might
breathe more freely； he chilled his lungs； and for the rest of the
trip he was troubled with a dry； hacking cough； especially
irritable in smoke of camp or under stress of undue exertion。 On
the Thirty Mile river he found much open water； spanned by
precarious ice bridges and fringed with narrow rim ice； tricky and
uncertain。 The rim ice was impossible to reckon on； and he dared
it without reckoning； falling back on his revolver when his drivers
demurred。 But on the ice bridges； covered with snow though they
were； precautions could be taken。 These they crossed on their
snowshoes； with long poles； held crosswise in their hands； to which
to cling in case of accident。 Once over； the dogs were called to
follow。 And on such a bridge； where the absence of the centre ice
was masked by the snow； one of the Indians met his end。 He went
through as quickly and neatly as a knife through thin cream； and
the current swept him from view down under the stream ice。
That night his mate fled away through the pale moonlight； Rasmunsen
futilely puncturing the silence with his revolvera thing that he
handled with more celerity than cleverness。 Thirty…six hours later
the Indian made a police camp on the Big Salmon。
〃Umumum funny manswhat you call？top um head all loose；〃 the
interpreter explained to the puzzled captain。 〃Eh？ Yep； clazy；
much clazy mans。 Eggs； eggs； all a time eggssavvy？ Come bime…
by。〃
It was several days before Rasmunsen arrived； the three sleds
lashed together； and all the dogs in a single team。 It was
awkward； and where the going was bad he was compelled to back…trip
it sled by sled； though he managed most of the time； through
herculean efforts； to bring all along on the one haul。 He did not
seem moved when the captain of police told him his man was hitting
the high places for Dawson； and was by that time； probably； half…
way between Selkirk and Stewart。 Nor did he appear interested when
informed that the police had broken the trail as far as Pelly； for
he had attained to a fatalistic acceptance of all natural
dispensations； good or ill。 But when they told him that Dawson was
in the bitter clutch of famine； he smiled； threw the harness on his
dogs； and pulled out。
But it was at his next halt that the mystery of the smoke was
explained。 With the word at Big Salmon that the trail was broken
to Pelly； there was no longer any need for the smoke wreath to
linger in his wake； and Rasmunsen； crouching over lonely fire； saw
a motley string of sleds go by。 First came the courier and the
half…breed who had hauled him out from Bennett； then mail…carriers
for Circle City； two sleds of them； and a mixed following of
ingoing Klondikers。 Dogs and men were fresh and fat； while
Rasmunsen and his brutes were jaded and worn down to the skin and
bone。 They of the smoke wreath had travelled one day in three；
resting and reserving their strength for the dash to come when
broken trail was met with； while each day he had plunged and
floundered forward； breaking the spirit of his dogs and robbing
them of their mettle。
As for himself； he was unbreakable。 They thanked him kindly for
his efforts in their behalf； those fat； fresh men；thanked him
kindly； with broad grins and ribald laughter； and now； when he
understood； he made no answer。 Nor did he cherish silent
bitterness。 It was immaterial。 The ideathe fact behind the
ideawas not changed。 Here he was and his thousand dozen； there
was Dawson； the problem was unaltered。
At the Little Salmon； being short of dog food； the dogs got into
his grub； and from there to Selkirk he lived on beanscoarse；
brown beans； big beans； grossly nutritive； which griped his stomach
and doubled him up at two…hour intervals。 But the Factor at
Selkirk had a notice on the door of the Post to the effect that no
steamer had been up the Yukon for two years； and in consequence
grub was beyond price。 He offered to swap flour； however； at the
rate of a cupful of each egg； but Rasmunsen shook his head and hit
the trail。 Below the Post he managed to buy frozen horse hide for
the dogs； the horses having been slain by the Chilkat cattle men；
and the scraps and offal preserved by the Indians。 He tackled the
hide himself； but the hair worked into the bean sores of his mouth；
and was beyond endurance。
Here at Selkirk he met the forerunners of the hungry exodus of
Dawson； and from there on they crept over the trail； a dismal
throng。 〃No grub！〃 was the song they sang。 〃No grub； and had to
go。〃 〃Everybody holding candles for a rise in the spring。〃 〃Flour
dollar 'n a half a pound； and no sellers。〃
〃Eggs？〃 one of them answered。 〃Dollar apiece； but there ain't
none。〃
Rasmunsen made a rapid calculation。 〃Twelve thousand dollars；〃 he
said aloud。
〃Hey？〃 the man asked。
〃Nothing；〃 he answered； and MUSHED the dogs along。
When he arrived at Stewart River； seventy from Dawson； five of his
dogs were gone； and the remainder were falling in the traces。 He；
also； was in the traces； hauling with what little strength was left
in him。 Even then he was barely crawling along ten miles a day。
His cheek…bones and nose； frost…bitten again and again； were turned
bloody…black and hideous。 The thumb； which was separated from the
fingers by the gee…pole； had likewise been nipped and gave him
great pain。 The monstrous moccasin still incased his foot； and
strange pains were beginning to rack the leg。 At Sixty Mile； the
last beans； which he had been rationing for some time； were
finished； yet he steadfastly refused to touch the eggs。 He could
not reconcile his mind to the legitimacy of it； and staggered and
fell along the way to Indian River。 Here a fresh…killed moose and