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would not be bad。 No； he would eat first。 Steak； and potatoes； and
green things how fresh it all was！ And what was that？ Squares of
honey； streaming liquid amber！ But why did they bring so much？ Ha！ ha！
he could never eat it all。 Shine！ Why certainly。 He put his foot on
the box。 The bootblack looked curiously up at him； and he remembered
his moosehide moccasins and went away hastily。
Hark！ The wind…vane must be surely spinning。 No； a mere singing in
his ears。 That was all… a mere singing。 The ice must have passed the
latch by now。 More likely the upper hinge was covered。 Between the
moss…chinked roof…poles； little points of frost began to appear。 How
slowly they grew！ No； not so slowly。 There was a new one； and there
another。 Two… three… four； they were coming too fast to count。 There
were two growing together。 And there； a third had joined them。 Why；
there were no more spots。 They had run together and formed a sheet。
Well； he would have company。 If Gabriel ever broke the silence of
the North； they would stand together； hand in hand； before the great
White Throne。 And God would judge them； God would judge them！
Then Percy Cuthfert closed his eyes and dropped off to sleep。
TO THE MAN ON THE TRAIL。
'DUMP IT IN。'
'But I say； Kid； isn't that going it a little too strong' Whisky and
alcohol's bad enough； but when it comes to brandy and pepper sauce
and…'
'Dump it in。 Who's making this punch； anyway？' And Malemute Kid
smiled benignantly through the clouds of steam。 'By the time you've
been in this country as long as I have； my son； and lived on rabbit
tracks and salmon belly； you'll learn that Christmas comes only once
per annum。 And a Christmas without punch is sinking a hole to
bedrock with nary a pay streak。'
'Stack up on that fer a high cyard；' approved Big Jim Belden； who
had come down from his claim on Mazy May to spend Christmas； and
who； as everyone knew； had been living the two months past on straight
moose meat。 'Hain't fergot the hooch we…uns made on the Tanana； hey
yeh？'
'Well； I guess yes。 Boys； it would have done your hearts good to see
that whole tribe fighting drunk… and all because of a glorious ferment
of sugar and sour dough。 That was before your time；' Malemute Kid said
as he turned to Stanley Prince； a young mining expert who had been
in two years。 'No white women in the country then； and Mason wanted to
get married。 Ruth's father was chief of the Tananas； and objected；
like the rest of the tribe。 Stiff？ Why； I used my last pound of sugar；
finest work in that line I ever did in my life。 You should have seen
the chase； down the river and across the portage。'
'But the squaw？' asked Louis Savoy； the tall French Canadian；
becoming interested； for he had heard of this wild deed when at
Forty Mile the preceding winter。
Then Malemute Kid； who was a born raconteur； told the unvarnished
tale of the Northland Lochinvar。 More than one rough adventurer of the
North felt his heartstrings draw closer and experienced vague
yearnings for the sunnier pastures of the Southland； where life
promised something more than a barren struggle with cold and death。
'We struck the Yukon just behind the first ice run；' he concluded；
'and the tribe only a quarter of an hour behind。 But that saved us；
for the second run broke the jam above and shut them out。 When they
finally got into Nuklukyeto； the whole post was ready for them。 And as
to the forgathering； ask Father Roubeau here： he performed the
ceremony。'
The Jesuit took the pipe from his lips but could only express his
gratification with patriarchal smiles； while Protestant and Catholic
vigorously applauded。
'By gar！' ejaculated Louis Savoy； who seemed overcome by the romance
of it。 'La petite squaw： mon Mason brav。 By gar！'
Then； as the first tin cups of punch went round； Bettles the
Unquenchable sprang to his feet and struck up his favorite drinking
song：
'There's Henry Ward Beecher
And Sunday…school teachers；
All drink of the sassafras root；
But you bet all the same；
If it had its right name；
It's the juice of the forbidden fruit。'
'Oh； the juice of the forbidden fruit；'
roared out the bacchanalian chorus；
'Oh； the juice of the forbidden fruit；
But you bet all the same；
If it had its right name；
It's the juice of the forbidden fruit。'
Malemute Kid's frightful concoction did its work； the men of the
camps and trails unbent in its genial glow； and jest and song and
tales of past adventure went round the board。 Aliens from a dozen
lands； they toasted each and all。 It was the Englishman； Prince； who
pledged 'Uncle Sam； the precocious infant of the New World'； the
Yankee； Bettles； who drank to 'The Queen； God bless her'； and
together； Savoy and Meyers； the German trader； clanged their cups to
Alsace and Lorraine。
Then Malemute Kid arose； cup in hand； and glanced at the
greased…paper window； where the frost stood full three inches thick。
'A health to the man on trail this night； may his grub hold out； may
his dogs keep their legs； may his matches never miss fire。'
Crack！ Crack！ heard the familiar music of the dog whip； the
whining howl of the Malemutes； and the crunch of a sled as it drew
up to the cabin。 Conversation languished while they waited the issue。
'An old…timer； cares for his dogs and then himself；' whispered
Malemute Kid to Prince as they listened to the snapping jaws and the
wolfish snarls and yelps of pain which proclaimed to their practiced
ears that the stranger was beating back their dogs while he fed his
own。
Then came the expected knock； sharp and confident； and the
stranger entered。 Dazzled by the light； he hesitated a moment at the
door； giving to all a chance for scrutiny。 He was a striking
personage； and a most picturesque one； in his Arctic dress of wool and
fur。 Standing six foot two or three； with proportionate breadth of
shoulders and depth of chest； his smooth…shaven face nipped by the
cold to a gleaming pink； his long lashes and eyebrows white with
ice； and the ear and neck flaps of his great wolfskin cap loosely
raised； he seemed； of a verity； the Frost King； just stepped in out of
the night。 Clasped outside his Mackinaw jacket； a beaded belt held two
large Colt's revolvers and a hunting knife； while he carried； in
addition to the inevitable dog whip； a smokeless rifle of the
largest bore and latest pattern。 As he came forward； for all his
step was firm and elastic； they could see that fatigue bore heavily
upon him。
An awkward silence had fallen； but his hearty 'What cheer； my lads？'
put them quickly at ease； and the next instant Malemute Kid and he had
gripped hands。 Though they had never met； each had heard of the other；
and the recognition was mutual。 A sweeping introduc