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two women。 Mabel； with a worried expression on her face； seemed
holding herself aloof。 He turned to Dora and asked； quite genially； as
though all the world was sunshine：… 〃How did you stand the trip； anyway？
Have any trouble to sleep warm？〃
〃And； how did Mrs。 Hutchinson stand it？〃 he asked next； his eyes on
Mabel。
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〃Oh； you dear ninny！〃 Dora cried； throwing her arms around him and
hugging him。 〃Then you saw it； too！ I thought something was the
matter； you were acting so strangely。〃
〃II hardly understand；〃 he stammered。
〃It was corrected in next day's paper；〃 Dora chattered on。 〃We did
not dream you would see it。 All the other papers had it correctly； and of
course that one miserable paper was the very one you saw！〃
〃Wait a moment！ What do you mean？〃 Pentfield demanded； a
sudden fear at his heart； for he felt himself on the verge of a great gulf。
But Dora swept volubly on。
〃Why； when it became known that Mabel and I were going to
Klondike； EVERY OTHER WEEK said that when we were gone； it would
be lovely on Myrdon Avenue； meaning； of course； lonely。〃
〃Then〃
〃I am Mrs。 Hutchinson；〃 Dora answered。 〃And you thought it was
Mabel all the time〃
〃Precisely the way of it；〃 Pentfield replied slowly。 〃But I can see
now。 The reporter got the names mixed。 The Seattle and Portland paper
copied。〃
He stood silently for a minute。 Mabel's face was turned toward him
again； and he could see the glow of expectancy in it。 Corry was deeply
interested in the ragged toe of one of his moccasins； while Dora was
stealing sidelong glances at the immobile face of Lashka sitting on the sled。
Lawrence Pentfield stared straight out before him into a dreary future；
through the grey vistas of which he saw himself riding on a sled behind
running dogs with lame Lashka by his side。
Then he spoke； quite simply； looking Mabel in the eyes。
〃I am very sorry。 I did not dream it。 I thought you had married
Corry。 That is Mrs。 Pentfield sitting on the sled over there。〃
Mabel Holmes turned weakly toward her sister； as though all the
fatigue of her great journey had suddenly descended on her。 Dora caught
her around the waist。 Corry Hutchinson was still occupied with his
moccasins。 Pentfield glanced quickly from face to face； then turned to
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The Faith of Men
his sled。
〃Can't stop here all day； with Pete's baby waiting；〃 he said to Lashka。
The long whip…lash hissed out； the dogs sprang against the breast
bands； and the sled lurched and jerked ahead。
〃Oh； I say； Corry；〃 Pentfield called back； 〃you'd better occupy the old
cabin。 It's not been used for some time。 I've built a new one on the
hill。〃
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TOO MUCH GOLD
This being a storyand a truer one than it may appearof a mining
country； it is quite to be expected that it will be a hard…luck story。 But
that depends on the point of view。 Hard luck is a mild way of terming it
so far as Kink Mitchell and Hootchinoo Bill are concerned； and that they
have a decided opinion on the subject is a matter of common knowledge in
the Yukon country。
It was in the fall of 1896 that the two partners came down to the east
bank of the Yukon； and drew a Peterborough canoe from a moss… covered
cache。 They were not particularly pleasant…looking objects。 A
summer's prospecting； filled to repletion with hardship and rather empty of
grub； had left their clothes in tatters and themselves worn and cadaverous。
A nimbus of mosquitoes buzzed about each man's head。 Their faces were
coated with blue clay。 Each carried a lump of this damp clay； and；
whenever it dried and fell from their faces； more was daubed on in its
place。 There was a querulous plaint in their voices； an irritability of
movement and gesture； that told of broken sleep and a losing struggle with
the little winged pests。
〃Them skeeters'll be the death of me yet；〃 Kink Mitchell whimpered；
as the canoe felt the current on her nose； and leaped out from the bank
〃Cheer up； cheer up。 We're about done；〃 Hootchinoo Bill answered；
with an attempted heartiness in his funereal tones that was ghastly。
〃We'll be in Forty Mile in forty minutes； and then cursed little devil！〃
One hand left his paddle and landed on the back of his neck with a
sharp slap。 He put a fresh daub of clay on the injured part； swearing
sulphurously the while。 Kink Mitchell was not in the least amused。 He
merely improved the opportunity by putting a thicker coating of clay on
his own neck。
They crossed the Yukon to its west bank； shot down…stream with easy
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stroke； and at the end of forty minutes swung in close to the left around the
tail of an island。 Forty Mile spread itself suddenly before them。 Both
men straightened their backs and gazed at the sight。 They gazed long and
carefully； drifting with the current； in their faces an expression of mingled
surprise and consternation slowly gathering。 Not a thread of smoke was
rising from the hundreds of log…cabins。 There was no sound of axes
biting sharply into wood； of hammering and sawing。 Neither dogs nor
men loitered before the big store。 No steamboats lay at the bank； no
canoes； nor scows； nor poling…boats。 The river was as bare of craft as the
town was of life。
〃Kind of looks like Gabriel's tooted his little horn； and you an' me has
turned up missing；〃 remarked Hootchinoo Bill。
His remark was casual； as though there was nothing unusual about the
occurrence。 Kink Mitchell's reply was just as casual as though he； too；
were unaware of any strange perturbation of spirit。
〃Looks as they was all Baptists； then； and took the boats to go by
water；〃 was his contribution。
〃My ol' dad was a Baptist；〃 Hootchinoo Bill supplemented。 〃An' he
always did hold it was forty thousand miles nearer that way。〃
This was the end of their levity。 They ran the canoe in and climbed
the high earth bank。 A feeling of awe descended upon them as they
walked the deserted streets。 The sunlight streamed placidly over the
town。 A gentle wind tapped the halyards against the flagpole before the
closed doors of the Caledonia Dance Hall。 Mosquitoes buzzed； robins sang；
and moose birds tripped hungrily among the cabins； but there was no
human life nor sign of human life。
〃I'm just dyin' for a drink；〃 Hootchinoo Bill said and unconsciously his
voice sank to a hoarse whisper。
His partner nodded his head； loth to hear his own voice break the
stillness。 They trudged on in uneasy silence till surprised by an open
door。 Above this door； and stretching the width of the building； a rude
sign announced the same as the 〃Monte Carlo。〃 But beside the door； hat
over eyes； chair tilted back； a man sat sunning himself。 He was an old
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man。 Beard and hair were long and white and patriarchal。
〃If it ain't ol' Jim Cummings； turned up like us； too late for
Resurrection！〃 said Kink Mitchell。
〃Most like he didn't hear Gabriel tootin'；〃 was Hootchinoo Bill's
suggestion。
〃Hello； Jim！ Wake up！〃 he shouted。
The old man unl