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the edge of the campfire and joined them。 The cabin was one of the
many mysteries which lurk in the vast recesses of the North。 Built
when and by whom； no man could tell。 Two graves in the open； piled
high with stones； perhaps contained the secret of those early
wanderers。 But whose hand had piled the stones？
The moment had come。 Jacques Baptiste paused in the fitting of a
harness and pinned the struggling dog in the snow。 The cook made
mute protest for delay； threw a handful of bacon into a noisy pot of
beans； then came to attention。 Sloper rose to his feet。 His body was a
ludicrous contrast to the healthy physiques of the Incapables。
Yellow and weak； fleeing from a South American fever…hole； he had
not broken his flight across the zones； and was still able to toil
with men。 His weight was probably ninety pounds； with the heavy
hunting knife thrown in； and his grizzled hair told of a prime which
had ceased to be。 The fresh young muscles of either Weatherbee or
Cuthfert were equal to ten times the endeavor of his； yet he could
walk them into the earth in a day's journey。 And all this day he had
whipped his stronger comrades into venturing a thousand miles of the
stiffest hardship man can conceive。 He was the incarnation of the
unrest of his race； and the old Teutonic stubbornness； dashed with the
quick grasp and action of the Yankee； held the flesh in the bondage of
the spirit。
'All those in favor of going on with the dogs as soon as the ice
sets； say ay。'
'Ay！' rang out eight voices… voices destined to string a trail of
oaths along many a hundred miles of pain。
'Contrary minded？'
'No！' For the first time the Incapables were united without some
compromise of personal interests。
'And what are you going to do about it？' Weatherbee added
belligerently。
'Majority rule！ Majority rule！' clamored the rest of the party。
'I know the expedition is liable to fall through if you don't come；'
Sloper replied sweetly； 'but I guess； if we try real hard； we can
manage to do without you。 What do you say； boys？'
The sentiment was cheered to the echo。
'But I say； you know；' Cuthfert ventured apprehensively； 'what's a
chap like me to do？'
'Ain't you coming with us。'
'No… o。'
'Then do as you damn well please。 We won't have nothing to say。'
'Kind o' calkilate yuh might settle it with that canoodlin'
pardner of yourn；' suggested a heavy…going Westerner from the Dakotas；
at the same time pointing out Weatherbee。 'He'll be shore to ask yuh
what yur a…goin' to do when it comes to cookin' an' gatherin' the
wood。'
'Then we'll consider it all arranged；' concluded Sloper。 'We'll pull
out tomorrow； if we camp within five miles… just to get everything
in running order and remember if we've forgotten anything。'
The sleds groaned by on their steel…shod runners； and the dogs
strained low in the harnesses in which they were born to die。
Jacques Baptiste paused by the side of Sloper to get a last glimpse of
the cabin。 The smoke curled up pathetically from the Yukon
stovepipe。 The two Incapables were watching them from the doorway。
Sloper laid his hand on the other's shoulder。
'Jacques Baptiste； did you ever hear of the Kilkenny cats？'
The half…breed shook his head。
'Well； my friend and good comrade； the Kilkenny cats fought till
neither hide； nor hair； nor yowl； was left。 You understand？… till
nothing was left。 Very good。 Now； these two men don't like work。
They'll be all alone in that cabin all winter… a mighty long； dark
winter。 Kilkenny cats… well？'
The Frenchman in Baptiste shrugged his shoulders； but the Indian
in him was silent。 Nevertheless； it was an eloquent shrug； pregnant
with prophecy。
Things prospered in the little cabin at first。 The rough badinage of
their comrades had made Weatherbee and Cuthfert conscious of the
mutual responsibility which had devolved upon them； besides； there was
not so much work after all for two healthy men。 And the removal of the
cruel whiphand； or in other words the bulldozing half…breed； had
brought with it a joyous reaction。 At first； each strove to outdo
the other； and they performed petty tasks with an unction which
would have opened the eyes of their comrades who were now wearing
out bodies and souls on the Long Trail。
All care was banished。 The forest； which shouldered in upon them
from three sides； was an inexhaustible woodyard。 A few yards from
their door slept the Porcupine； and a hole through its winter robe
formed a bubbling spring of water； crystal clear and painfully cold。
But they soon grew to find fault with even that。 The hole would
persist in freezing up； and thus gave them many a miserable hour of
ice…chopping。 The unknown builders of the cabin had extended the
sidelogs so as to support a cache at the rear。 In this was stored
the bulk of the party's provisions。 Food there was； without stint； for
three times the men who were fated to live upon it。 But the most of it
was the kind which built up brawn and sinew； but did not tickle the
palate。 True； there was sugar in plenty for two ordinary men； but
these two were little else than children。 They early discovered the
virtues of hot water judiciously saturated with sugar； and they
prodigally swam their flapjacks and soaked their crusts in the rich；
white syrup。 Then coffee and tea； and especially the dried fruits；
made disastrous inroads upon it。 The first words they had were over
the sugar question。 And it is a really serious thing when two men；
wholly dependent upon each other for company； begin to quarrel。
Weatherbee loved to discourse blatantly on politics； while Cuthfert；
who had been prone to clip his coupons and let the commonwealth jog on
as best it might； either ignored the subject or delivered himself of
startling epigrams。 But the clerk was too obtuse to appreciate the
clever shaping of thought； and this waste of ammunition irritated
Cuthfert。 He had been used to blinding people by his brilliancy； and
it worked him quite a hardship； this loss of an audience。 He felt
personally aggrieved and unconsciously held his muttonhead companion
responsible for it。
Save existence； they had nothing in common… came in touch on no
single point。 Weatherbee was a clerk who had known naught but clerking
all his life； Cuthfert was a master of arts； a dabbler in oils； and
had written not a little。 The one was a lower…class man who considered
himself a gentleman； and the other was a gentleman who knew himself to
be such。 From this it may be remarked that a man can be a gentleman
without possessing the first instinct of true comradeship。 The clerk
was as sensuous as the other was aesthetic； and his love adventures；
told at great length and chiefly coined from his imagination； affected
the supersensitive master of arts in the same way as so many whiffs of
sewer gas。 He deemed the clerk a filthy； uncultured brute； whose place
was in the muck with the swine； and told him so； and he was
reciprocally informed that he was a milk…and…water sissy and a cad。
Weatherbee could not have defined 'cad' for his life； but it satisfied
its purpose； which after all seems the main point in life。
Weatherbee flatted every third note and sang such songs as 'The
Boston Burglar' and 'the Handsome Cabin Boy；' for hours at a time；
while Cuthfert wept with rage； till he could stand it no longer and
fled into the outer cold。 But there was no escape。 The intense frost
could not be endured for long at a time； and the little cabin
crowded them… beds； stove； table； and all… into a space of ten by
twelve。 The very presence of either became a personal affront to the
other； and they lapsed into sullen silences which increased in
length and strength as the days went by。 Occasionally； the flash of an
eye or the curl of a lip got the better of them； though they strove to
wholly ignore each other during these mute periods。 And a great wonder
sprang up in the breast of each； as to how God had ever come to create
the other。
With little to do； time became an intolerable burden to them。 This
naturally made them still lazier。 They sank into a physical lethargy
which there was no escaping； and which made them rebel at the
performance of the smallest chore。 One morning when it was his turn to
cook the common breakfast； Weatherbee rolled out of his blankets；
and to the snoring of his companion； lighted first the slush…lamp
and then the fire。 The kettles were frozen hard； and there was no
water in the cabin with which to wash。 But he did not mind that。
Waiting for it to thaw； he sliced the bacon and plunged into the
hateful task of bread…making。 Cuthfert had been slyly watching through
his half…closed lids。 Consequently there was a scene； in which they
fervently blessed each other； and agreed； henceforth； that each do his
own cooking。 A week later； Cuthfert neglected his morning ablutions；
but none the less complacently ate the meal which he had cook