Part 23 (2/2)

the kid, heah, an' O'Brien, if he'll go--” To their surprise, O'Brien leaped to his feet:

”Ye c'n count me in!” he cried. ”Foive days agone no power on earth c'd av dhrug me back into that land av th' cheerless cowld. But, now, 'tis dif'runt, an' if th' sun shoines war-rum enough f'r th' loikes av ye--an' th' b'y, here--phy, ut shoines war-rum enough f'r Pathrick O'Brien--av ut river shoines at all.”

”That's what I call a man!” yelled Fiddle Face, and subsided instantly, for Waseche Bill was speaking.

”As I was goin' on to say: with us will be some of the boys from Ten Bow--McDougall, an' Dutch Henery, an' d.i.c.k Colton, an' Scotty McCollough, an' Black Jack Demaree from Ragged Falls, an'--well, how about it, boys? The gold is theah, an' me an' the kid, we aim to let ouh frien's in on this heah strike. We'll sho' be proud to have yo'-all jine us.” With a loud cheer, the men accepted Waseche's invitation--they had seen O'Brien's gold.

”Jes' keep it undeh yo' hats till the time comes,” cautioned Waseche.

”We-all will slip yo'-all the wehd, an' we don't want no tinhawns, noah _chechakos_, noah pikehs along, 'cause the Ignatook stampede is goin' to be a stampede of _tillic.u.ms_!”

In the morning the partners, accompanied by O'Brien, said good-bye to the men of Eagle and headed down the great river for the mouth of the Ten Bow. On the third day, only a short distance above the place where the Ten Bow trail swerved from the Yukon between two high bluffs, they came upon the camp of an Indian. The red man was travelling light. He had just come out of the hills, and with him were Waseche Bill's dogs--the _malamutes_ whose sudden stampede had led the lost wayfarers through the narrow pa.s.s to the crest of the Kandik divide, and--Alaska!

”Wheah'd yo' get them dawgs?” asked Waseche, pointing to the _malamutes_. The Indian waved his arm in the direction of the hills, and Waseche nodded:

”Them's _my_ dawgs--_nika komooks_.”

The Indian scowled and shook his head.

”Dem Pete Mateese dog,” he grunted surlily.

”Pete Mateese!” cried Connie. ”Do you know Pete Mateese? Who is he? Where is he? We want to find him.”

The Indian glowered sullenly.

”W'at y'u wan' Pete Mateese?” he asked.

”We want to find him. We've got good news for him. He's rich--plenty gold.” At the words the Indian laughed--not a mirthful laugh, but a sneering, sardonic laugh of unbelief.

”White man beeg liar--all. Pete Mateese, she Injun--breed. White man no tell Injun 'bout gol'. Me'be so white man steal Injun gol'.”

With Irish impetuosity, O'Brien leaped forward.

”Take thot back, ye rid shpalpeen!” he cried, shaking a huge fist under the Indian's nose. ”Av ye say wan more wor-rd ag'in' th' b'y, Oi'll choke th' gizzard out av ye befoor ye say ut!”

Waseche Bill held up a restraining hand.

”Take it easy, O'Brien, don't le's n.o.body huht anybody. Le's get the straight of this heah. Primary an' fo'most, we-all want to find out if Pete Mateese _pulled out_ on Carlson, oah, did he aim to go back.” At the mention of Carlson's name the Indian turned quickly toward Waseche.

”Y'u know Carlson?” he asked. Waseche Bill nodded.

”Yeh, I did know him.”

”Wher' Carlson?”

”Dead.” As Waseche p.r.o.nounced the word the Indian shook his head sadly.

”Carlson good white man. All good white man dead. Sam Morgan, she dead, too.”

”Sam Morgan!” exclaimed Connie. ”What do you know of Sam Morgan?”

”Sam Morgan good to Injun. Me--mos' die, once--fi', seex winter 'go, in de beeg snow. Sam Morgan com' 'long. Hav' one small piece bacon--one small lump suet--eighteen mile--Hesitation. Me--I got no grub. Fi', seex day I ain' got no grub. Seek lak leetle baby. Sam Morgan, she mak' me eat--sam' lak heem. Den she peek me oop an' car' me--all night--all day.

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