Part 22 (2/2)
”Dere she is,” said the Frenchman
”I'm damned if it is You moved it since I was here”
”I'll have 'i to be rich, ain't it?”
”I don' know, I ain' never try it”
”Well, it is; and now that I've arrived, I'ance in mine--I'll never lend another cent”
”Wat's dat?” ejaculated Doret, in amazement
”No more hard-luck stories and 'hurry-ups' for mine I'm the stony-hearted jailer, I am, from now, henceforth, world 'thout end, a, but to-night I turn on the tihed Poleon, who had lent the one-eyed arded him not merely as a bad risk but as a total loss ”Mebbe you t'ink you've been a spen't'rif all dese year”
”I've certainly blowed a lot of ed, ”and they're welcooin' to chop all theal habits and put on the tin vest I'll run the solderin'-iron up et to ht for life, I aar, then felt for a match Poleon tossed one on the bar, and he reached for it twice, uess dose new frien' of yours is mak' you purty full, M'sieu' Tin Vest”
”Nothin' of the sort I've got a bad dose of indigestion”
”Dat's 'orrible disease! Dere's plaintee riche man die on dat seecknesse You better lie down”
Doret took the hero of the day by the arm and led him to the rear of the store, where he bedded him on a pile of flour sacks, but he had hardly returned to the bar when Lee caht like a shi+p tacking towards a beacon
”What kind of flour is that?” he spluttered
”Dat's just plain w'eat flour”
”Not on your life,” said the reat conviction ”It's full of yeast powders Why, it's r'arin' and risin'
like a buckin' hoss I' course for the door
”W'ere you goin'?” asked Poleon
”I'et somethin' for this stomach trouble It's fierce” He descended into the darkness boldly, and stepped off with confidence--this tinant voice raised irascibly, albeit with a note of triumph
”Wha'd I tell you? You put it back while I was ashleep” Then whistling blithely, if soet so for his ”stoe crowd of the newhi to his maudlin tales of this new country which to him was old He had followed thethe bars and creek-beds in a tireless quest, till he knew each stream and tributary, for he had been one of the hardy band that used to venture forth fro into the uncharted valley of the Yukon, to return when the river clogged and grew sluggish, and, like Gale, he had lived these many years ahead of the lahere each man was his own court of appeals and where crime was unknown He had helped to build camps like Forty Mile and Circle; he knew by heart the by-laws and rules that governed every town anddistrict in the country; he knew every man and child by na ill-luck had dogged hi aan axe or a shovel, and, despite his i capital punishment
”Oh, there's lots of countries worse'n this,” he declared ”We may not be very han'some to the naked eye, and we may not wear our handk'chiefs in our shi+rt cuffs, but there ain't no widders and orphans doin' our washi+n', and a man can walk away from his house, stay a month, and find it there when he comes back”