'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 , 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 .'
 
'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 of sugar and sour . 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 , 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 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 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 did its work; the men of the camps and trails unbent in its 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 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 howl of the Malemutes, and the of a sled as it drew up to the cabin. Conversation 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 and the wolfish and 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 . He was a striking personage, and a most one, in his Arctic dress of wool and fur. 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 and white with ice, and the ear and neck flaps of his great wolfskin cap loosely raised, he seemed, of a , 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 dog whip, a smokeless rifle of the largest bore and latest pattern. As he came forward, for all his step was firm and , they could see that bore heavily upon him.
 
An awkward silence had fallen, but his '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 . A introduction and a mug of punch were forced upon him before he could explain his errand.
 
How long since that basket sled, with three men and eight dogs, passed?' he asked.
 
'An even two days ahead. Are you after them?' 'Yes; my team. Run them off under my very nose, the cusses. I've gained two days on them already—pick them up on the next run.' 'Reckon they'll show ?' asked Belden, in order to keep up the conversation, for Malemute Kid already had the coffeepot on and was busily frying bacon and moose meat.
 
The stranger significantly tapped his revolvers.
 
'When'd yeh leave Dawson?' 'Twelve o'clock.' 'Last night?'—as a matter of course.
 
'Today.' A of surprise passed round the circle. And well it might; for it was just midnight, and seventy-five miles of rough river trail was not to be at for a twelve hours' run.
 
The talk soon became , however, harking back to the trails of childhood. As the young stranger ate of the rude fare Malemute Kid studied his face. Nor was he long in deciding that it was fair, honest, and open, and that he liked it. Still youthful, the lines had been firmly traced by and hardship.
 
Though genial in conversation, and mild when at rest, the blue eyes gave promise of the hard steel-glitter which comes when called into action, especially against . The heavy and square-cut chin demonstrated and indomitability. Nor, though the attributes of the lion were there, was there wanting the certain softness, the hint of womanliness, which the emotional nature.
 
'So thet's how me an' the ol' woman got spliced,' said Belden, concluding the exciting tale of his courtship. '"Here we be, Dad," sez she. "An' may yeh be damned," sez he to her, an' then to me, "Jim, yeh—yeh git outen them good duds o' yourn; I want a right peart slice o' thet forty acre ' dinner." An' then he sort o' sniffled an' kissed her. An' I was thet happy—but he seen me an' roars out, "Yeh, Jim!" An' yeh bet I dusted fer the barn.' 'Any kids waiting for you back in the States?' asked the stranger.
 
'Nope; Sal died 'fore any come. Thet's why I'm here.' Belden abstractedly began to light his pipe, which had failed to go out, and then brightened up with, 'How ' yerself, stranger—married man?' For reply, he opened his watch, slipped it from the which served for a chain, and passed it over. Belden picked up the slush lamp, surveyed the inside of the case critically, and, swearing admiringly to himself, handed it over to Louis Savoy. With numerous 'By gars!' he finally surrendered it to Prince, and they noticed that his hands trembled and his eyes took on a softness. And so it passed from horny hand to horny hand—the pasted photograph of a woman, the clinging kind that such men fancy, with a babe at the breast. Those who had not yet seen the wonder were keen with curiosity; those who had became silent and retrospective. They could face the pinch of famine, the grip of , or the quick death by field or flood; but the pictured of a stranger woman and child made women and children of them all.
 
'Never have seen the youngster yet—he's a boy, she says, and two years old,' said the stranger as he received the treasure back. A lingering moment he gazed upon it, then snapped the case and turned away, but not quick enough to hide the restrained rush of tears. Malemute Kid led him to a and bade him turn in.
 
'Call me at four sharp. Don't fail me,' were his last words, and a moment later he was breathing in the heaviness of sleep.
 
'By Jove! He's a chap,' commented Prince. 'Three hours' sleep after seventy-five miles with the dogs, and then the trail again. Who is he, Kid?' ' Westondale. Been in going on three years, with nothing but the name of working like a horse, and any amount of bad luck to his credit. I never knew him, but Sitka Charley told me about him.' 'It seems hard that a man with a sweet young wife like his should be putting in his years in this Godforsaken hole, where every year counts two on the outside.' 'The trouble with him is clean and stubbornness. He's cleaned up twice with a stake, but lost it both times.' Here the conversation was broken off by an from Bettles, for the effect had begun to wear away. And soon the years of grub and deadening toil were being forgotten in rough merriment. Malemute Kid alone seemed unable to lose himself, and cast many an anxious look at his watch. Once he put on his and beaver-skin cap, and, leaving the cabin, fell to about in the cache.
 
Nor could he wait the hour designated; for he was fifteen minutes ahead of time in rousing his guest. The young giant had badly, and brisk rubbing was necessary to bring him to his feet. He painfully out of the cabin, to find his dogs harnessed and everything ready for the start. The company wished him good luck and a short chase, while Father Roubeau, hurriedly him, led the stampede for the cabin; and small wonder, for it is not good to face seventy-four degrees below zero with naked ears and hands.
 
Malemute Kid saw him to the main trail, and there, gripping his hand , gave him advice.
 
'You'll find a hundred pounds of salmon eggs on the sled,' he said. 'The dogs will go as far on that as with one hundred and fifty of fish, and you can't get dog food at Pelly, as you probably expected.' The stranger started, and his eyes flashed, but he did not interrupt. 'You can't get an ounce of food for dog or man till you reach Five Fingers, and that's a stiff two hundred miles. Watch out for open water on the Thirty Mile River, and be sure you take the big cutoff above Le .' 'How did you know it? Surely the news can't be ahead of me already?' 'I don't know it; and what's more, I don't want to know it. But you never owned that team you're chasing. Sitka Charley sold it to them last spring. But he sized you up to me as square once, and I believe him. I've seen your face; I like it. And I've seen—why, damn you, hit the high places for salt water and that wife of yours, and—' Here the Kid unmittened and jerked out his sack.
 
'No; I don't need it,' and the tears froze on his cheeks as he convulsively gripped Malemute Kid's hand.
 
'Then don't spare the dogs; cut them out of the traces as fast as they drop; buy them, and think they're cheap at ten dollars a pound. You can get them at Five Fingers, Little Salmon, and Hootalinqua. And watch out for wet feet,' was his parting advice. 'Keep a-traveling up to twenty-five, but if it gets below that, build a fire and change your socks.'
 
Fifteen minutes had barely elapsed when the of bells announced new arrivals. The door opened, and a mounted policeman of the Northwest Territory entered, followed by two half-breed dog drivers. Like Westondale, they were heavily armed and showed signs of fatigue. The half-breeds had been born to the trail and bore it easily; but the young policeman was badly exhausted. Still, the dogged of his race held him to the pace he had set, and would hold him till he dropped in his tracks.
 
'When did Westondale pull out?' he asked. 'He stopped here, didn't he?' This was supererogatory, for the tracks told their own tale too well.
 
Malemute Kid had caught Belden's eye, and he, the wind, replied evasively, 'A right peart while back.' 'Come, my man; speak up,' the policeman .
 
'Yeh seem to want him right smart. Hez he ben gittin' down Dawson way?'
 
'Held up McFarland's for forty thousand; exchanged it at the P.C. store for a check on Seattle; and who's to stop the cashing of it if we don't overtake him? When did he pull out?'
 
Every eye suppressed its excitement, for Malemute Kid had given the cue, and the young officer encountered wooden faces on every hand.
 
Striding over to Prince, he put the question to him. Though it hurt him, gazing into the frank, earnest face of his fellow countryman, he replied inconsequentially on the state of the trail.
 
Then he Father Roubeau, who could not lie. 'A quarter of an hour ago,' the priest answered; 'but he had four hours' rest for himself and dogs.' 'Fifteen minutes' start, and he's fresh! My God!' The poor fellow staggered back, half fainting from and disappointment, murmuring something about the run from Dawson in ten hours and the dogs being played out.
 
Malemute Kid forced a mug of punch upon him; then he turned for the door, ordering the dog drivers to follow. But the warmth and promise of rest were too , and they objected . The Kid was with their French , and followed it anxiously.
 
They swore that the dogs were gone up; that Siwash and Babette would have to be shot before the first mile was covered; that the rest were almost as bad; and that it would be better for all hands to rest up.
 
'Lend me five dogs?' he asked, turning to Malemute Kid.
 
But the Kid shook his head.
 
'I'll sign a check on Captain Constantine for five thousand—here's my papers—I'm to draw at my own .'
 
Again the silent refusal.
 
'Then I'll requisition them in the name of the Queen.' Smiling incredulously, the Kid glanced at his well-stocked , and the Englishman, realizing his impotency, turned for the door. But the dog drivers still objecting, he whirled upon them fiercely, calling them women and curs. The swart face of the older half-breed flushed angrily as he drew himself up and promised in good, round terms that he would travel his leader off his legs, and would then be delighted to plant him in the snow.
 
The young officer—and it required his whole will—walked to the door, exhibiting a freshness he did not possess. But they all knew and appreciated his proud effort; nor could he veil the twinges of agony that shot across his face. Covered with frost, the dogs were curled up in the snow, and it was almost impossible to get them to their feet. The poor under the stinging , for the dog drivers were angry and cruel; nor till Babette, the leader, was cut from the traces, could they break out the sled and get under way.
 
'A dirty scoundrel and a !' 'By gar! Him no good!' 'A thief!' 'Worse than an Indian!'
 
It was evident that they were angry—first at the way they had been deceived; and second at the of the Northland, where honesty, above all, was man's prime jewel.
 
'An' we gave the cuss a hand, after knowin' what he'd did.' All eyes turned accusingly upon Malemute Kid, who rose from the corner where he had been making Babette comfortable, and silently emptied the bowl for a final round of punch.
 
'It's a cold night, boys—a bitter cold night,' was the commencement of his . 'You've all traveled trail, and know what that stands for. Don't jump a dog when he's down. You've only heard one side. A whiter man than Jack Westondale never ate from the same pot nor stretched blanket with you or me.
 
'Last fall he gave his whole clean-up, forty thousand, to Joe Castrell, to buy in on . Today he'd be a millionaire. But, while he stayed behind at Circle City, taking care of his partner with the scurvy, what does Castell do? Goes into McFarland's, jumps the limit, and drops the whole sack. Found him dead in the snow the next day. And poor Jack laying his plans to go out this winter to his wife and the boy he's never seen. You'll notice he took exactly what his partner lost—forty thousand. Well, he's gone out; and what are you going to do about it?' The Kid glanced round the circle of his judges, the of their faces, then raised his mug aloft. 'So 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.
 
'God him; good luck go with him; and—' 'Confusion to the Mounted Police!' cried Bettles, to the crash of the empty cups.