Welse, the world is none so large. Mr. Harney and I are not strangers
after all."
The Eldorado king studied the other's face until a glimmering1 intelligence came to him. "Hold on!" he cried, as St. Vincent started to speak, "I got my finger on you. You were smooth-faced then. Let's see,—'86, fall of '87, summer of '88,—yep, that's when. Summer of '88 I come floatin' a raft out of Stewart River, loaded down with quarters of moose an' strainin' to make the Lower Country 'fore2 they went bad. Yep, an' down the Yukon you come, in a Linderman boat. An' I was holdin' strong, ez it was Wednesday, an' my pardner ez it was Friday, an' you put us straight—Sunday, I b'lieve it was. Yep, Sunday. I declare! Nine years ago! And we swapped3 moose-steaks fer flour an' bakin' soda4, an'—an'—an' sugar! By the Jimcracky! I'm glad to see you!"
He shoved out his hand and they shook again.
"Come an' see me," he invited, as he moved away. "I've a right tidy little shack5 up on the hill, and another on Eldorado. Latch-string's always out. Come an' see me, an' stay ez long ez you've a mind to. Sorry to quit you cold, but I got to traipse down to the Opery House and collect my taxes,—sugar. Miss Frona'll tell you."
"You are a surprise, Mr. St. Vincent." Frona switched back to the point of interest, after briefly6 relating Harney's saccharine7 difficulties. "The country must indeed have been a wilderness8 nine years ago, and to think that you went through it at that early day! Do tell me about it."
Gregory St. Vincent shrugged9 his shoulders, "There is very little to tell. It was an ugly failure, filled with many things that are not nice, and containing nothing of which to be proud."
"But do tell me, I enjoy such things. They seem closer and truer to life than the ordinary every-day happenings. A failure, as you call it, implies something attempted. What did you attempt?"
He noted10 her frank interest with satisfaction. "Well, if you will, I can tell you in few words all there is to tell. I took the mad idea into my head of breaking a new path around the world, and in the interest of science and journalism11, particularly journalism, I proposed going through Alaska, crossing the Bering Straits on the ice, and journeying to Europe by way of Northern Siberia. It was a splendid undertaking12, most of it being virgin13 ground, only I failed. I crossed the Straits in good order, but came to grief in Eastern Siberia—all because of Tamerlane is the excuse I have grown accustomed to making."
"A Ulysses!" Mrs. Schoville clapped her hands and joined them. "A modern Ulysses! How romantic!"
"But not an Othello," Frona replied. "His tongue is a sluggard14. He leaves one at the most interesting point with an enigmatical reference to a man of a bygone age. You take an unfair advantage of us, Mr. St. Vincent, and we shall be unhappy until you show how Tamerlane brought your journey to an untimely end."
He laughed, and with an effort put aside his reluctance15 to speak of his travels. "When Tamerlane swept with fire and sword over Eastern Asia, states were disrupted, cities overthrown16, and tribes scattered17 like star-dust. In fact, a vast people was hurled18 broadcast over the land. Fleeing before the mad lust19 of the conquerors20, these refugees swung far into Siberia, circling to the north and east and fringing the rim21 of the polar basin with a spray of Mongol tribes—am I not tiring you?"
"No, no!" Mrs. Schoville exclaimed. "It is fascinating! Your method of narration22 is so vivid! It reminds me of—of—"
"Of Macaulay," St. Vincent laughed, good-naturedly. "You know I am a journalist, and he has strongly influenced my style. But I promise you I shall tone down. However, to return, had it not been for these Mongol tribes, I should not have been halted in my travels. Instead of being forced to marry a greasy23 princess, and to become proficient24 in interclannish warfare25 and reindeer26-stealing, I should have travelled easily and peaceably to St. Petersburg."
"Oh, these heroes! Are they not exasperating27, Frona? But what about the reindeer-stealing and the greasy princesses?"
The Gold Commissioner's wife beamed upon him, and glancing for permission to Frona, he went on.
"The coast people were Esquimo stock, merry-natured and happy, and inoffensive. They called themselves the Oukilion, or the Sea Men. I bought dogs and food from them, and they treated me splendidly. But they were subject to the Chow Chuen, or interior people, who were known as the Deer Men. The Chow Chuen were a savage28, indomitable breed, with all the fierceness of the untamed Mongol, plus double his viciousness. As soon as I left the coast they fell upon me, confiscated29 my goods, and made me a slave."
"But were there no Russians?" Mrs. Schoville asked.
"Russians? Among the Chow Chuen?" He laughed his amusement. "Geographically30, they are within the White Tsar's domain31; but politically, no. I doubt if they ever heard of him. Remember, the interior of North-Eastern Siberia is hidden in the polar gloom, a terra incognita, where few men have gone and none has returned."
"But you—"
"I chance to be the exception. Why I was spared, I do not know. It just so happened. At first I was vilely32 treated, beaten by the women and children, clothed in vermin-infested mangy furs, and fed on refuse. They were utterly33 heartless. How I managed to survive is beyond me; but I know that often and often, at first, I meditated34 suicide. The only thing that saved me during that period from taking my own life was the fact that I quickly became too stupefied and bestial35, what of my suffering and
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