he
gamekeeper's gaze, fixed on Smoke, caught the player's attention, and
he, too, with suspended dice, turned and looked.

"What's up, Smoke?" Matson, the owner of the Annie Mine, demanded.

With a last effort, Smoke clawed his mouth free. "I got some dogs out
there--dead beat," he said huskily. "Somebody go and take care of them,
and I'll tell you what's the matter."

In a dozen brief sentences, he outlined the situation. The craps-player,
his money still lying on the table and his slippery Joe Cotton still
uncaptured, had come over to Smoke, and was now the first to speak.

"We gotta do something. That's straight. But what? You've had time to
think. What's your plan? Spit it out."

"Sure," Smoke assented. "Here's what I've been thinking. We've got to
hustle light sleds on the jump. Say a hundred pounds of grub on each
sled. The driver's outfit and dog-grub will fetch it up fifty more.
But they can make time. Say we start five of these sleds pronto--best
running teams, best mushers and trail-eaters. On the soft trail the
sleds can take the lead turn about. They've got to start at once. At the
best, by the time they can get there, all those Indians won't have had a
scrap to eat for three days. And then, as soon as we've got those sleds
off we'll have to follow up with heavy sleds. Figure it out yourself.
Two pounds a day is the very least we can decently keep those Indians
traveling on. That's four hundred pounds a day, and, with the old people
and the children, five days is the quickest time we can bring them into
Mucluc. Now what are you going to do?"

"Take up a collection to buy all the grub," said the craps-player.

"I'll stand for the grub," Smoke began impatiently.

"Nope," the other interrupted. "This ain't your treat. We're all in.
Fetch a wash-basin somebody. It won't take a minute. An' here's a
starter."

He pulled a heavy gold-sack from his pocket, untied the mouth, and
poured a stream of coarse dust and nuggets into the basin. A man beside
him caught his hand up with a jerk and an oath, elevating the mouth
of the sack so as to stop the run of the dust. To a casual eye, six or
eight ounces had already run into the basin.

"Don't be a hawg," cried the second man. "You ain't the only one with a
poke. Gimme a chance at it."

"Huh!" sneered the craps-player. "You'd think it was a stampede, you're
so goshdanged eager about it."

Men crowded and jostled for the opportunity to contribute, and when
th