of the teeth. "And what would have been the use? Don't I know? I'm not a
fool. Our caches are filled with every kind of fruit juice and preserved
vegetables. We are better situated than any other camp in Alaska to
fight scurvy. There is no prepared vegetable, fruit, and nut food we
haven't, and in plenty."

"She's got you there, Smoke," Shorty exulted. "And it's a condition, not
a theory. You say vegetables cures. Here's the vegetables, and where's
the cure?"

"There's no explanation I can see," Smoke acknowledged. "Yet there is no
camp in Alaska like this. I've seen scurvy--a sprinkling of cases here
and there; but I never saw a whole camp with it, nor did I ever see such
terrible cases. Which is neither here nor there, Shorty. We've got to do
what we can for these people, but first we've got to make camp and take
care of the dogs. We'll see you in the morning, er--Mrs. Sibley."

"MISS Sibley," she bridled. "And now, young man, if you come fooling
around this cabin with any doctor stuff I'll fill you full of birdshot."

"This divine seeress is a sweet one," Smoke chuckled, as he and Shorty
felt their way back through the darkness to the empty cabin next to the
one they had first entered.

It was evident that two men had lived until recently in the cabin, and
the partners wondered if they weren't the two suicides down the
trail. Together they overhauled the cache and found it filled with an
undreamed-of variety of canned, powdered, dried, evaporated, condensed,
and desiccated foods.

"What in the name of reason do they want to go and get scurvy for?"
Shorty demanded, brandishing to the light packages of egg-powder and
Italian mushrooms. "And look at that! And that!" He tossed out cans
of tomatoes and corn and bottles of stuffed olives. "And the divine
steeress got the scurvy, too. What d'ye make of it?"

"Seeress," Smoke corrected.

"Steeress," Shorty reiterated. "Didn't she steer 'em here to this hole
in the ground?"

Next morning, after daylight, Smoke encountered a man carrying a heavy
sled-load of firewood. He was a little man, clean-looking and spry, who
walked briskly despite the load. Smoke experienced an immediate dislike.

"What's the matter with you?" he asked.

"Nothing," the little man answered.

"I know that," Smoke said. "That's why I asked you. You're Amos
Wentworth. Now why under the sun haven't you the scurvy like all the
rest?"

"Because I've exercised," came the quick reply. "There w