dull, grinding roar. Their speed
began to diminish, and cakes of ice to up-end and crash and smash about
them. The river was jamming. One cake, forced upward, slid across their
cake and carried one side of the boat away. It did not sink, for its
own cake still upbore it, but in a whirl they saw dark water show for an
instant within a foot of them. Then all movement ceased. At the end of
half an hour the whole river picked itself up and began to move. This
continued for an hour, when again it was brought to rest by a jam. Once
again it started, running swiftly and savagely, with a great grinding.
Then they saw lights ashore, and, when abreast, gravity and the Yukon
surrendered, and the river ceased for six months.

On the shore at Dawson, curious ones, gathered to watch the river
freeze, heard from out of the darkness the war-song of Shorty:

"Like Argus of the ancient times,
We leave this Modern Greece;
Tum-tum, tum-tum; tum-tum, tum-tum,
To shear the Golden Fleece."

For three days Kit and Shorty labored, carrying the ton and a half of
outfit from the middle of the river to the log-cabin Stine and Sprague
had bought on the hill overlooking Dawson. This work finished, in
the warm cabin, as twilight was falling, Sprague motioned Kit to him.
Outside the thermometer registered sixty-five below zero.

"Your full month isn't up, Smoke," Sprague said. "But here it is in
full. I wish you luck."

"How about the agreement?" Kit asked. "You know there's a famine here.
A man can't get work in the mines even, unless he has his own grub. You
agreed--"

"I know of no agreement," Sprague interrupted. "Do you, Stine? We
engaged you by the month. There's your pay. Will you sign the receipt?"

Kit's hands clenched, and for the moment he saw red. Both men shrank
away from him. He had never struck a man in anger in his life, and he
felt so certain of his ability to thrash Sprague that he could not bring
himself to do it.

Shorty saw his trouble and interposed.

"Look here, Smoke, I ain't travelin' no more with a ornery outfit like
this. Right here's where I sure jump it. You an' me stick together.
Savvy? Now, you take your blankets an' hike down to the Elkhorn. Wait
for me. I'll settle up, collect what's comin', an' give them what's
comin'. I ain't no good on the water, but my feet's on terry-fermy now
an' I'm sure goin' to make smoke."

. . . . .

Half an hour afterw