that canoodlin' pardner of yourn,' suggested a heavy-going
Westerner from the Dakotas, at the same time pointing out Weatherbee.
'He'll be shore to ask yuh what yur a-goin' to do when it comes to
cookin' an' gatherin' the wood.' 'Then we'll consider it all arranged,'
concluded Sloper.

'We'll pull out tomorrow, if we camp within five miles--just to get
everything in running order and remember if we've forgotten anything.'
The sleds groaned by on their steel-shod runners, and the dogs strained
low in the harnesses in which they were born to die.

Jacques Baptiste paused by the side of Sloper to get a last glimpse of
the cabin. The smoke curled up pathetically from the Yukon stovepipe.
The two Incapables were watching them from the doorway.

Sloper laid his hand on the other's shoulder.

'Jacques Baptiste, did you ever hear of the Kilkenny cats?' The
half-breed shook his head.

'Well, my friend and good comrade, the Kilkenny cats fought till
neither hide, nor hair, nor yowl, was left. You understand?--till
nothing was left. Very good.

Now, these two men don't like work. They'll be all alone in that cabin
all winter--a mighty long, dark winter. Kilkenny cats--well?' The
Frenchman in Baptiste shrugged his shoulders, but the Indian in him was
silent. Nevertheless, it was an eloquent shrug, pregnant with prophecy.
Things prospered in the little cabin at first. The rough badinage of
their comrades had made Weatherbee and Cuthfert conscious of the mutual
responsibility which had devolved upon them; besides, there was not so
much work after all for two healthy men. And the removal of the cruel
whiphand, or in other words the bulldozing half-breed, had brought with
it a joyous reaction. At first, each strove to outdo the other, and
they performed petty tasks with an unction which would have opened the
eyes of their comrades who were now wearing out bodies and souls on the
Long Trail.

All care was banished. The forest, which shouldered in upon them from
three sides, was an inexhaustible woodyard. A few yards from their door
slept the Porcupine, and a hole through its winter robe formed a
bubbling spring of water, crystal clear and painfully cold. But they
soon grew to find fault with even that. The hole would persist in
freezing up, and thus gave them many a miserable hour of ice-chopping.
The unknown builders of the cabin had extended the sidelogs so as to
support a cache at the rear. In this was stored the bulk of the