eless, he could not think of that broken shaft
without raving.

Being penniless he looked for work, and his first job came from a
small Jewish merchant, named Guth, who offered him a hundred dollars
to do the assessment work on a tundra claim. For twenty days Folsom
picked holes through frozen muck, wondering why a thrifty person like
Guth would pay good money to hold such unpromising property as this.

The claim was in sight of Nome, and as Folsom finished his last day's
labor he heard bells ringing and whistles blowing and discovered that
the town was ablaze. He hurried in to find that an entire block in
the business center of the city had been destroyed and with it Guth's
little store, including all its contents. He found the Jew in tears.

"What a misfortune!" wailed the merchant. "Ruined, absolutely--and by
a match! It started in my store--my little girl, you understand?
And now, all gone!" He tore his beard and the tears rolled down his
cheeks.

The little man's grief was affecting, and so Folsom inquired more
gently than he intended, "I'm sorry, of course, but how about my money
for the Lulu assessment?"

"Money? There's your money!" Guth pointed sadly into the smoldering
ruins. "Go find it--you're welcome to anything I have left. Gott! What
a country! How can a man get ahead, with no insurance?"

Folsom laughed mirthlessly. His hard luck was becoming amusing and
he wondered how long it would last. He had counted on that hundred
dollars to get away from Nome, hoping to shake misfortune from his
heels, but a match in the hands of a child, like that broken propeller
shaft, had worked havoc with his plans. Well, it was useless to cry.

To the despairing Hebrew he said: "Don't lose your grip, old man. Buck
up and take another start. You have your wife and your little girl, at
least, and you're the sort who makes good."

"You think so?" Guth looked up, grateful for the first word of
encouragement he had heard.

"It's a cinch! Only don't lose your courage."

"I--I'll do what's right by you, Mr. Folsom," declared the other.
"I'll deed you a half interest in the Lulu."

But Folsom shook his head. "I don't want it. There's nothing there
except moss and muck and salmon berries, and it's a mile to bed-rock.
No, you're welcome to my share; maybe you can sell the claim for
enough to make a new start or to buy grub for the wife and the kid.
I'll look for another job."

For a month or more the lonesome husband "s