me out of
powders and bottles, but do come out of vegetables."

"An' these people eats nothin' but grass," Shorty groaned. "And they've
got it up to their ears. That proves you're all wrong, Smoke. You're
spielin' a theory, but this condition sure knocks the spots outa your
theory. Scurvy's catchin', an' that's why they've all got it, an' rotten
bad at that. You an' me'll get it too, if we hang around this diggin'.
B-r-r-r!--I can feel the bugs crawlin' into my system right now."

Smoke laughed skeptically, and knocked on a cabin door. "I suppose we'll
find the same old thing," he said. "Come on. We've got to get a line on
the situation."

"What do you want?" came a woman's sharp voice.

"We want to see you," Smoke answered.

"Who are you?"

"Two doctors from Dawson," Shorty blurted in, with a levity that brought
a punch in the short ribs from Smoke's elbow.

"Don't want to see any doctors," the woman said, in tones crisp and
staccato with pain and irritation. "Go away. Good night. We don't
believe in doctors."

Smoke pulled the latch, shoved the door open, and entered, turning up
the low-flamed kerosene-lamp so that he could see. In four bunks four
women ceased from groaning and sighing to stare at the intruders. Two
were young, thin-faced creatures, the third was an elderly and very
stout woman, and the fourth, the one whom Smoke identified by her voice,
was the thinnest, frailest specimen of the human race he had ever
seen. As he quickly learned, she was Laura Sibley, the seeress and
professional clairvoyant who had organized the expedition in Los Angeles
and led it to this death-camp on the Nordbeska. The conversation that
ensued was acrimonious. Laura Sibley did not believe in doctors. Also,
to add to her purgatory, she had wellnigh ceased to believe in herself.

"Why didn't you send out for help?" Smoke asked, when she paused,
breathless and exhausted, from her initial tirade. "There's a camp at
Stewart River, and eighteen days' travel would fetch Dawson from here."

"Why didn't Amos Wentworth go?" she demanded, with a wrath that bordered
on hysteria.

"Don't know the gentleman," Smoke countered. "What's he been doing?"

"Nothing. Except that he's the only one that hasn't caught the scurvy.
And why hasn't he caught the scurvy? I'll tell you. No, I won't." The
thin lips compressed so tightly that through the emaciated transparency
of them Smoke was almost convinced he could see the teeth and the roots