folks fools," Shorty giggled back. "Say, Smoke, they ain't
nothin' in hard graft. A geezer that'd work his hands these days is
a--well, a geezer. The world's sure bustin' full an' dribblin' over the
edges with fools a-honin' to be separated from their dust. An' before we
start down the hill I want to announce, if you're still agreeable, that
I come in half on this deal."

The sled was lightly loaded with a sleeping- and a grub-outfit. A
small coil of steel cable protruded inconspicuously from underneath a
grub-sack, while a crowbar lay half hidden along the bottom of the sled
next to the lashings.

Shorty fondled the cable with a swift-passing mitten, and gave a last
affectionate touch to the crowbar. "Huh!" he whispered. "I'd sure do
some tall thinking myself if I seen them objects on a sled on a dark
night."

They drove the dogs down the hill with cautious silence, and when,
emerged on the flat, they turned the team north along Main Street toward
the sawmill and directly away from the business part of town, they
observed even greater caution. They had seen no one, yet when this
change of direction was initiated, out of the dim starlit darkness
behind arose a whistle. Past the sawmill and the hospital, at lively
speed, they went for a quarter of a mile. Then they turned about and
headed back over the ground they had just covered. At the end of the
first hundred yards they barely missed colliding with five men racing
along at a quick dog-trot. All were slightly stooped to the weight of
stampeding-packs. One of them stopped Smoke's lead-dog, and the rest
clustered around.

"Seen a sled goin' the other way?" was asked.

"Nope," Smoke answered. "Is that you, Bill?"

"Well, I'll be danged!" Bill Saltman ejaculated in honest surprise. "If
it ain't Smoke!"

"What are you doing out this time of night?" Smoke inquired.
"Strolling?"

Before Bill Saltman could make reply, two running men joined the group.
These were followed by several more, while the crunch of feet on the
snow heralded the imminent arrival of many others.

"Who are your friends?" Smoke asked. "Where's the stampede?"

Saltman, lighting his pipe, which was impossible for him to enjoy with
lungs panting from the run, did not reply. The ruse of the match was too
obviously for the purpose of seeing the sled to be misunderstood,
and Smoke noted every pair of eyes focus on the coil of cable and the
crowbar. Then the match went out.

"Just heard a rumor,