ended palm in his grasp, said:
"We'll just let that go double, partner. You're as game as I ever
see." Then he added: "It was too bad them fellers interferred jest
when they did--but we can finish it up whenever you say," and as the
other, smiling, shook his head, he continued:

"Well, I'm glad of it, 'cause you'd sure beat me the next time."

WHERE NORTHERN LIGHTS COME DOWN O' NIGHTS

The Mission House at Togiak stands forlornly on a wind-swept Alaskan
spit, while huddled around it a swarm of dirt-covered "igloos" grovel
in an ecstacy of abasement.

Many natives crawled out of these and stared across the bay as down a
gully came an Arctic caravan, men and dogs, black against, the deadly
whiteness. Ahead swung the guide, straddling awkwardly on his five
foot webs, while the straining pack pattered at his heels. Big
George, the driver, urged them with strong words, idioms of the
Northland, and his long whip bit sharply at their legs.

His companion, clinging to the sled, stumbled now and then, while his
face, splitting from the snap of the frost, was smothered in a
muffler. Sometimes he fell, plunging into the snow, rising
painfully, and groaning with the misery of "snow-blindness."

"Most there now. Cap, keep up your grit."

"I'm all right," answered the afflicted man, wearily. "Don't mind
me."

George, too, had suffered from the sheen of the unbroken whiteness,
and, while his eyes had not wholly closed, he saw but dimly. His
cheeks were grease-smeared, and blackened with charred wood to break
the snow-glare, but through his mask showed signs of suffering, while
his blood-shot eyes dripped scalding tears and throbbed
distressfully. For days he had not dared to lose sight of the guide.
Once he had caught him sneaking the dogs away, and he feared he had
killed the man for a time. Now Jaska broke trail ahead, his sullen,
swollen features baleful in their injury.

Down the steep bank they slid, across the humped up sea ice at the
river mouth and into the village.

At the greeting of their guide to his tribesmen, George started.
Twelve years of coast life had taught him the dialect from Point
Barrow south, and he glanced at Captain to find whether he, too, had
heard the message. As Jaska handed a talisman to the chief he strode
to him and snatched it.

"Oho! It's Father Orloff, is it? D---- him!" He gazed at the
token, a white spruce chip with strange marks and carvings.

"What does it mea