oncern, finally inquiring, "Feel bad,
Johnny?"

Cantwell nodded. Their fatigue made both men economical of language.

"What's the matter?"

"Thirsty!" The former could barely speak.

"There won't be any water till we get across. You'll have to stand it."

They resumed their duties; the Indian "swish-swished" ahead, as if
wading through a sea of swan's-down; the dogs followed listlessly; the
partners leaned against the stubborn load.

A faint breath finally came out of the north, causing Grant and the
guide to study the sky anxiously. Cantwell was too weary to heed the
increasing cold. The snow on the slopes above began to move; here and
there, on exposed ridges, it rose in clouds and puffs; the cleancut
outlines of the hills became obscured as by a fog; the languid wind bit
cruelly.

After a time Johnny fell back upon the sled and exclaimed: "I'm--all in,
Mort. Don't seem to have the--guts." He was pale, his eyes were
tortured. He scooped a mitten full of snow and raised it to his lips,
then spat it out, still dry.

"Here! Brace up!" In a panic of apprehension at this collapse Grant
shook him; he had never known Johnny to fail like this. "Take a drink;
it'll do you good." He drew a bottle from one of the dunnage bags and
Cantwell seized it avidly. It was wet; it would quench his thirst, he
thought. Before Mort could check him he had drunk a third of the
contents.

The effect was almost instantaneous, for Cantwell's stomach was empty
and his tissues seemed to absorb the liquor like a dry sponge; his
fatigue fell away, he became suddenly strong and vigorous again. But
before he had gone a hundred yards the reaction followed. First his mind
grew thick, then his limbs became unmanageable and his muscles flabby.
He was drunk. Yet it was a strange and dangerous intoxication, against
which he struggled desperately. He fought it for perhaps a quarter of a
mile before it mastered him; then he gave up.

Both men knew that stimulants are never taken on the trail, but they had
never stopped to reason why, and even now they did not attribute
Johnny's breakdown to the brandy. After a while he stumbled and fell,
then, the cool snow being grateful to his face, he sprawled there
motionless until Mort dragged him to the sled. He stared at his partner
in perplexity and laughed foolishly. The wind was increasing, darkness
was near, they had not yet reached the Bering slope.

Something in the drunken man's face frightened Gran