Each fought the obsession in his own way, but it is hard to fight the
impalpable, hence their sick fancies grew in spite of themselves. Their
minds needed food to prey upon, but found none. Each began to criticize
the other silently, to sneer at his weaknesses, to meditate derisively
upon his peculiarities. After a time they no longer resisted the advance
of these poisonous thoughts, but welcomed it.

On more than one occasion the embers of their wrath were upon the point
of bursting into flame, but each realized that the first ill-considered
word would serve to slip the leash from those demons that were straining
to go free, and so managed to restrain himself.

The crisis came one crisp morning when a dog team whirled around a bend
in the river and a white man hailed them. He was the mail carrier, on
his way out from Nome, and he brought news of the "inside."

"Where are you boys bound for?" he inquired when greetings were over
and gossip of the trail had passed.

"We're going to the Stony River strike," Grant told him.

"Stony River? Up the Kuskokwim?"

"Yes!"

The mail man laughed. "Can you beat that? Ain't you heard about Stony
River?"

"No!"

"Why, it's a fake--no such place."

There was a silence; the partners avoided each other's eyes.

"MacDonald, the fellow that started it, is on his way to Dawson. There's
a gang after him, too, and if he's caught it'll go hard with him. He
wrote the letters--to himself--and spread the news just to raise a
grubstake. He cleaned up big before they got onto him. He peddled his
tips for real money."

"Yes!" Grant spoke quietly. "Johnny bought one. That's what brought us
from Seattle. We went out on the last boat and figured we'd come in from
this side before the break-up. So--fake!"

"Gee! You fellers bit good." The mail carrier shook his head. "Well!
You'd better keep going now; you'll get to Nome before the season opens.
Better take dogfish from Bethel--it's four bits a pound on the Yukon.
Sorry I didn't hit your camp last night; we'd 'a' had a visit. Tell the
gang that you saw me." He shook hands ceremoniously, yelled at his
panting dogs, and went swiftly on his way, waving a mitten on high as he
vanished around the next bend.

The partners watched him go, then Grant turned to Johnny, and repeated:
"Fake! MacDonald stung you."

Cantwell's face went as white as the snow behind him, his eyes blazed.
"Why did you tell him I bit?" he demanded harshly.

"Hunh! _