was sleeping. As Johnny stiffly mounted
the creek bank with a bucket of water he heard a jingle of sleighbells
and saw a sled with two white men swing in toward the cabin.

"Hello!" he called, then heard his own name pronounced.

"Johnny Cantwell, by all that's holy!"

The next moment he was shaking hands vigorously with two old friends
from Nome.

"Martin and me are bound for Saint Mikes," one of them explained. "Where
the deuce did you come from, Johnny?"

"The 'outside.' Started for Stony River, but--"

"Stony River!" The newcomers began to laugh loudly and Cantwell joined
them. It was the first time he had laughed for weeks. He realized the
fact with a start, then recollected also his sleeping partner, and said:

"Sh-h! Mort's inside, asleep!"

During the night everything had changed for Johnny Cantwell; his mental
attitude, his hatred, his whole reasonless insanity. Everything was
different now, even his debt was canceled, the weight of obligation was
removed, and his diseased fancies were completely cured.

"Yes! Stony River," he repeated, grinning broadly. "I bit!"

Martin burst forth, gleefully: "They caught MacDonald at Holy Cross and
ran him out on a limb. He'll never start another stampede. Old man Baker
gun-branded him."

"What's the matter with Mort?" inquired the second traveler.

"He's resting up. Yesterday, during the storm he--" Johnny was upon the
point of saying "played out," but changed it to "had an accident. We
thought it was serious, but a few days' rest'll bring him around all
right. He saved me at Katmai, coming in. I petered out and threw up my
tail, but he got me through. Come inside and tell him the news."

"Sure thing."

"Well, well!" Martin said. "So you and Mort are still partners, eh?"

"_Still_ partners?" Johnny took up the pail of water. "Well, rather!
We'll always be partners." His voice was young and full and hearty as he
continued: "Why, Mort's the best fellow in the world. I'd lay down my
life for him."

FOOTNOTE:

[5] From _The Crimson Garden_. Copyright, 1911, 1912, 1913, 1916, by
Harper and Brothers. Reprinted by special permission of publisher and
author.

[Illustration]

VI.--That Spot[6]

_By Jack London_

I DON'T think much of Stephen Mackaye any more, though I used to swear
by him. I know that in those days I loved him more than my brother. If
ever I meet Stephen Mackaye again, I shall not be responsible for my
actions. It passes bey