ebellion, but he asserted
himself secretly by robbing Grant of his self-appointed tasks. He rose
first in the mornings, he did the cooking, he lengthened his turns ahead
of the dogs, he mended harness after the day's hike had ended. Of course
the older man objected, and for a time they had a good-natured rivalry
as to who should work and who should rest--only it was not quite so
good-natured on Cantwell's part as he made it appear.

Mort broke out in friendly irritation one day: "Don't try to do
everything, Johnny. Remember I'm no cripple."

"Humph! You proved that. I guess it's up to me to do your work."

"Oh, forget that day on the pass, can't you?"

Johnny grunted a second time, and from his tone it was evident that he
would never forget, unpleasant though the memory remained. Sensing his
sullen resentment, the other tried to rally him, but made a bad job of
it. The humor of men in the open is not delicate; their wit and their
words become coarsened in direct proportion as they revert to the
primitive; it is one effect of the solitudes.

Grant spoke extravagantly, mockingly, of his own superiority in a way
which ordinarily would have brought a smile to Cantwell's lips, but the
latter did not smile. He taunted Johnny humorously on his lack of
physical prowess, his lack of good looks and manly qualities--something
which had never failed to result in a friendly exchange of badinage; he
even teased him about his defeat with the Katmai girl.

Cantwell did respond finally, but afterward he found himself wondering
if Mort could have been in earnest. He dismissed the thought with some
impatience. But men on the trail have too much time for their thoughts;
there is nothing in the monotonous routine of the day's work to distract
them, so the partner who had played out dwelt more and more upon his
debt and upon his friend's easy assumption of pre-eminence. The weight
of obligation began to chafe him, lightly at first, but with
ever-increasing discomfort. He began to think that Grant honestly
considered himself the better man, merely because chance had played into
his hands.

It was silly, even childish, to dwell on the subject, he reflected, and
yet he could not banish it from his mind. It was always before him, in
one form or another. He felt the strength in his lean muscles, and
sneered at the thought that Mort should be deceived. If it came to a
physical test he felt sure he could break his slighter partner with his