get it back with
the down weight on the next comer."

Morganson shyly poured the whisky into the glass, partly filling it.

"Go on, make it a man's drink," the barkeeper encouraged.

Morganson tilted the bottle and filled the glass to the brim. He drank
the liquor slowly, pleasuring in the fire of it that bit his tongue,
sank hotly down his throat, and with warm, gentle caresses permeated his
stomach.

"Scurvy, eh?" the barkeeper asked.

"A touch of it," he answered. "But I haven't begun to swell yet. Maybe I
can get to Dyea and fresh vegetables, and beat it out."

"Kind of all in, I'd say," the other laughed sympathetically. "No dogs,
no money, and the scurvy. I'd try spruce tea if I was you."

At the end of half-an-hour, Morganson said good-bye and left the saloon.
He put his galled shoulder to the haul-rope and took the river-trail
south. An hour later he halted. An inviting swale left the river and led
off to the right at an acute angle. He left his sled and limped up the
swale for half a mile. Between him and the river was three hundred yards
of flat ground covered with cottonwoods. He crossed the cottonwoods to
the bank of the Yukon. The trail went by just beneath, but he did not
descend to it. South toward Selkirk he could see the trail widen its
sunken length through the snow for over a mile. But to the north, in the
direction of Minto, a tree-covered out-jut in the bank a quarter of a
mile away screened the trail from him.

He seemed satisfied with the view and returned to the sled the way he
had come. He put the haul-rope over his shoulder and dragged the sled up
the swale. The snow was unpacked and soft, and it was hard work. The
runners clogged and stuck, and he was panting severely ere he had
covered the half-mile. Night had come on by the time he had pitched his
small tent, set up the sheet-iron stove, and chopped a supply of
firewood. He had no candles, and contented himself with a pot of tea
before crawling into his blankets.

In the morning, as soon as he got up, he drew on his mittens, pulled the
flaps of his cap down over his ears, and crossed through the cottonwoods
to the Yukon. He took his rifle with him. As before, he did not descend
the bank. He watched the empty trail for an hour, beating his hands and
stamping his feet to keep up the circulation, then returned to the tent
for breakfast. There was little tea left in the canister--half a dozen
drawings at most; but so meagre a pinch did