le. I shall go, of course, by way
of the Yukon, and if ice comes early and the steamers are taken off,
return by trail around through Fairbanks."

"I see." Tisdale leaned forward a little, grasping the arms of his chair.
"The syndicate is taking considerable risk in sending you to the Iditarod
at this time. Suppose those coal cases should be called, with you
winter-bound up there. Why, the Chugach trial couldn't go on."

"I am identified with the Morganstein interests there, I admit; but why
should the Chugach claims be classed with conspiracies to defraud the
Government? They were entered regularly, fifty coal claims of one hundred
and sixty acres each, by as many different persons. Because the President
temporarily suspended Alaska coal laws is no reason those patents should
be refused or even delayed. Our money was accepted by the Government; it
was never refunded."

"As I thought," said Tisdale softly, addressing the stars; "as I feared."
Then, "Foster, Foster," he admonished, "be careful. Keep your head. That
syndicate is going to worry you some, old man, before you are through."

Foster got to his feet. "See here, Hollis, be fair. Look at it once from
the other side. The Morgansteins have done more for Alaska than they will
ever be given credit for. Capital is the one key to open that big, new,
mountain-locked country, and the Government is treating it like a
boa-constrictor to be throttled and stamped out. Millions went into the
development of the El Dorado, yet they still have to ship the ore
thousands of miles to a smelter, with coal,--the best kind, inexhaustible
fields of it,--at our door. And go back to McFarlane. He put one hundred
and fifty thousand into the Chugach Railway to bring out the coal he had
mined, but he can't touch it; it's all tied up in red tape; the road is
rotting away. He is getting to be an old man, but I saw him doing day
labor on the Seattle streets to-day. Then there's the Copper River
Northwestern. That company built a railroad where every engineer but one,
who saw the conditions, said it could not be done. You yourself have
called it the most wonderful piece of construction on record. You know how
that big bridge was built in winter--the only time when the bergs stopped
chipping off the face of the glacier long enough to set the piers; you
know how Haney worked his men, racing against the spring thaw--he's paying
for it with his life, now, down in California. In dollars that bridg