“Now, go to it, Alan,” he said. “I’m
ready. Give me hell!”
It was thus, with a note of something inevitable in
his voice, that Stampede brought Alan back solidly
to earth. There was a practical and awakening
inspiration in the manner of the little red-whiskered
man’s invitation.
“I’ve been a damn fool,” he confessed.
“And I’m waiting.”
The word was like a key opening a door through which
a flood of things began to rush in upon Alan.
There were other fools, and evidently he had been
one. His mind went back to the Nome.
It seemed only a few hours ago—only yesterday—that
the girl had so artfully deceived them all, and he
had gone through hell because of that deception.
The trickery had been simple, and exceedingly clever
because of its simplicity; it must have taken a tremendous
amount of courage, now that he clearly understood
that at no time had she wanted to die.
“I wonder,” he said, “why she did
a thing like that?”
Stampede shook his head, misunderstanding what was
in Alan’s mind. “I couldn’t
keep her back, not unless I tied her to a tree.”
And he added, “The little witch even threatened
to shoot me!”
A flash of exultant humor filled his eyes. “Begin,
Alan. I’m waiting. Go the limit.”
“For what?”
“For letting her ride over me, of course.
For bringing her up. For not shufflin’
her in the bush. You can’t take it out of
her hide, can you?”
He twisted his red whiskers, waiting for an answer.
Alan was silent. Mary Standish was leading the
way up out of a dip in the tundra a quarter of a mile
away, with Nawadlook and Keok close behind her.
They trotted up a low ridge and disappeared.
“It’s none of my business,” persisted
Stampede, “but you didn’t seem to expect
her—”
“You’re right,” interrupted Alan,
turning toward his pack. “I didn’t
expect her. I thought she was dead.”
A low whistle escaped Stampede’s lips.
He opened his mouth to speak and closed it again.
Alan observed him as he slipped the pack over his
shoulders. Evidently his companion did not know
Mary Standish was the girl who had jumped overboard
from the Nome, and if she had kept her secret,
it was not his business just now to explain, even though
he guessed that Stampede’s quick wits would
readily jump at the truth. A light was beginning
to dispel the little man’s bewilderment as they
started toward the Range. He had seen Mary Standish
frequently aboard the Nome; a number of times
he had observed her in Alan’s company, and he
knew of the hours they had spent together in Skagway.
Therefore, if Alan had believed her dead when they
went ashore at Cordova, a few hours after the supposed
tragedy, it must have been she who jumped into the
sea. He shrugged his shoulders in deprecation
of his failure to discover this amazing fact in his
association with Mary Standish.
