Adventure Magazine Cover — page 146: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

138 vehement stream of curses. The tiny cor- rugations in the compressed snow informed him that the foot which tramped it down was encased in a rubber shoe-pac. ‘Rubber! Rubber at this time of year!” he fumed. “Of all the infernal chechalkers this bird takes the cake!’ Bill’s anger and disgust could have been no greater had the man offended directly against him. But in addition to informing him that the man was a stranger in the North, the track also told him that the man was lost—was headed up-river he knew not where. Bill lowered his head and rushed on like a mad bull; he ran, following the tracks, hoping to overtake the man before the storm drove him to the shelter of the timber. Several times the tracks turned into the bank and out again, and Bill knew the fellow was looking for dry wood with which to build a fire. He raced ahead, confident of finding him in the first patch of dead timber. The tracks again turned up the bank, and Bill followed and came upon his man huddled at the base of a big birch, vainly trying to set fire to a heap of green spruce boughs. He wore no parka, but a heavy coonskin overcoat enveloped his short, squat figure, and a beaver cap topped his head. His plump, round face was bare, and the nose, the chin and the points of the cheeks were as white as the snow on the ground. “Nice day, stranger,” Bill greeted him. The man sprang to his feet and cried out wildly: “Oh, my , 1m freezing! A fire, quick! Help me light a fire!”’ His eyes were dilated with terror, and his voice quaked with the fear of death. Adventure “Want a fire, eh! Well, why in don’t you light something that’ll burn!” Bill ripped a strip of bark from the trunk of the birch and stuck a match to it. It flared up like powder, and in less than thirty seconds he had a roaring fire going. ‘““My feet are freezing,” the little man whined. “Huh, that’s strange! Kick off them ----— rubbers and be quick about it.” Bill examined the feet and grunted his approval. ‘“Nipped a little, but not bad yet. Crawl into these.” He passed the other man his extra pair of moccasins. “‘Now rub your face with snow.” “My face don’t hurt any more. It’s all right.” “Rub it, I say. bone!” “Oh, I guess it’s all right.” p Bill sprang in front of him with doubled Sts. ‘“‘Now see here, ‘Shorty,’ if I’ve gotta mother you out of this mess you're goin’ todo asIsay! Rub that face!” Shorty was cowed by the threatening attitude of the big man and immediately began to rub, but howled with pain when the blood again began to circulate through the frost-nipped flesh. Bill stood over him and laughed and verbally abused him as an ignoramus and a quitter. Shorty explained that he had left the Big Creek camp two days ago and was headed for Beaver, intending to go with the first mail-team to Fairbanks. Bill fixed a comfortable camp—a lean-to of spruce boughs with a green-log fire in front—and they spent the night there. The next morning the wind had subsided, and the snow, too, had ceased; but the cold was even more intense. Bill knew by the sullen, black-clouded sky overhead that it was only a lull in the storm. The last of his provisions were con- sumed for breakfast, and he knew that they must push on toward his camp without delay before additional snow came to impede travel further. It’s froze hard as a WHEN daylight was bright over- head they started out—Bill plowing through the snow ahead, Shorty fol- lowing behind, his only pack a double- barreled shotgun slung across his arm. Bill tried to persuade him to leave this behind. COMicooo® <S) C@