Argosy All-Story Weekly, June 27, 1925 — page 96: what you’re looking at

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

890 broken hip. S‘pose them dogs 0’ yours can vank bim out to the fort?” ~ Gregson heard him in silence. Then he etalked into the cabin. Bateese was lying there, eves closed, his face twisted with He ain't dyin’?” Gregson whispered, un- easily. , “No,” Whitey explained. “It ain't 3 matter o’ dyin’, thank God! But if we don’t get that there Jeg fixed right, it ‘D ipple him.”’ apie stirred restlessly- Whitey raised his voice. you goin’, Gregson?” " © Down south—close to Rouyn,”’ he re- plied. “ You ain’t heard nothin’? Why, every one that can hit the trail’s gone through long ago, all but me and them folks that had to stick to the fort. You don’t mean to say you ain't heard? How long vou been in here?” " « Al] winter,’ Whitey replied. No- body's come by here. But what’s up near Rouyn? Another gold strike?” “You said it.’ Gregson’s eyes glittered, the red lids narrowed over them. “ Struck rich in December—word leaked out. Injun packin’ mail just brought the word up to the fort two weeks ago. An’ every one stampeded so’s to get on the ground when the snow went. Why, they'll have every- thing covered for miles around. But me, I never had no luck. I was out on my trap line. Only come in four days ago and heard the news. So now I’m makin’ tracks. But it’s funny you never heard nothin’.” “ Nobody’s come by at all,” Whitey ex- plained. “Come to think of it, they wouldn’t,”’ Gregson replied. “‘ They’d go by them lakes east o’ here. But, me, I don’t trust them Jakes. This thaw ’ll cut the ice to hell; spring lakes ain't safe for winter trails any- how. So I’m takin’ the longer way round. Pity I'm in a hurry "—he stammered a bit, now—" pity I ain’t got time to give ye a lift back—but he ain’t dyin’, an’ every man has to look out for his own end, ain’t he?” Bateese had paid little attention to their talk. His leg was hurting like fury. Words mattered nothing. A man with dogs had, apparently, materialized out of space. Since ‘(Where was ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. fhey were in trouble this man would help them. So he lay there, cohserving his strength, for soon Whitey and this Gregson would arrange matters, soon they would put him on the toboggan and start away on the eighty miles between their cabin and the fort. Any other outcome was impossible. Then came Gregson’s final answer: « Every man has to look out for his own end.” « Wat you say, m'sieuw’?”? Bateese tried to raise head and shoulders. “Wat you say?” But the effort was too much for him. He fell back, groaning. ‘ When the chance comes a man’s got the right to grab it,” Gregson went on. “You mean ’—Whitey could not believe his ears—‘“you mean you're goin’ rmght through? You ain’t goin’ to help us?” Gregson hung his head for a moment. Then he raised it and stared defiantly at Whitey Wilkins. “Why should I?” he asked. “Tt don’t mean life or death. Here I been waitin’ for my chance. God! Year after year In this rotten country. An’ now it comes. With luck I’ll strike it rich, rich I tell you. And you ask me to turn back, to take him out to the fort, eighty mile each way with a heavy load. It ’d mean a week each trip and my dogs shot to hell.” “ Mebbe you ain’t got this right,” Whitey explained patiently, holding his temper in leash, though he kept control with difficulty. ‘“ Mebbe you ain’t got the rights of it, Greg- son. Here’s Bateese with a busted thigh bone. If we get him out right smart that missionary guy at the fort can fix it proper. If we don’t, God knows if he’ll ever walk straight again. Mebbe you think he could travel south with you—fifteen days on the trail. He couldn’t. It ’d kill him. “Tt's hard luck you missin’ out on your chance, but what about him? What about Bateese? You slip the harness on them dogs right quick and the sooner we start the sooner you're free,\to go erubbin’ for your gold. But you'll play the white man first, Gregson, and don’tryou forget it, gold or no gold. It ain’t this country that’s rot- ten. It’s some of the folks in it.” “Ts that so?” Gregson snarled. ‘ And if I don’t?” COnniEaoo () SS Co