Connie Morgan in Alaska

ssly crossing the room, stood looking down at the tousled yellow curls that shone dully in the lamp-light at the end of the roll of blankets. Making sure that the boy slept, he began sil

he flattened black nuggets of water-worn gold. One portion he stuffed into a heavy canvas money belt which he strapped about him, the other he placed in the pouch and returned to its

slept, he began silently t

h sponges at the mouth, and terrible straight, black robes which smelled strongly, like the open door of a drug store, and he had seen the boxes carried out at night and placed on a flat dray which drove swiftly away in the direction of the treeless square of sand waste, within whose white-fenced enclosure a few cheap marble slabs gleamed

ome were a matron and a superintendent, instead of mother and father, and, except on visiting days, there was rarely enough to eat, and many rules to be obeyed, and irksome work to be done that tired small bodies. And instead of smiles and romps and stories there were frowns and whippings and quick, terrifying shakings and scoldings over hard lessons

e having been confined to the recording of claim papers, and the painful spelling out of various notices, handbills, and placards, which were posted from time to time in conspicuous places about trading posts or docks. He puzzled long over how to begin, and at each wo

of his blue flannel shirt. "But it cain't neveh be tole how Waseche Bill done helt his pa'dneh to a bad ba'gain afteh his own claim run o

coleh. Unlucky, sho'!" And with a suspicious winking of the eyes, and a strange lump in his throat, Waseche Bill blew out the lamp, closed the door

s and lighted the tin reflector lamp. As the yellow light flooded the room the boy's heart almost stopped beating and there was a strange sinking feeling at the pit of his stomach, like that day at Anvik when the little Yukon steamer

ys of light glinted on the backs of the polished blades. He snatched up the paper a

TI

' to Whom it

ners with C. Morgan. him to hev both claims which mine aint no good no moar it havin Petered Out an sloped off into hissen. i, W. BILL done tuk wat g

barrin his heft which he was a big man but mebe yull gro which ef yo dont dont wory none. ive saw runty size men for now which they was good men like Peat Moar down to rapid City. play the game squr an tak adviz offen M

ping his head in his folded arms,

rly grey of the cold Alaska dawn by

ose?" And as Connie Morgan burst into the room, he

ye lad, ye lo

n a choking voice, as he thrust th

ly to decipher the scrawl. At length he gl

he Scotch

t your

cratched

be up to w

I'm going to stay by him!" McDougall slowly drew on his boot

urn, an' it's worked out a'ready. Waseche, he's gone, an' ye're full owner o' the b

ded him with

't either! Of course I've got the best claim on Ten Bow, but Waseche put me onto it, and gave me old Boris, and-" his voice broke and the words came choking between dry sobs-"and that d

bring him back if I have to beat him up! My dad licked British Kronk at Candle-and British was bigger! He's got to come back!" The small fists were doubled and t

whilst I harness the dogs. Wi' that ten-team ye'll come up wi' Waseche anent Rag

e malamutes shot

headed northward at a run. The next instant the boy threw himself belly-wise onto the sled and McDougall's prize mal

istinctly to his ears, through the still, keen air, was borne the sharp creak of run

h-u! Mush-u!