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Show fi M tf Northland Romance m-pm Robert WSei-vicS! W'P Service wcbably never again will the world fSs an event more romantic, more wituess fliiorl with the srj r t r J : , rt ; r I f A- 'M of adventure, than the great Klondike gold rush. In point of numbers and the facing of unknown perils it must have equalled perhaps eclipsed t he I a -mous rush to California Cal-ifornia In '49. After that famous excitement excite-ment and the succeeding suc-ceeding one of the Black Hills it was fitting that the Nineteenth century a gloom that momently intensified. Clamant and imperative In me was the voice of change. I could not become be-come toil-broken, so I saw the foreman. fore-man. "Why do you want to go?'' he asked reproachfully. "Well, sir, the work's too monotonous." monoto-nous." "Monotonous ! Well, that's the rum-ruest rum-ruest reason I ever heard a man give for quitting. Hut every man knows his own business best." Los Angeles will always be written writ-ten in golden letters in the archives of my memory. Crawling, sore and sullen, from the clutch of toil, I reveled rev-eled in a lotus life of ease and idleness. idle-ness. Living was incredibly cheap. Kor seventy-live cents a week I had a little sunlit attic, and for ten cents I could dine abundantly. So, dreaming dream-ing and roaming the streets, I spent my days in a state of beatitude. But my small capital could not last ferever, and the time came when once more the grim face of toil confronted me, and again I found myself mixing with the spineless residuum of the employment bureau. I got work as an orange-picker. It was a matter of swinging long ladders lad-ders into fruit-Haunting trees, of sun-Shiny sun-Shiny days and fluttering leaves, of golden branches plundered, and boxes filled from sagging sacks. There is no more ideal occupation. I reveled in it. Possibly I would have gone on, contentedly enough, perched on a ladder, lad-der, high up in the sunlit sway of treetops, had not the work come to an end. When I counted my savings and found that I had four hundred and ninety-five cents, such a feeling of affluence came over me that I resolved re-solved to gratify my taste for travel. Accordingly I purchased a ticket for San Diego, and once more found myself my-self southward bound. A few days in San Diego reduced my small capital to the vanishing point, yet it was with a light heart I turned north again and took the All-Tie All-Tie route for Los Angeles. I was absolutely penniless. The Lord looks after his children, said I, and when I became too inexorably hungry I asked for bread, emphasizing my willingness to do a stunt on the woodpile. Perhaps Per-haps it was because I was young and notably a novice in vagrancy, but people peo-ple were very good to me. On arriving in Los Angeles I went to the post office. There was a letter let-ter from the Prodigal dated New York, and inclosing fourteen dollars, which he owed me. He said: "I returned to the paternal roof, weary of my role. The fatted calf awaited me. Nevertheless, I am sick again for the unhallowed swine-husks. Meet me in 'Frisco about the end of Kebruary, and I will a glorious proposition prop-osition unfold. Don't fail. Look for a letter In the General Delivery." There was no time to lose, as February Feb-ruary was nearly over. I took a steerage passage to San Francisco, resolving that I would mend my fortunes. for-tunes. It is so easy to drift. I saw that as long as I remained friendless and unknown nothing but degraded toil was open to me. Surely I could climb up, but was it worth while? A snug farm in the Northwest awaited me. I would work my way back there, and arrive decently clad. Then none would know of my humiliation. I had been wayward and foolish, but I had learned something. What with steamer fare and a few small debts to settle, I found when I landed In San Francisco that once more I was flatly broke. There was ' no letter for me, and perhaps it was on account of my disappointment, per- '-iwiw .... ... , 7 should close with Robert W. Sen-ice the strangest and a most glittering epic of all the trek to the frozen valley of tbe Yukon. The argonauts, men and women, represented rep-resented every class and occupation B cross section of society and naturally natur-ally there were artists of every description, de-scription, painters of pictures and writers of prose and poetry. Among tbe latter none was more gifted or jaa rendered a more vivid transcription transcrip-tion than Robert W. Service. Perhaps Per-haps the poetic gift was In him before be-fore he encountered the spell of the Northland. At any rate it was not developed; and It is a fact, as he has testified, that it was the magic of the i country and the thrill of the things ie witnessed that aroused him to poetic po-etic expression. After celebrating the epic of '98 In many wonderful poems, Mr. Service now essays to present Its tremendous 'drama and beautifully romantic qualities qual-ities in prose. The poetic thought is Etill visible even though the meter has been discarded. In considering the jnotif of the story the opening lines ot one of his famous verses come to mind: "This is the law of the Yukon, and ever she makes it plain: Send not jour foolish and feeble; send me your strong and your sane." It is a story tyhlch pictures the strong and the teel-nerved in triumph; the weak and ,the fearsome In defeat. In particular, it Is a itory of one strong man giving of his best to protect a weak woman. I was pale and quiet, but I could see he was vastly moved. "Athol," said he, "if ever you need me just send fur me. I'll come, no matter how long or how hard the way." I can see them to this day standing there in the drenching rain, Garry fine and manly, mother small and drooping. droop-ing. "Good-bye, laddie, good-bye." I forced myself away, and stumbled on board. When I looked back again they were gone, but through the gray .shadows there seemed to come back to me a cry of heartache and irremediable ir-remediable loss. It was on a day of early autumn when I stood knee-deep in the heather of Glengyle, and looked wistfully over the gray sea. 'Twas but a month later lat-er when, homeless and friendless, I stood on the beach by the Cliff house :of San Francisco, and gazed over the fretful waters of another ocean. Such ,1s the romance of destiny. Consigned, so to speak, to my cou sin, the sheepraiser of the Saskatchewan, Saskatche-wan, I found myself setting foot on he strange land with but little heart for my new vocation. My mind, cram-ful cram-ful of book notions, craved for the larger life. I was valiantly mad for (adventure; to fare forth haphazardly: to come upon naked danger; to feel the bludgeonings of mischance; to tramp, to starve, to sleep under the stars. It was the callow boy-Idea perpetuated per-petuated in the man, and it was to lead me a sorry dance. But I could not overbear it. The notion of the South Seas was ever in my head. I loafed in the sunshine, sun-shine, sitting on the pier-edge, with eyes fixed on the lazy shipping. These were care-free, irresponsible days, (and not, I am convinced, entirely misspent. mis-spent. I came to know the worthies of the wharfside, and plunged Into an underworld of . fascinating repel-lency. repel-lency. I rubbed shoulders with eager necessity, scrambled for free lunches in frowsy barrooms, and amid the scum and debris of the waterside found much food for sober thought let at times I blamed myself for thus misusing my days, and memories of Glengyle and mother and Garry loomed up with reproachful vividness. I was, too, a seeker of curious experience, ex-perience, and this was to. prove my undoing. Qne foggy midnight, coming com-ing up Pacific street with its glut of saloons, I was clouted shrewdly from 'behind and dropped most neatly In the gutter. When I came to, very ;slck and dizzy in a side alley, I found ,1 had been robbed of my pocketbook Iwlth nearly all my money therein. ; Fortunately I had left my watch In jthe hotel safe, and by selling it was not entirely destitute; but the situation situa-tion forced me from my citadel of pleasant dreams, and confronted me 'with the grimmer realities of life. With some thirty-odd dollars standing stand-ing between me and starvation, it was I left San Francisco blanketed la gray fog and besomed by a roaring wind; when I opened my eyes I was In a land of spacious sky aud broad, clean sunshine. It seemed like a land ;of promise, of song and sunshine, and silent and apart I sat to admire and ;to enjoy. "Looks pretty swell, don't it?" I will call him the Prodigal. He was about my own age, thin, but sun-browned sun-browned and healthy. His eyea twinkled with a humorsome light, but his face was shrewd, alert and aggressive. ag-gressive. "Yes," I said soberly, for I have always been backward with strangers. "Pretty good line. The banana bolt. Eternal summer. Ever been here before?" "No." "Neither have L Glad I came, even If it's to do the horny-handed son of toll stunt." "Where are we going, have you any Idea?" I asked. "Search me," he said. "One thing you can bank on, they'll work the Judas Ju-das out of us. The gentle grafter nestles In our midst. This here's a cinch game and we are the fall guys. He talked on with a wonderful vivid manner and an outpouring knowledge of life, so that I was hugely interested. interest-ed. Yet ever and anon an allusion of taste would betray him, and at no time did I fail to see that his roughness rough-ness was only a veneer. As it turned out he was better educated by far than I, a Yale boy taking a postgraduate post-graduate course in the University of Hard Luck. My reserve once thawed, I told him much of my simple life. He listened, intently sympathetic. "Say," said he earnestly when I had finished. You're green, if ydu'll excuse ex-cuse me saying it, and maybe I can help you some. Likewise you're tha only one in all the gang of hoboes that's my kind. Let's be partners."-, partners."-, I felt drawn to him and agreed. CHAPTER II : On either side of us were swift hills imottled with green and gold, ahead. a (curdle of snow-capped mountains, ; above a sky of robin's-egg blue. The j morning was lyric and set our hearts 'piping as we climbed the canyon. I About midday we reached the end. jGangs of men were everywhere, rip ping and tearing at the mountainside. Everywhere was the feverish activity; i of a construction camp. We sat that night by the crackling blaze of mesquite, sagebrush and live-;oak live-;oak limbs, and he told me many a 'strange story of his roving life. "You know, the old man's all broke .up at me playing the fool like this. iHe's got a glue factory back In Massachusetts. Massa-chusetts. Guess he stacks up about a million or so. Wanted me to go jinto the glue factory, begin at tha bottom, stay with it. But not little Willie. Life's too Interesting a prop-osition prop-osition to be turned down like that I'm not repentant. I know the fatted calf's waiting for me, getting fatter every day. One of these days I'll go back and sample It." It was he I first heard talk: of the Great White Land, and it stirred ma Istrangely. "Every one's crazy about It. They're shing now in thousands, to get there ibefore the winter begins. Nest spring j there will be . the biggest stampede ithe world has ever seen. Say, Scot-Ity, Scot-Ity, I've the greatest notion to try it. j Let's go, you and L There's the gold, 'shining, shining, and it's calling to us. I don't care one rip for the value of it I can make all I want out of glue. But the adventure, the excite-Iment, excite-Iment, it's that that makes me fit for 'the foolish house." He was silent a long time while my imagination conjured up terrible, fascinating fas-cinating pictures of the vast, unawak-ened unawak-ened land, and a longing came over me to dare its shadows. ! As we said good night, his last j words were : "Remember, Scotty, we're both go-: go-: ing to join the Big Stampede, you land I." i I slept but fitfully, for the night i air was nipping, and the bunkhouse I nigh as open as a cage. In the after-j after-j noon I was put to work in the gravel pit. There were four of us. We threw the gravel against a screen where the ! finer stuff sifted through was used in ! making concrete. ' Heigh-ho! what a life it was. Resting, Rest-ing, eating, sleeping; negative pleas-I pleas-I ures became positive ones. Life's j great principle of compensation i worked on our behalf, and to lie at ! ease, reading an old paper, seemed 'an exquisite enjoyment. I was much troubled about the Prodigal. He complained of muscular rheumatism, and except to crawl to meals was unable to leave his bunk. 'Yet he bore his suffering with great 'spirit, and, among that nondescript '.crew, he was a thing of joy and brightness, a link with that other world which was mine own. They nicknamed him "Happy," his cheerfulness cheer-fulness was so invincible. One morning I woke about six, and found, pinned to my blanket, a note from my friend. "Dear Scotty: "I grieve to leave you thus, but the cruel foreman insists on me working off my ten days' board. Backed with pain as I am, there appears to be no alternative but night Accordingly I fade away once more Into the unknown. un-known. Will write you general delivery, de-livery, Los Angeles. Good luck and good-bv. Yours to a cinder, "HAPPY." There was a hue and cry after him, but he was gone, and a sudden disgust dis-gust for the place came over me. Fur two mora days I worked, crushed bf id you felt he was a man to be reckoned reck-oned with. His mouth was firm and his chin resolute. Altogether his face was a curious blend of benevolence and ruthless determination. "Feel belter, son? Well, go ahead an' tell me as much of your story as you want to." I gave an account of all that had happened to me since I had set foot on the new land. "Huh !"' he ejaculated when I had finished. "I'm glad by the grace of God I've been the means of givin' you a hand-up. Better come to my room an' stop with me till somethin' turns up. I'm goin' north in three days. I'm goin' to join this crazy rush to the Klondike. I've been minin' for twenty years, Arizona, Colorado, all over, an' now I am a-goiu' to see if the North hasn't got a stake for me." In his room he told me of his life. "I'm saved by the grace of God, but I've been a Bad Man, I've been everything ev-erything from a city marshal to boss gambler. I have gone heeled for two years, thinking to get my pass to hell at any moment. It's all over now, an' I've seen the evil of my ways, but I've got to talk once in a while. I'm Jim Hubbard, known as 'Salvation Jim,' an' I know minin' from Genesis to Revelation. Once I used to gamble gam-ble an' drink the limit. One morning I got up from the card table after sitting there thirty-six hours. I'd lost five thousand dollars. I knew they'd handed me out 'cold turkey,' but I took my medicine. "Right then I said I'd be a crook too. I learned to play with marked cards. I could tell every card in the deck. I went after the suckers. There was never a man did me dirt but I paid him with interest. Of course, it's different now. The Good Book says : 'Do good unto them that harm you.' I guess I would but I wouldn't recommend no one to try and harm me. I might forget" The heavy, aggressive jaw shot forward; for-ward; the eyes gleamed with a fearless fear-less ferocity, and for a moment the man took on an air that was almost tigerish.. I could scarce believe my sight; yet the next instant it was the same cheerful, benevolent face, and I thought my eyes must have played me some trick. Perhaps it was that sedate Puritan strain in me that appealed to him, but we became great friends. He told me of the girl he married and worshiped, wor-shiped, and of the man who broke up his home. Once more I saw that flitting flit-ting tiger-look appear on liis face and vanish immediately. He told me of his wild days. "I was always a fighter, an' I never knew what fear meant. I never saw the man that could beat me in a rough-an'-tumble scrap. I was uncommon un-common husky an' as quick as a cat, but it was my fierceness that won out for me. I've gone up unarmed to a man I knew was heeled to shoot me on sight, an' I've dared him to do It. Just by the power of the eye I've made him take water. Then, as the drink got hold of me, I got worse and worse. Glory to God ! I've seen the evil of my ways." I wish I could paint or act the man for you. Words cannot express his curious character. I came to have a great fondness for him, and certainly owed him a huge debt of gratitude. One day I was paying my usual visit vis-it to the post office, when some one gripped me by the arm. j "Hullo, Scotty! By all that's wonderful. won-derful. I was just going to mail you a letter." It was the Prodigal, very well dressed and spruce-looking. "Say, I'm so tickled I got you; we're going to start in two days." "Start! Where?" I asked. "Why, for the Golden North, for the land of the Midnight Sun, for the treasure-troves of the Klondike Valley." Val-ley." "You may be," I said soberly; "but I can't." "Yes you can, and you are, old sport. I fixed all that. Come on, I want to talk to you. I went home and did the returned prodigal stunt. The old man was mighty decent when I told him it was no good, I couldn't go into the glue factory yet awhile. lie staked me handsomely, and gave rue a year to make good. So here I am, and you're in with me. I'm going to griilistnlto you. Mind, it's a busiiii'ss proposition. I've got to have some one, and when you make the brg strike you've got to divvy up. Of course, if you're afraid of ihe hardships hard-ships and f-o on " "No," I said quickly, "I'll go." "11a I" he laughed, "you're too much of a coward to be afraid. Well, we've got to get busy ovr our outfits. out-fits. We haven't got any too much time." I bethought me of Sahation Jim. and I told the Prodigal of my new-friend. new-friend. "Wl.y," said the Prodigal, "that's Jtis-t the man v.c want. We'll ask him to Join us." I brought the two. together, find It was arranged. So it rame about that we three l'-ft San Francisco on the fourth day of March to seek our fortunes for-tunes in the Frozen North. (To Be Continued) Wm 1, t i CHAPTER I As far back as I can remember I have faithfully followed the banner of Romance. It has given color to my life, made me a dreamer of dreams, a player of parts. As a boy, roaming alone the wild heather hills. 1 have heard the glad shouts of the football players on the green, yet never nev-er ettled to join them. Mine was the tidier, rarer joy. The spirit of Ro-I Ro-I mance beaconed to me. I would adventure ad-venture ia the stranger lands, and face their perils and brave their dangers. dan-gers. The joy of the thought exulted In my veins, and scarce could I bide the day when the roads of chance jand change would be open to my feet It is strange that In all these years I confided In no one. Garry, who was y brother and my dearest friend, would have laughed at me In that affectionate af-fectionate way of his. You would never have taken us for brothers. He was the handsomest boy -1 have ever j seen, frank, fair-skinned and winning, .while 1 was dark, dour and none too j well favored. Be was clever, practical prac-tical and ambitious, excelling In all his studies ; whereas, except in those which appealed to my imagination, I was a dullard and a dreamer. let we loved each other as few brothers do. Not excepting mother, Garry knew me better than any one has ever done, and I loved him for It seems overfond to say this, but he did not have a fault: tenderness, i humor, enthusiasm, sympathy and the .bounty of a young god all that wa3 nuuifully endearing was expressed In this brother of mine. Our home was an ideal one ; Garry, ta", fair and winsome; myself, dark, .ilrontny, reticent; and between us, inking au tllrce in a perfect bond o 've and sympathy, our gentle, deli-cto deli-cto mother. Mother must have worried a good .U over my future. Garry was tbe 5g laird, and I was but an Idler, burden on the estate. At last I told ' I wanted to go abroad, and then " seemed as if a great difficulty was -" ved. ve remembered of a cousin , IO ns sheep-ranching in the Sas-wtchewan Sas-wtchewan valley and had done well. was arranged that I should join ,;m as a pupil, then, when 1 had ' ;'rned enough, buy a place of my j n' 11 Uliy he Imagined that while apparently acquiesced in this ar-tj ar-tj , foment 1 hnrt already determined ' ' as soon as I reached the new a would take my destiny Into my "i hands. drl!D "S tl,e nour ot y departure broil T'r a S,mdow tM on us' If 1 e ilowu in unmanly grief, it must b rememhered , hnfl neyer beft)re lnM , hon,e' Mothcr gave up try- o He brave, and mingled her tears "ii mine. saId.n.'.T.,Cry sweethoart mother." I jc;lrjn 11 be back again in three iJUni you do, my boy, mind you 1 iv,'! '00ked at me woefully sad, and 1 Woi.u (Illcr' nartreudlng prevision uua "ever see her more. Garry I ti JSsS!.. pzy' h "Come, Buck Up, Kid, You're Pretty Near Down and Out." haps on account of my extreme sbab-biness, sbab-biness, but I found I had quite lost heart. So I tightened my belt find sat in rortsmouth square, cursing myself my-self for the many nickels I bad squandered squan-dered in riotous living. I was drowsing on my bench when Some one addressed me. "Say, young fellow, yon look pretty well used up." An elderly, gray-liaired man came and sat by me. "Come, buck up, kid. you're prelty near down and out. I've been study-in' study-in' you two days. Let's go and feed." He took me to a restaurant where he ordered a dinner that made my head swim My benefactor was rather under medium height, but so square and sol- A Big Contractor Wanted Fifty Men Immediately. obvious I must become a hewer of wood and a drawer of water, and to this end I haunted the employment offices. One morning, on seeking my favorite labor bureau, I found an unusual un-usual flutter among the benchwarm-ers. benchwarm-ers. A big contractor wanted fifty men Immediately. With a number of others I pressed forward, was interviewed inter-viewed and accepted. The same day we were marched In a body to the railway depot and herded into a fourth-class car. Where we were going I knew not; of what we were going to do I had no inkling. I only knew we were southbound, and at long last I might fairly consider myself to be tho bt- ilecock of fortune. :LtS-!ti |
