On the other hand, expense was to be considered, and he considered it well, for he was a careful man, keenly practical, with a hard head and a heart that imagination never warmed. At fifteen cents a dozen, the initial cost of his thousand dozen would be one hundred and fifty dollars, a mere6 bagatelle7 in face of the enormous profit. And suppose, just suppose, to be wildly extravagant8 for once, that transportation for himself and eggs should run up eight hundred and fifty more; he would still have four thousand clear cash and clean when the last egg was disposed of and the last dust had rippled9 into his sack.
“You see, Alma,”—he figured it over with his wife, the cosy10 dining-room submerged in a sea of maps, government surveys, guide-books, and Alaskan itineraries,—“you see, expenses don’t really begin till you make Dyea—fifty dollars’ll cover it with a first-class passage thrown in. Now from Dyea to Lake Linderman, Indian packers take your goods over for twelve cents a pound, twelve dollars a hundred, or one hundred and twenty dollars a thousand. Say I have fifteen hundred pounds, it’ll cost one hundred and eighty dollars—call it two hundred and be safe. I am creditably informed by a Klondiker just come out that I can buy a boat for three hundred. But the same man says I’m sure to get a couple of passengers for one hundred and fifty each, which will give me the boat for nothing, and, further, they can help me manage it. And . . . that’s all; I put my eggs ashore11 from the boat at Dawson. Now let me see how much is that?”
“Fifty dollars from San Francisco to Dyea, two hundred from Dyea to Linderman, passengers pay for the boat—two hundred and fifty all told,” she summed up swiftly.
“And a hundred for my clothes and personal outfit12,” he went on happily; “that leaves a margin13 of five hundred for emergencies. And what possible emergencies can arise?”
Alma shrugged14 her shoulders and elevated her brows. If that vast Northland was capable of swallowing up a man and a thousand dozen eggs, surely there was room and to spare for whatever else he might happen to possess. So she thought, but she said nothing. She knew David Rasmunsen too well to say anything.
“Doubling the time because of chance delays, I should make the trip in two months. Think of it, Alma! Four thousand in two months! Beats the paltry15 hundred a month I’m getting now. Why, we’ll build further out where we’ll have more space, gas in every room, and a view, and the rent of the cottage’ll pay taxes, insurance, and water, and leave something over. And then there’s always the chance of my striking it and coming out a millionaire. Now tell me, Alma, don’t you think I’m very moderate?”
And Alma could hardly think otherwise. Besides, had not her own cousin,—though a remote and distant one to be sure, the black sheep, the harum-scarum, the ne’er-do-well,—had not he come down out of that weird17 North country with a hundred thousand in yellow dust, to say nothing of a half-ownership in the hole from which it came?
David Rasmunsen’s grocer was surprised when he found him weighing eggs in the scales at the end of the counter, and Rasmunsen himself was more surprised when he found that a dozen eggs weighed a pound and a half—fifteen hundred pounds for his thousand dozen! There would be no weight left for his clothes, blankets, and cooking utensils18, to say nothing of the grub he must necessarily consume by the way. His calculations were all thrown out, and he was just proceeding19 to recast them when he hit upon the idea of weighing small eggs. “For whether they be large or small, a dozen eggs is a dozen eggs,” he observed sagely20 to himself; and a dozen small ones he found to weigh but a pound and a quarter. Thereat the city of San Francisco was overrun by anxious-eyed emissaries, and commission houses and dairy associations were startled by a sudden demand for eggs running not more than twenty ounces to the dozen.
Rasmunsen mortgaged the little cottage for a thousand dollars, arranged for his wife to make a prolonged stay among her own people, threw up his job, and started North. To keep within his schedule he compromised on a second-class passage, which, because of the rush, was worse than steerage; and in the late summer, a pale and wabbly man, he disembarked with his eggs on the Dyea beach. But it did not take him long to recover his land legs and appetite. His first interview with the Chilkoot packers straightened him up and stiffened21 his backbone22. Forty cents a pound they demanded for the twenty-eight-mile portage, and while he caught his breath and swallowed, the price went up to forty-three. Fifteen husky Indians put the straps23 on his packs at forty-five, but took them off at an offer of forty-seven from a Skaguay Croesus in dirty shirt and ragged24 overalls25 who had lost his horses on the White Pass trail and was now making a last desperate drive at the country by way of Chilkoot.
But Rasmunsen was clean grit26, and at fifty cents found takers, who, two days later, set his eggs down intact at Linderman. But fifty cents a pound is a thousand dollars a ton, and his fifteen hundred pounds had exhausted27 his emergency fund and left him stranded28 at the Tantalus point where each day he saw the fresh-whipsawed boats departing for Dawson. Further, a great anxiety brooded over the camp where the boats were built. Men worked frantically30, early and late, at the height of their endurance, caulking31, nailing, and pitching in a frenzy32 of haste for which adequate explanation was not far to seek. Each day the snow-line crept farther down the bleak33, rock-shouldered peaks, and gale34 followed gale, with sleet35 and slush and snow, and in the eddies36 and quiet places young ice formed and thickened through the fleeting37 hours. And each morn, toil38-stiffened men turned wan39 faces across the lake to see if the freeze-up had come. For the freeze-up heralded40 the death of their hope—the hope that they would be floating down the swift river ere navigation closed on the chain of lakes.
To harrow Rasmunsen’s soul further, he discovered three competitors in the egg business. It was true that one, a little German, had gone broke and was himself forlornly back-tripping the last pack of the portage; but the other two had boats nearly completed, and were daily supplicating41 the god of merchants and traders to stay the iron hand of winter for just another day. But the iron hand closed down over the land. Men were being frozen in the blizzard42 which swept Chilkoot, and Rasmunsen frosted his toes ere he was aware. He found a chance to go passenger with his freight in a boat just shoving off through the rubble43, but two hundred hard cash, was required, and he had no money.
“Ay tank you yust wait one leedle w’ile,” said the Swedish boat-builder, who had struck his Klondike right there and was wise enough to know it—“one leedle w’ile und I make you a tam fine skiff boat, sure Pete.”
With this unpledged word to go on, Rasmunsen hit the back trail to Crater44 Lake, where he fell in with two press correspondents whose tangled45 baggage was strewn from Stone House, over across the Pass, and as far as Happy Camp.
“Yes,” he said with consequence. “I’ve a thousand dozen eggs at Linderman, and my boat’s just about got the last seam caulked46. Consider myself in luck to get it. Boats are at a premium47, you know, and none to be had.”
Whereupon and almost with bodily violence the correspondents clamoured to go with him, fluttered greenbacks before his eyes, and spilled yellow twenties from hand to hand. He could not hear of it, but they over-persuaded him, and he reluctantly consented to take them at three hundred apiece. Also they pressed upon him the passage money in advance. And while they wrote to their respective journals concerning the Good Samaritan with the thousand dozen eggs, the Good Samaritan was hurrying back to the Swede at Linderman.
“Here, you! Gimme that boat!” was his salutation, his hand jingling48 the correspondents’ gold pieces and his eyes hungrily bent upon the finished craft.
“How much is the other fellow paying? Three hundred? Well, here’s four. Take it.”
He tried to press it upon him, but the man backed away.
“Ay tank not. Ay say him get der skiff boat. You yust wait—”
“Here’s six hundred. Last call. Take it or leave it. Tell ’m it’s a mistake.”
The Swede wavered. “Ay tank yes,” he finally said, and the last Rasmunsen saw of him his vocabulary was going to wreck50 in a vain effort to explain the mistake to the other fellows.
The German slipped and broke his ankle on the steep hogback above Deep Lake, sold out his stock for a dollar a dozen, and with the proceeds hired Indian packers to carry him back to Dyea. But on the morning Rasmunsen shoved off with his correspondents, his two rivals followed suit.
“How many you got?” one of them, a lean little New Englander, called out.
“One thousand dozen,” Rasmunsen answered proudly.
“Huh! I’ll go you even stakes I beat you in with my eight hundred.”
The correspondents offered to lend him the money; but Rasmunsen declined, and the Yankee closed with the remaining rival, a brawny51 son of the sea and sailor of ships and things, who promised to show them all a wrinkle or two when it came to cracking on. And crack on he did, with a large tarpaulin52 square-sail which pressed the bow half under at every jump. He was the first to run out of Linderman, but, disdaining53 the portage, piled his loaded boat on the rocks in the boiling rapids. Rasmunsen and the Yankee, who likewise had two passengers, portaged across on their backs and then lined their empty boats down through the bad water to Bennett.
Bennett was a twenty-five-mile lake, narrow and deep, a funnel54 between the mountains through which storms ever romped55. Rasmunsen camped on the sand-pit at its head, where were many men and boats bound north in the teeth of the Arctic winter. He awoke in the morning to find a piping gale from the south, which caught the chill from the whited peaks and glacial valleys and blew as cold as north wind ever blew. But it was fair, and he also found the Yankee staggering past the first bold headland with all sail set. Boat after boat was getting under way, and the correspondents fell to with enthusiasm.
“We’ll catch him before Cariboo Crossing,” they assured Rasmunsen, as they ran up the sail and the Alma took the first icy spray over her bow.
Now Rasmunsen all his life had been prone56 to cowardice57 on water, but he clung to the kicking steering-oar with set face and determined58 jaw59. His thousand dozen were there in the boat before his eyes, safely secured beneath the correspondents’ baggage, and somehow, before his eyes were the little cottage and the mortgage for a thousand dollars.
It was bitter cold. Now and again he hauled in the steering-sweep and put out a fresh one while his passengers chopped the ice from the blade. Wherever the spray struck, it turned instantly to frost, and the dipping boom of the spritsail was quickly fringed with icicles. The Alma strained and hammered through the big seas till the seams and butts60 began to spread, but in lieu of bailing61 the correspondents chopped ice and flung it overboard. There was no let-up. The mad race with winter was on, and the boats tore along in a desperate string.
“W-w-we can’t stop to save our souls!” one of the correspondents chattered62, from cold, not fright.
“That’s right! Keep her down the middle, old man!” the other encouraged.
Rasmunsen replied with an idiotic63 grin. The iron-bound shores were in a lather64 of foam65, and even down the middle the only hope was to keep running away from the big seas. To lower sail was to be overtaken and swamped. Time and again they passed boats pounding among the rocks, and once they saw one on the edge of the breakers about to strike. A little craft behind them, with two men, jibed66 over and turned bottom up.
“W-w-watch out, old man,” cried he of the chattering67 teeth.
Rasmunsen grinned and tightened68 his aching grip on the sweep. Scores of times had the send of the sea caught the big square stern of the Alma and thrown her off from dead before it till the after leach69 of the spritsail fluttered hollowly, and each time, and only with all his strength, had he forced her back. His grin by then had become fixed70, and it disturbed the correspondents to look at him.
They roared down past an isolated71 rock a hundred yards from shore. From its wave-drenched top a man shrieked72 wildly, for the instant cutting the storm with his voice. But the next instant the Alma was by, and the rock growing a black speck73 in the troubled froth.
“That settles the Yankee! Where’s the sailor?” shouted one of his passengers.
Rasmunsen shot a glance over his shoulder at a black square-sail. He had seen it leap up out of the grey to windward, and for an hour, off and on, had been watching it grow. The sailor had evidently repaired damages and was making up for lost time.
“Look at him come!”
Both passengers stopped chopping ice to watch. Twenty miles of Bennett were behind them—room and to spare for the sea to toss up its mountains toward the sky. Sinking and soaring like a storm-god, the sailor drove by them. The huge sail seemed to grip the boat from the crests74 of the waves, to tear it bodily out of the water, and fling it crashing and smothering75 down into the yawning troughs.
“The sea’ll never catch him!”
“But he’ll r-r-run her nose under!”
Even as they spoke76, the black tarpaulin swooped77 from sight behind a big comber. The next wave rolled over the spot, and the next, but the boat did not reappear. The Alma rushed by the place. A little riffraff of oats and boxes was seen. An arm thrust up and a shaggy head broke surface a score of yards away.
For a time there was silence. As the end of the lake came in sight, the waves began to leap aboard with such steady recurrence78 that the correspondents no longer chopped ice but flung the water out with buckets. Even this would not do, and, after a shouted conference with Rasmunsen, they attacked the baggage. Flour, bacon, beans, blankets, cooking-stove, ropes, odds79 and ends, everything they could get hands on, flew overboard. The boat acknowledged it at once, taking less water and rising more buoyantly.
“The h-hell it will!” answered the shivering one, savagely81. With the exception of their notes, films, and cameras, they had sacrificed their outfit. He bent over, laid hold of an egg-box, and began to worry it out from under the lashing83.
“drop it! drop it, I say!”
Rasmunsen had managed to draw his revolver, and with the crook84 of his arm over the sweep head, was taking aim. The correspondent stood up on the thwart85, balancing back and forth86, his face twisted with menace and speechless anger.
“My God!”
So cried his brother correspondent, hurling87 himself, face downward, into the bottom of the boat. The Alma, under the divided attention of Rasmunsen, had been caught by a great mass of water and whirled around. The after leach hollowed, the sail emptied and jibed, and the boom, sweeping88 with terrific force across the boat, carried the angry correspondent overboard with a broken back. Mast and sail had gone over the side as well. A drenching89 sea followed, as the boat lost headway, and Rasmunsen sprang to the bailing bucket.
Several boats hurtled past them in the next half-hour,—small boats, boats of their own size, boats afraid, unable to do aught but run madly on. Then a ten-ton barge90, at imminent91 risk of destruction, lowered sail to windward and lumbered92 down upon them.
“Keep off! Keep off!” Rasmunsen screamed.
But his low gunwale ground against the heavy craft, and the remaining correspondent clambered aboard. Rasmunsen was over the eggs like a cat and in the bow of the Alma, striving with numb93 fingers to bend the hauling-lines together.
“Come on!” a red-whiskered man yelled at him.
“I’ve a thousand dozen eggs here,” he shouted back. “Gimme a tow! I’ll pay you!”
“Come on!” they howled in chorus.
A big whitecap broke just beyond, washing over the barge and leaving the Alma half swamped. The men cast off, cursing him as they ran up their sail. Rasmunsen cursed back and fell to bailing. The mast and sail, like a sea anchor, still fast by the halyards, held the boat head on to wind and sea and gave him a chance to fight the water out.
Three hours later, numbed94, exhausted, blathering like a lunatic, but still bailing, he went ashore on an ice-strewn beach near Cariboo Crossing. Two men, a government courier and a half-breed voyageur, dragged him out of the surf, saved his cargo95, and beached the Alma. They were paddling out of the country in a Peterborough, and gave him shelter for the night in their storm-bound camp. Next morning they departed, but he elected to stay by his eggs. And thereafter the name and fame of the man with the thousand dozen eggs began to spread through the land. Gold-seekers who made in before the freeze-up carried the news of his coming. Grizzled old-timers of Forty Mile and Circle City, sour doughs96 with leathern jaws97 and bean-calloused stomachs, called up dream memories of chickens and green things at mention of his name. Dyea and Skaguay took an interest in his being, and questioned his progress from every man who came over the passes, while Dawson—golden, omeletless Dawson—fretted and worried, and way-laid every chance arrival for word of him.
But of this Rasmunsen knew nothing. The day after the wreck he patched up the Alma and pulled out. A cruel east wind blew in his teeth from Tagish, but he got the oars98 over the side and bucked99 manfully into it, though half the time he was drifting backward and chopping ice from the blades. According to the custom of the country, he was driven ashore at Windy Arm; three times on Tagish saw him swamped and beached; and Lake Marsh100 held him at the freeze-up. The Alma was crushed in the jamming of the floes, but the eggs were intact. These he back-tripped two miles across the ice to the shore, where he built a cache, which stood for years after and was pointed101 out by men who knew.
Half a thousand frozen miles stretched between him and Dawson, and the waterway was closed. But Rasmunsen, with a peculiar102 tense look in his face, struck back up the lakes on foot. What he suffered on that lone103 trip, with nought104 but a single blanket, an axe16, and a handful of beans, is not given to ordinary mortals to know. Only the Arctic adventurer may understand. Suffice that he was caught in a blizzard on Chilkoot and left two of his toes with the surgeon at Sheep Camp. Yet he stood on his feet and washed dishes in the scullery of the Pawona to the Puget Sound, and from there passed coal on a P. S. boat to San Francisco.
It was a haggard, unkempt man who limped across the shining office floor to raise a second mortgage from the bank people. His hollow cheeks betrayed themselves through the scraggy beard, and his eyes seemed to have retired105 into deep caverns106 where they burned with cold fires. His hands were grained from exposure and hard work, and the nails were rimmed107 with tight-packed dirt and coal-dust. He spoke vaguely109 of eggs and ice-packs, winds and tides; but when they declined to let him have more than a second thousand, his talk became incoherent, concerning itself chiefly with the price of dogs and dog-food, and such things as snowshoes and moccasins and winter trails. They let him have fifteen hundred, which was more than the cottage warranted, and breathed easier when he scrawled110 his signature and passed out the door.
Two weeks later he went over Chilkoot with three dog sleds of five dogs each. One team he drove, the two Indians with him driving the others. At Lake Marsh they broke out the cache and loaded up. But there was no trail. He was the first in over the ice, and to him fell the task of packing the snow and hammering away through the rough river jams. Behind him he often observed a camp-fire smoke trickling111 thinly up through the quiet air, and he wondered why the people did not overtake him. For he was a stranger to the land and did not understand. Nor could he understand his Indians when they tried to explain. This they conceived to be a hardship, but when they balked112 and refused to break camp of mornings, he drove them to their work at pistol point.
When he slipped through an ice bridge near the White Horse and froze his foot, tender yet and oversensitive from the previous freezing, the Indians looked for him to lie up. But he sacrificed a blanket, and, with his foot incased in an enormous moccasin, big as a water-bucket, continued to take his regular turn with the front sled. Here was the cruellest work, and they respected him, though on the side they rapped their foreheads with their knuckles113 and significantly shook their heads. One night they tried to run away, but the zip-zip of his bullets in the snow brought them back, snarling114 but convinced. Whereupon, being only savage82 Chilkat men, they put their heads together to kill him; but he slept like a cat, and, waking or sleeping, the chance never came. Often they tried to tell him the import of the smoke wreath in the rear, but he could not comprehend and grew suspicious of them. And when they sulked or shirked, he was quick to let drive at them between the eyes, and quick to cool their heated souls with sight of his ready revolver.
And so it went—with mutinous115 men, wild dogs, and a trail that broke the heart. He fought the men to stay with him, fought the dogs to keep them away from the eggs, fought the ice, the cold, and the pain of his foot, which would not heal. As fast as the young tissue renewed, it was bitten and scared by the frost, so that a running sore developed, into which he could almost shove his fist. In the mornings, when he first put his weight upon it, his head went dizzy, and he was near to fainting from the pain; but later on in the day it usually grew numb, to recommence when he crawled into his blankets and tried to sleep. Yet he, who had been a clerk and sat at a desk all his days, toiled116 till the Indians were exhausted, and even out-worked the dogs. How hard he worked, how much he suffered, he did not know. Being a man of the one idea, now that the idea had come, it mastered him. In the foreground of his consciousness was Dawson, in the background his thousand dozen eggs, and midway between the two his ego117 fluttered, striving always to draw them together to a glittering golden point. This golden point was the five thousand dollars, the consummation of the idea and the point of departure for whatever new idea might present itself. For the rest, he was a mere automaton118. He was unaware119 of other things, seeing them as through a glass darkly, and giving them no thought. The work of his hands he did with machine-like wisdom; likewise the work of his head. So the look on his face grew very tense, till even the Indians were afraid of it, and marvelled120 at the strange white man who had made them slaves and forced them to toil with such foolishness.
Then came a snap on Lake Le Barge, when the cold of outer space smote121 the tip of the planet, and the force ranged sixty and odd degrees below zero. Here, labouring with open mouth that he might breathe more freely, he chilled his lungs, and for the rest of the trip he was troubled with a dry, hacking122 cough, especially irritable123 in smoke of camp or under stress of undue124 exertion125. On the Thirty Mile river he found much open water, spanned by precarious126 ice bridges and fringed with narrow rim108 ice, tricky127 and uncertain. The rim ice was impossible to reckon on, and he dared it without reckoning, falling back on his revolver when his drivers demurred128. But on the ice bridges, covered with snow though they were, precautions could be taken. These they crossed on their snowshoes, with long poles, held crosswise in their hands, to which to cling in case of accident. Once over, the dogs were called to follow. And on such a bridge, where the absence of the centre ice was masked by the snow, one of the Indians met his end. He went through as quickly and neatly129 as a knife through thin cream, and the current swept him from view down under the stream ice.
That night his mate fled away through the pale moonlight, Rasmunsen futilely130 puncturing131 the silence with his revolver—a thing that he handled with more celerity than cleverness. Thirty-six hours later the Indian made a police camp on the Big Salmon132.
“Um—um—um funny mans—what you call?—top um head all loose,” the interpreter explained to the puzzled captain. “Eh? Yep, clazy, much clazy mans. Eggs, eggs, all a time eggs—savvy? Come bime-by.”
It was several days before Rasmunsen arrived, the three sleds lashed133 together, and all the dogs in a single team. It was awkward, and where the going was bad he was compelled to back-trip it sled by sled, though he managed most of the time, through herculean efforts, to bring all along on the one haul. He did not seem moved when the captain of police told him his man was hitting the high places for Dawson, and was by that time, probably, half-way between Selkirk and Stewart. Nor did he appear interested when informed that the police had broken the trail as far as Pelly; for he had attained134 to a fatalistic acceptance of all natural dispensations, good or ill. But when they told him that Dawson was in the bitter clutch of famine, he smiled, threw the harness on his dogs, and pulled out.
But it was at his next halt that the mystery of the smoke was explained. With the word at Big Salmon that the trail was broken to Pelly, there was no longer any need for the smoke wreath to linger in his wake; and Rasmunsen, crouching135 over lonely fire, saw a motley string of sleds go by. First came the courier and the half-breed who had hauled him out from Bennett; then mail-carriers for Circle City, two sleds of them, and a mixed following of ingoing Klondikers. Dogs and men were fresh and fat, while Rasmunsen and his brutes136 were jaded137 and worn down to the skin and bone. They of the smoke wreath had travelled one day in three, resting and reserving their strength for the dash to come when broken trail was met with; while each day he had plunged138 and floundered forward, breaking the spirit of his dogs and robbing them of their mettle139.
As for himself, he was unbreakable. They thanked him kindly140 for his efforts in their behalf, those fat, fresh men,—thanked him kindly, with broad grins and ribald laughter; and now, when he understood, he made no answer. Nor did he cherish silent bitterness. It was immaterial. The idea—the fact behind the idea—was not changed. Here he was and his thousand dozen; there was Dawson; the problem was unaltered.
At the Little Salmon, being short of dog food, the dogs got into his grub, and from there to Selkirk he lived on beans—coarse, brown beans, big beans, grossly nutritive, which griped his stomach and doubled him up at two-hour intervals141. But the Factor at Selkirk had a notice on the door of the Post to the effect that no steamer had been up the Yukon for two years, and in consequence grub was beyond price. He offered to swap142 flour, however, at the rate of a cupful of each egg, but Rasmunsen shook his head and hit the trail. Below the Post he managed to buy frozen horse hide for the dogs, the horses having been slain143 by the Chilkat cattle men, and the scraps144 and offal preserved by the Indians. He tackled the hide himself, but the hair worked into the bean sores of his mouth, and was beyond endurance.
Here at Selkirk he met the forerunners145 of the hungry exodus146 of Dawson, and from there on they crept over the trail, a dismal147 throng148. “No grub!” was the song they sang. “No grub, and had to go.” “Everybody holding candles for a rise in the spring.” “Flour dollar ’n a half a pound, and no sellers.”
“Eggs?” one of them answered. “Dollar apiece, but there ain’t none.”
Rasmunsen made a rapid calculation. “Twelve thousand dollars,” he said aloud.
“Hey?” the man asked.
“Nothing,” he answered, and mushed the dogs along.
When he arrived at Stewart River, seventy from Dawson, five of his dogs were gone, and the remainder were falling in the traces. He, also, was in the traces, hauling with what little strength was left in him. Even then he was barely crawling along ten miles a day. His cheek-bones and nose, frost-bitten again and again, were turned bloody-black and hideous149. The thumb, which was separated from the fingers by the gee-pole, had likewise been nipped and gave him great pain. The monstrous150 moccasin still incased his foot, and strange pains were beginning to rack the leg. At Sixty Mile, the last beans, which he had been rationing151 for some time, were finished; yet he steadfastly152 refused to touch the eggs. He could not reconcile his mind to the legitimacy153 of it, and staggered and fell along the way to Indian River. Here a fresh-killed moose and an open-handed old-timer gave him and his dogs new strength, and at Ainslie’s he felt repaid for it all when a stampede, ripe from Dawson in five hours, was sure he could get a dollar and a quarter for every egg he possessed154.
He came up the steep bank by the Dawson barracks with fluttering heart and shaking knees. The dogs were so weak that he was forced to rest them, and, waiting, he leaned limply against the gee-pole. A man, an eminently155 decorous-looking man, came sauntering by in a great bearskin coat. He glanced at Rasmunsen curiously156, then stopped and ran a speculative157 eye over the dogs and the three lashed sleds.
“What you got?” he asked.
“Eggs,” Rasmunsen answered huskily, hardly able to pitch his voice above a whisper.
“Eggs! Whoopee! Whoopee!” He sprang up into the air, gyrated madly, and finished with half-a-dozen war steps. “You don’t say—all of ’em?”
“All of ’em.”
“Say, you must be the Egg Man.” He walked around and viewed Rasmunsen from the other side. “Come, now, ain’t you the Egg Man?”
Rasmunsen didn’t know, but supposed he was, and the man sobered down a bit.
“What d’ye expect to get for ’em?” he asked cautiously.
Rasmunsen became audacious. “Dollar ’n a half,” he said.
“I—I mean a dollar ’n a half apiece,” Rasmunsen hesitatingly explained.
“Sure. I heard you. Make it two dozen. Here’s the dust.”
The man pulled out a healthy gold sack the size of a small sausage and knocked it negligently159 against the gee-pole. Rasmunsen felt a strange trembling in the pit of his stomach, a tickling160 of the nostrils161, and an almost overwhelming desire to sit down and cry. But a curious, wide-eyed crowd was beginning to collect, and man after man was calling out for eggs. He was without scales, but the man with the bearskin coat fetched a pair and obligingly weighed in the dust while Rasmunsen passed out the goods. Soon there was a pushing and shoving and shouldering, and a great clamour. Everybody wanted to buy and to be served first. And as the excitement grew, Rasmunsen cooled down. This would never do. There must be something behind the fact of their buying so eagerly. It would be wiser if he rested first and sized up the market. Perhaps eggs were worth two dollars apiece. Anyway, whenever he wished to sell, he was sure of a dollar and a half. “Stop!” he cried, when a couple of hundred had been sold. “No more now. I’m played out. I’ve got to get a cabin, and then you can come and see me.”
A groan162 went up at this, but the man with the bearskin coat approved. Twenty-four of the frozen eggs went rattling163 in his capacious pockets, and he didn’t care whether the rest of the town ate or not. Besides, he could see Rasmunsen was on his last legs.
“There’s a cabin right around the second corner from the Monte Carlo,” he told him—“the one with the sody-bottle window. It ain’t mine, but I’ve got charge of it. Rents for ten a day and cheap for the money. You move right in, and I’ll see you later. Don’t forget the sody-bottle window.”
“Tra-la-loo!” he called back a moment later. “I’m goin’ up the hill to eat eggs and dream of home.”
On his way to the cabin, Rasmunsen recollected164 he was hungry and bought a small supply of provisions at the N. A. T. & T. store—also a beefsteak at the butcher shop and dried salmon for the dogs. He found the cabin without difficulty, and left the dogs in the harness while he started the fire and got the coffee under way.
“A dollar ’n a half apiece—one thousand dozen—eighteen thousand dollars!” he kept muttering it to himself, over and over, as he went about his work.
As he flopped165 the steak into the frying-pan the door opened. He turned. It was the man with the bearskin coat. He seemed to come in with determination, as though bound on some explicit166 errand, but as he looked at Rasmunsen an expression of perplexity came into his face.
“I say—now I say—” he began, then halted.
Rasmunsen wondered if he wanted the rent.
“I say, damn it, you know, them eggs is bad.”
Rasmunsen staggered. He felt as though some one had struck him an astounding167 blow between the eyes. The walls of the cabin reeled and tilted168 up. He put out his hand to steady himself and rested it on the stove. The sharp pain and the smell of the burning flesh brought him back to himself.
“It ain’t the money,” the man said, “but hain’t you got any eggs—good?”
Rasmunsen shook his head. “You’d better take the money.”
But the man refused and backed away. “I’ll come back,” he said, “when you’ve taken stock, and get what’s comin’.”
Rasmunsen rolled the chopping-block into the cabin and carried in the eggs. He went about it quite calmly. He took up the hand-axe, and, one by one, chopped the eggs in half. These halves he examined carefully and let fall to the floor. At first he sampled from the different cases, then deliberately170 emptied one case at a time. The heap on the floor grew larger. The coffee boiled over and the smoke of the burning beefsteak filled the cabin. He chopped steadfastly and monotonously171 till the last case was finished.
Somebody knocked at the door, knocked again, and let himself in.
“What a mess!” he remarked, as he paused and surveyed the scene.
The severed172 eggs were beginning to thaw173 in the heat of the stove, and a miserable174 odour was growing stronger.
“Must a-happened on the steamer,” he suggested.
Rasmunsen looked at him long and blankly.
“I’m Murray, Big Jim Murray, everybody knows me,” the man volunteered. “I’m just hearin’ your eggs is rotten, and I’m offerin’ you two hundred for the batch175. They ain’t good as salmon, but still they’re fair scoffin’s for dogs.”
Rasmunsen seemed turned to stone. He did not move. “You go to hell,” he said passionlessly.
“Now just consider. I pride myself it’s a decent price for a mess like that, and it’s better ’n nothin’. Two hundred. What you say?”
“You go to hell,” Rasmunsen repeated softly, “and get out of here.”
Murray gaped176 with a great awe29, then went out carefully, backward, with his eyes fixed an the other’s face.
Rasmunsen followed him out and turned the dogs loose. He threw them all the salmon he had bought, and coiled a sled-lashing up in his hand. Then he re-entered the cabin and drew the latch177 in after him. The smoke from the cindered steak made his eyes smart. He stood on the bunk178, passed the lashing over the ridge-pole, and measured the swing-off with his eye. It did not seem to satisfy, for he put the stool on the bunk and climbed upon the stool. He drove a noose179 in the end of the lashing and slipped his head through. The other end he made fast. Then he kicked the stool out from under.
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1
clarion
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| n.尖音小号声；尖音小号 | |
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2
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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3
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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4
premise
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| n.前提；v.提论，预述 | |
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metropolis
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| n.首府；大城市 | |
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6
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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7
bagatelle
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| n.琐事；小曲儿 | |
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8
extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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rippled
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| 使泛起涟漪（ripple的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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10
cosy
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| adj.温暖而舒适的，安逸的 | |
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11
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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12
outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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13
margin
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| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
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14
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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15
paltry
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| adj.无价值的，微不足道的 | |
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16
axe
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| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
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17
weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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18
utensils
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| 器具，用具，器皿( utensil的名词复数 )； 器物 | |
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19
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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20
sagely
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| adv. 贤能地，贤明地 | |
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21
stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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22
backbone
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| n.脊骨，脊柱，骨干；刚毅，骨气 | |
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23
straps
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| n.带子( strap的名词复数 )；挎带；肩带；背带v.用皮带捆扎( strap的第三人称单数 )；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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24
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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25
overalls
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| n.（复）工装裤；长罩衣 | |
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26
grit
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| n.沙粒，决心，勇气；v.下定决心，咬紧牙关 | |
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27
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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28
stranded
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| a.搁浅的，进退两难的 | |
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29
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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30
frantically
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| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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31
caulking
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| n.堵缝；敛缝；捻缝；压紧v.堵（船的）缝( caulk的现在分词 )；泥…的缝；填塞；使不漏水 | |
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32
frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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33
bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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34
gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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35
sleet
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| n.雨雪；v.下雨雪，下冰雹 | |
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36
eddies
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| （水、烟等的）漩涡，涡流( eddy的名词复数 ) | |
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37
fleeting
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| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
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38
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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39
wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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40
heralded
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| v.预示( herald的过去式和过去分词 )；宣布（好或重要） | |
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41
supplicating
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| v.祈求，哀求，恳求( supplicate的现在分词 ) | |
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42
blizzard
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| n.暴风雪 | |
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43
rubble
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| n.（一堆）碎石，瓦砾 | |
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44
crater
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| n.火山口，弹坑 | |
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45
tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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46
caulked
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| v.堵（船的）缝( caulk的过去式和过去分词 )；泥…的缝；填塞；使不漏水 | |
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47
premium
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| n.加付款；赠品；adj.高级的；售价高的 | |
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48
jingling
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| 叮当声 | |
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49
stolidly
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| adv.迟钝地，神经麻木地 | |
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50
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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51
brawny
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| adj.强壮的 | |
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52
tarpaulin
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| n.涂油防水布，防水衣，防水帽 | |
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53
disdaining
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| 鄙视( disdain的现在分词 )； 不屑于做，不愿意做 | |
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54
funnel
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| n.漏斗；烟囱；v.汇集 | |
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55
romped
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| v.嬉笑玩闹( romp的过去式和过去分词 )；（尤指在赛跑或竞选等中）轻易获胜 | |
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56
prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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57
cowardice
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| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
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58
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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59
jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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60
butts
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| 笑柄( butt的名词复数 )； （武器或工具的）粗大的一端； 屁股； 烟蒂 | |
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61
bailing
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| （凿井时用吊桶）排水 | |
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62
chattered
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| （人）喋喋不休( chatter的过去式 )； 唠叨； （牙齿）打战； （机器）震颤 | |
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63
idiotic
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| adj.白痴的 | |
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64
lather
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| n.(肥皂水的)泡沫，激动 | |
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65
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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66
jibed
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| v.与…一致( jibe的过去式和过去分词 )；（与…）相符；相匹配 | |
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67
chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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68
tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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69
leach
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| v.分离，过滤掉；n.过滤；过滤器 | |
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70
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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71
isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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72
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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73
speck
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| n.微粒，小污点，小斑点 | |
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74
crests
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| v.到达山顶（或浪峰）( crest的第三人称单数 )；到达洪峰，达到顶点 | |
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75
smothering
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的现在分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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76
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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77
swooped
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| 俯冲，猛冲( swoop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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78
recurrence
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| n.复发，反复，重现 | |
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79
odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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80
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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81
savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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82
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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83
lashing
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| n.鞭打；痛斥；大量；许多v.鞭打( lash的现在分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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84
crook
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| v.使弯曲；n.小偷，骗子，贼；弯曲(处) | |
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85
thwart
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| v.阻挠，妨碍，反对；adj.横(断的) | |
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86
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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87
hurling
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| n.爱尔兰式曲棍球v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的现在分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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88
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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89
drenching
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| n.湿透v.使湿透( drench的现在分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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90
barge
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| n.平底载货船，驳船 | |
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91
imminent
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| adj.即将发生的，临近的，逼近的 | |
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92
lumbered
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| 砍伐（lumber的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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93
numb
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| adj.麻木的，失去感觉的；v.使麻木 | |
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94
numbed
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| v.使麻木，使麻痹( numb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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95
cargo
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| n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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96
doughs
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| n.生面团，（用于制面包和糕点的）生面团( dough的名词复数 )；钱 | |
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97
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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98
oars
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| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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99
bucked
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| adj.快v.（马等）猛然弓背跃起( buck的过去式和过去分词 )；抵制；猛然震荡；马等尥起后蹄跳跃 | |
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100
marsh
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| n.沼泽，湿地 | |
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101
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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102
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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103
lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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104
nought
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| n.／adj.无，零 | |
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105
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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106
caverns
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| 大山洞，大洞穴( cavern的名词复数 ) | |
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107
rimmed
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| adj.有边缘的，有框的v.沿…边缘滚动；给…镶边 | |
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108
rim
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| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
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109
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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110
scrawled
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| 乱涂，潦草地写( scrawl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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111
trickling
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| n.油画底色含油太多而成泡沫状突起v.滴( trickle的现在分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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112
balked
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| v.畏缩不前，犹豫( balk的过去式和过去分词 )；（指马）不肯跑 | |
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113
knuckles
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| n.（指人）指关节( knuckle的名词复数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝v.（指人）指关节( knuckle的第三人称单数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝 | |
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114
snarling
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的现在分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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115
mutinous
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| adj.叛变的，反抗的；adv.反抗地，叛变地；n.反抗，叛变 | |
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116
toiled
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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117
ego
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| n.自我，自己，自尊 | |
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118
automaton
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| n.自动机器，机器人 | |
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119
unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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120
marvelled
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| v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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121
smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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122
hacking
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| n.非法访问计算机系统和数据库的活动 | |
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123
irritable
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| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
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124
undue
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| adj.过分的；不适当的；未到期的 | |
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125
exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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126
precarious
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| adj.不安定的，靠不住的；根据不足的 | |
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127
tricky
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| adj.狡猾的，奸诈的；(工作等)棘手的，微妙的 | |
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128
demurred
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| v.表示异议，反对( demur的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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129
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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130
futilely
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| futile（无用的）的变形； 干 | |
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131
puncturing
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| v.在（某物）上穿孔( puncture的现在分词 )；刺穿（某物）；削弱（某人的傲气、信心等）；泄某人的气 | |
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132
salmon
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| n.鲑，大马哈鱼，橙红色的 | |
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133
lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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134
attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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135
crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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136
brutes
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| 兽( brute的名词复数 )； 畜生； 残酷无情的人； 兽性 | |
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137
jaded
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| adj.精疲力竭的；厌倦的；（因过饱或过多而）腻烦的；迟钝的 | |
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138
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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139
mettle
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| n.勇气，精神 | |
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140
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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141
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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142
swap
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| n.交换；vt.交换，用...作交易 | |
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143
slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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144
scraps
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| 油渣 | |
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145
forerunners
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| n.先驱( forerunner的名词复数 )；开路人；先兆；前兆 | |
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146
exodus
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| v.大批离去，成群外出 | |
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147
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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148
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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149
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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150
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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151
rationing
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| n.定量供应 | |
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152
steadfastly
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| adv.踏实地，不变地；岿然；坚定不渝 | |
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153
legitimacy
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| n.合法，正当 | |
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154
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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155
eminently
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| adv.突出地；显著地；不寻常地 | |
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156
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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157
speculative
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| adj.思索性的，暝想性的，推理的 | |
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158
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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159
negligently
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160
tickling
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| 反馈，回授，自旋挠痒法 | |
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161
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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162
groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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163
rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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164
recollected
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| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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165
flopped
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| v.（指书、戏剧等）彻底失败( flop的过去式和过去分词 )；（因疲惫而）猛然坐下；（笨拙地、不由自主地或松弛地）移动或落下；砸锅 | |
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166
explicit
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| adj.详述的，明确的；坦率的；显然的 | |
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167
astounding
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| adj.使人震惊的vt.使震惊，使大吃一惊astound的现在分词) | |
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168
tilted
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| v. 倾斜的 | |
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169
fumbling
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| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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170
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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171
monotonously
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| adv.单调地，无变化地 | |
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172
severed
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| v.切断，断绝( sever的过去式和过去分词 )；断，裂 | |
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173
thaw
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| v.（使）融化，（使）变得友善；n.融化，缓和 | |
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174
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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175
batch
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| n.一批(组，群)；一批生产量 | |
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176
gaped
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| v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的过去式和过去分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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177
latch
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| n.门闩，窗闩；弹簧锁 | |
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178
bunk
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| n.(车、船等倚壁而设的)铺位；废话 | |
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179
noose
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| n.绳套，绞索（刑）；v.用套索捉；使落入圈套；处以绞刑 | |
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