“I’ve got a bit of news for you,” he said between mouthfuls. “Got the true story of Bill and Jud. Got it straight from an old timer who lived in the same part of Ohio that Bill came from. Bill and Jud are brothers, but no more alike than a rotten egg is like a fresh laid one. Jud, he stuck to the farm and grew up big, strong, and honest, though I guess he would have done that anywhere. Bill hit for the city, and the village folks said they hoped he would never come back for he’d always been mean, lying and thieving, although Jud was always mighty fond of him and was always making excuses for him and claiming that it was only Bill’s high spirits that got him into mischief. Well, Bill got a job in a store and mighty proud of it Jud was, always telling people that Bill was getting along fine in the city Pretty soon the store people found out that their cash was turning up short every night and they traced it to Bill. He confessed and Jud put a mortgage on the farm and went up and settled with the store folks so that Bill wouldn’t be prosecuted, but the lesson didn’t do Bill any good, he kept getting lower and lower until he got to be a common holdup man and burglar. Then Jud up and sold his interest in the farm, and bid good-bye to the village folks, telling them that he was going to get Bill away from the bad fellows who were always leading him into trouble all the time. He made good his word evidently, for here they are up here on the Yukon with Jud looking out for Bill and keeping him as straight as he can. Funny ain’t it, how a good man like Jud will let himself be forced into bad ways just to keep a worse man from doing worse things. I reckon Jud would kill any one who tried to hurt his brother. Reckon that’s what the Good Book calls brotherly love, but I don’t take much stock in that kind of love myself, it’s too one-sided.”
The Kid did not pause for much more conversation and the boys did not attempt to detain him, for they knew he was eager to be off for Dawson.
“I’ll have more time to stay with you on my way back,” he shouted back to them as his rested team swung into line. “Oh! by the way. Bill and Jud are on the Yukon now somewhere. Heard they left Nome with two boats and a small outfit, but I haven’t passed them on the river.”
CHAPTER XX
THE VISION
It was not until they had practiced a week at the mock trail work that Clay decided they were in shape to tackle the real work of the trail. The week had wrought changes in them. It had been real work. Everything they had learned of the work from the old timers they had put into practice again and again until they had learned to do the thing with neatness and despatch. They were astonished at the miracle the week had wrought in themselves. Their bodies were stripped of every ounce of fat and new unknown muscles had sprung into notice while the old prominent ones had become as things of elastic steel. Their hunger was of the order of famished wolves and they grew to understand the look of knowing hunger in the eyes of their dogs as they wistfully watched them eat breakfast and supper, of which two meals the animals were not allowed to partake, but could only look on in wretched misery at their masters eating with such relish.
Before leaving Dawson the boys had cleared out the forehold and had filled it with a great store of dried salmon. Of this, they gave their dogs more than double the quantity usually given by dog drivers. But they gave it to them only at night, according to the iron law of the trail, whose motto was that a full dog travels slow. Their first real trip was to the nearest of the Indian villages which seemed to inclose the Catholic Mission of the Holy Cross in a kind of semi-circle. They started with the usual trail traveler’s pack, containing only the things absolutely necessary, such as frying pan and a big kettle to cook in, a change of footgear and clothing for each, an axe and a fair amount of the staple food of the trail, beans, pork, coffee, flour and sugar. A smaller pack contained the supply of dried salmon for the dogs, and another of trading trinkets, while over all was strapped down tightly over the load a large square of waterproofed canvas, another of the Kid’s suggestions. It being the first trip and a novelty, all were eager to go, but none liked to leave the Rambler alone. For, although well protected from view, there was the possible chance that some traveler might stumble upon the tiny cove and relieve the Rambler of some of her already diminishing stock of provisions. So it was decided that one should be left to guard the boat, that one to be decided by the drawing of straws. The short straw fell to Case to his intense disgust.
“Just my luck,” he grumbled, “to be left behind on a day like this when the snow has just got a crust an elephant could not break through, and everything seems to promise the finest kind of weather. When I get a chance to go the snow will be five feet deep and we will have to pack trail every foot of the way right in the teeth of a sixty-mile gale.”
What Case said about the conditions for traveling were true. They could hardly have selected a better time. The start was made long before daylight, Clay running side by side with the leader and striving to keep to the due south course by his pocket compass, but he soon realized that Buck sensed their destination and, like one on familiar ground, was picking his way toward a certain goal. Now and then he would swerve to one side to avoid a clump of trees or a steep gully, but always swinging back again and ever bearing back again to the south.
“No use trying to guide that dog,” Clay panted as he fell back to join his companions who were half running to keep up with the flying sled. “He knows where we are going and the best way of getting there far better than I do myself. I don’t believe there’s another team like this in the world. Look how they run in perfect harmony with each other.”