“What’s the use of our trying to hide it?” Case demanded one morning. “We have all got it, I guess, and each one is trying to keep it from the others. Open up your mouth, Clay,” Clay silently obeyed. His gums, palate, and tongue were black and swollen. “Humph,” got it hard,” Case grunted. “Abe, you next.” The lad obeyed, and showed a mouth pink and clean as a baby’s. “You’re all right,” Case announced. “Now for you, Alex.” “Worse than Clay’s,” Case said, frankly. “Ike, step up and let me see your tongue. Why, you have only got the first symptoms,” he said, “just a touch of white on your gums and palate.” His own condition he did not need to state. His blackened, swollen lips told the tale. By some whim of nature, the disease had chosen the strongest for its first victims, and, having chosen, it proceeded with hideous rapidity. Within a week Clay, Alex and Case were helpless in their bunks. Ike was also breaking down, not from the disease, which seemed to take but slight hold of him, but from the groans and sufferings of his chums which he was powerless to relieve. Weary and sick at heart, one morning he left Abe in charge of the sufferers and skirting the edge of the ice with aimless steps, rounded the base of the mountain. Here he stopped with a look of interest. A curl of smoke was filtering up from a thick clump of cottonwoods. He stared at it thoughtfully for a minute, then wheeling suddenly, hastened back to the boat from which, presently, emerged Abe clothed in parka and snow shoes and bearing something white, tightly clenched in one small hand, as he skimmed over the crusted snow.
Black night had fallen when the Yukon Kid caught sight of the Rambler’s lights glimmering in the cove. They meant warmth, light, food and a bed for the night for him, and he spurred his weary dogs on to a fresh burst of speed which soon landed them in the lee of the Rambler. Hastily unhitching, he flung a fish from his pack to each of the hungry animals. Then clambering aboard, he flung open the cabin door with boisterous words of greeting on his lips, but they died unspoken as his keen eyes swept the little room, taking in everything in one glance, the three muttering boys in their bunks, and the little Esquimau busy making up raw potatoes into juicy pulp. The lad’s face was marked by tears as he looked at the Kid.
“Plenty sick?” asked the Kid, pointing to the muttering lads.
“Yes. Heap scurvy.”
The Kid glanced at the vacant bunk.
“Fadder dead?”
“No dead,” said the boy. “Get potatoes this afternoon. Big men come. He and fadder trade. Fadder gets potatoes. Big man get fadder. All in paper there,” pointing to a folded note beside the heap of potatoes.
The Kid grabbed it up and opening it with ruthless hands, read:
“Dear boys:—I hope these potatoes help you all to get well quick. I gets them off them two loafers, Jud and Bill. I sent Abe as messenger to them this morning and Bill he comes over and talks it over with me, and we trade. A bushel of potatoes for me. I think he’s a robber, you understand. I don’t think he brings more than three pecks of the potatoes. I goes back with him. I expect I no see you any more, so good-bye boys. I’m sorry I make you so much trouble. With love, Ike.”
“I wants my share of the furs to go to Rebecca, you understand. Abe, he shall have the news stand. Tell him lots of love from fadder. Ike.”