Phil wrote and sent him a letter, in which he apologized for having accused him of stealing his money or the fur-seal’s tooth, Jalap Coombs having told him the facts concerning these things, and hoped he would return to St. Michaels in safety. Long afterwards he learned that Simon Goldollar did make his way down the river, aided by Kurilla and Chitsah, and was sent on by Gerald Hamer from Anvik to St. Michaels. There he was discharged from the company’s employ on account of the failure of his expedition, and finally left Alaska in the same ship that bore ex-convict Strengel from its shores. An amusing feature of it all was that both these rascals attributed the ill success of their undertakings to the unlucky influence of the fur-seal’s tooth.
This industrious bit of ivory, which exhibited such a fondness for interfering with the affairs of men and boys, as well as such activity in rapid travel and change of ownership, reposed for several days in Mr. Platt Riley’s vest-pocket, where it had been unconsciously thrust and forgotten. Finally, tired of being thus neglected, it worked a hole through the pocket and fell to the floor. From there it was snapped up by Mr. Riley’s favorite dog, who lay at his feet, and doubtless imagined it to be a choice morsel provided for him by his indulgent master. A moment later the judge was aroused from a reverie by the frantic struggles of his dog, who seemed on the point of strangulation. When he succeeded, by prompt effort, in removing the obstruction from the animal’s throat, and, with a feeling of superstitious amazement, discovered its nature, he started at once for the store of the Yukon Trading Company, determined to be rid of the uncanny object as quickly as possible.
It so happened that none of the three occupants of the premises was at home, nor were they to be seen in any direction. They had been preparing for departure, and many articles ready for packing on the sledges lay scattered about the room. Among these was a fur sleeping-bag, on which Mr. Riley’s eye no sooner rested than he thrust the magic tooth into it and shook it to the very bottom.
“There!” he exclaimed, “they are sure to take it with them; one of them will find it sooner or later, and maybe it will bring him good luck. At any rate, I hope it will.”
It was now the month of February, and high time for our travellers to be on their way if they wished to have snow to the end of their sledge journey. Phil had made most satisfactory business arrangements for Gerald Hamer, had sent that gentleman a long report of their progress to date by Kurilla, who also bore letters from himself and Serge to their kind friends at Anvik, and was now impatient to push forward.
So on the morning of the 5th of February, although the thermometer registered forty-eight degrees below zero, the little party set forth from Forty Mile with three sledges and seventeen dogs. Above the first sledge fluttered a small flag, on which appeared the magic letters “U. S. M.,” signifying that Phil had undertaken to deliver on the coast a large packet of letters, the first mail ever sent out from Forty Mile in winter.
The entire population of the camp was assembled to see them off; and amid sincere expressions of good-will, a round of hearty cheers, and a ringing volley the sledges dashed away up the Yukon, with seven hundred miles of their journey still to be accomplished.