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London, Jack, 1876-1916

"The Son of the Wolf"

--You see, as soon as we get a few traps
together, we'll start, and-' 'Suppose he comes back?' 'I'll break
every-' 'No, no! No fighting, Clyde! Promise me that.' 'All
right! I'll just tell the men to throw him off the claim. They've
seen how he's treated you, and haven't much love for him.'
'You mustn't do that. You mustn't hurt him.' 'What then? Let him
come right in here and take you away before my eyes?' 'No-o,' she
half whispered, stroking his hand softly.
'Then let me run it, and don't worry. I'll see he doesn't get
hurt. Precious lot he cared whether you got hurt or not! We won't
go back to Dawson. I'll send word down for a couple of the boys
to outfit and pole a boat up the Yukon. We'll cross the divide
and raft down the Indian River to meet them. Then--' 'And then?'
Her head was on his shoulder.
Their voices sank to softer cadences, each word a caress. The
Jesuit fidgeted nervously.
'And then?' she repeated.
'Why we'll pole up, and up, and up, and portage the White Horse
Rapids and the Box Canon.' 'Yes?' 'And the Sixty-Mile River; then
the lakes, Chilcoot, Dyea, and Salt Water.' 'But, dear, I can't
pole a boat.' 'You little goose! I'll get Sitka Charley; he knows
all the good water and best camps, and he is the best traveler I
ever met, if he is an Indian.


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