Devinne’s trading-post was not the sort of place one expected to find in Alaska. Devinne himself was a queer customer, a man of good education and birth. That he chose to establish a trading-post on the upper reaches of the Yukon was a mystery to all who knew him. The real reason was a secret in the heart of Devinne, and had reference to a quarrel in a Parisian club in which a blow had been struck in a moment of pardonable fury, resulting in the death of a revered citizen of Paris.

Devinne found the Yukon district a comparatively “healthy” spot. He had started the trading-post four years back, and had prospered very considerably. He had started in a small way, taking trips into Indian villages and bargaining for furs. A man of quick intelligence, he soon acquired a substantial knowledge of most of the 269 queer Indian dialects, which proved a tremendous asset from a business point of view.

After one year’s profitable trading he had built the “post.” It was a fairly commodious affair, boasting three rooms upstairs and three below, plus a long shed attached to the rear of the main building where he carried on his business, with two half-breed assistants, who slept in the shed itself.

A year after the post was completed Natalie, Devinne’s only daughter, a woman of uncertain age, came out to keep house for him. Natalie had all the quick passions of her Southern mother, which doubtlessly accounted for the sudden rupture between herself and her husband after but a brief span of married life.

Two years in Alaska had not changed her nature. Unlike Devinne, she was quick to anger. She ruled her father as completely as she had ruled her husband, until that worthy sought refuge under the wing of another, less tyrannous, woman.

On this night, in late May, Natalie and her father sat in the big front room which afforded them an uninterrupted view of the river. Natalie 270 was busy at crochet-work, and Devinne was going over some accounts with a view to finding what profit the year had yielded. Judging by his frequent purrs and sighs, the result was not displeasing. Natalie looked up.

“Well?” she queried, in French.

“Another good season and we’ll be able to get away.”

“Where to?”

“Los Angeles would not be so bad. A good, equable climate, a little society, and a club or two—ah!”

“But is it safe?”

He furrowed his brows.

“We’ll risk it. Four years is a long time, and I think I am changed somewhat. You won’t be sorry to leave this country—ma cherie?”

Natalie put down her crochet.

“No. It seems a waste of one’s life. Mon Dieu, I am tired of it.”

Devinne cocked up his ears as two shrill hoots came from the river. He sprang to the window and saw the dim light of a ship going up the river.

“It’s the old Topeka back again. She’s early 271 this season, which is fortunate, for we’re badly in need of that consignment. ’Chips’ will have to get up to Dawson to-morrow and bring the stuff back. Maybe the piano is aboard.”

“Was it wise to get the piano, when we are leaving next fall?”

“We can sell it—at a profit, too.... What’s that?”

“That” was a sharp rap on the outer door. It was repeated again in a few seconds. Callers were unusual at that time of the day, but all callers were welcome enough in Alaska. Natalie ran out and unbarred the door. In the dim light she saw the figure of a big man supporting a woman, who was obviously on the verge of utter collapse.

“Why, vat is it?” she ejaculated in her broken English.

“It’s all that’s left of us,” growled a voice. “I guess we’re nearly beat.”

He staggered, and Natalie ran to the mute figure of Angela. “Father, father!” she cried.

Devinne appeared in a second, and took in the situation at a glance. While Jim relinquished 272 Angela to the excited Natalie, Devinne took him by the arm and led him into the sitting-room.

“It’s good fortune that led you here. How long have you been without food?”

“Two days.”

“We’ll soon put that right. Don’t talk till you’ve eaten. I’ll get you something to take the edge off while Natalie cooks a sound meal.”

He left Jim reclining on the couch, and came back with a loaf of bread and some canned beef. Jim eyed the food with ravenous eyes.

“Where’s Angela?” he queried.

“Angela?—who is—ah yes, your companion. You haven’t told me your name.”

“Conlan—Jim Conlan.”

“And the lady?”

“My—my sister.”

He started to see Angela standing in the doorway, her arm linked in that of Natalie. She regarded him in amazement as the untruth left his lips, and then came and sat down at the table.

“You vill excuse me. I go make something verra nice,” said Natalie, and vanished into the kitchen. 273

“Now go ahead,” said Devinne. “Regard that as hors-d’oeuvre till the supper is ready.”

They partook of the good home-made bread, and of the meat, Devinne regarding them with kindly eyes.

“It’s a good thing the steamer is early, or we might have been as badly off as you. We have but a week’s supply, but the new lot will be down in a day or two.... Where have you come from?”

“Endicott,” said Jim. “We lost our dogs and got delayed some. Gee, but food is a wonderful thing!”

Natalie came in and discreetly removed the remainder of the loaf and the meat.

“No more, pleece,” she said. “You vill haf no room for zat supper. I haf him on the stove now.”

She laughed merrily, not a little pleased at this unexpected invasion. For months she had seen no one but wandering Indians and grizzled miners. It was a delight to hold conversation with a pretty woman—not to mention a strapping son of Hercules, like unto nothing she had ever seen before. 274

Jim found Devinne a charming and interesting host. Over a pipe they discussed New York and London, these being Devinne’s idea of paradise, a point of view which Jim scarcely shared. By the time supper was ready they all felt like old friends. Natalie, much to Angela’s embarrassment, displayed particular interest in Jim.

“But your brother—he ees magnifique! Such eyes—such limbs! Mon Dieu, but I haf nevaire seen one lak him. And you go all zat way wit’ him?—you are verra brave—and so beautiful.”

Angela would have liked to return the compliment—for the French woman was beautiful enough, and fascinating to her finger-tips—but she felt annoyed that Jim should have placed her in this position. Why should he attempt to pass her off as his sister? It was unpardonable! And here was this French woman regarding him with eyes of obvious admiration. Angela felt a queer little stab in the region of her heart.

“I can trade you some food the day after to-morrow, Conlan,” said Devinne.

“I guess I’ll be making Dawson to-morrow.”

“Nonsense! If you succeed in getting food there, it will be at famine price. Better stay. 275 Nay, I insist. It isn’t often we have the pleasure of meeting good company, and we claim you as guests for at least two days.”

Jim glanced at Angela and saw her mouth twitch. For some reason Angela was keen to get away, but nevertheless there was sound reasoning in Devinne’s argument. At Dawson food would fetch a fabulous price, until the freights could bring in bigger supplies. Devinne, with his acute business acumen, had insured a certain supply by ordering the stuff at the close of the last season and paying freightage in advance.

Jim intimated that he would wait for the arrival of the food, much to Angela’s chagrin and to Natalie’s unconcealed joy.

“We’ll have to rig you up a bed in the next room, Conlan,” said Devinne. “We only boast one spare room upstairs, and ladies come first—even in Alaska.”

“Sure!”

“So you’ve no luck at prospecting?”

“Nope. I guess we came too late.”

Devinne shook his head.

“This country is full of gold, but it’s just luck in finding it. I know old-timers who have 276 mushed their legs off without striking a cent. On the other hand young Cheechakos, without a grain of experience, have gone straight to the gold and made millions. You aren’t giving up?”

“I never give up,” growled Jim. “But there’s my—my sister to be considered. ’Tain’t a kind thing to yank a woman over the trail in winter.”

Devinne agreed with a nod of his head. Conlan puzzled him a good deal. It was amazing that he should be the brother of that beautiful blonde girl, who spoke in cultured tones and was as different from him as chalk is from cheese. There lurked the suspicions that their relationship was other than brother and sister, but being a cleanminded man he strove to banish the thought.

In the meantime Natalie was showing Angela the sleeping-room reserved for her, and talking at a tremendous rate about “La Belle France” and all the things she had sacrificed—among these latter she omitted to include her late husband. Doubtless she no longer regarded him as a sacrifice!

It was later in the evening that Jim faced the music. He carried Angela’s few belongings up to her room, and was bidding her “good-night” when she turned on him with flashing eyes.

“How dare you tell lies?”

“Eh?”

“How dare you tell that woman I was your sister?”

“I didn’t. I told Devinne.”

“Don’t quibble. I—I thought you were above mean falsehood.”

He shrugged his shoulders, surprised that she did not see his object.

“If I had told her the truth it would have been embarrassing for you.”

“For me!”

“Yep. Angela, don’t you see it would mean——”

“Well?”

“It would mean that we should have to act as man and wife.”

“Well, haven’t you always tried to act as—husband?”

“Have I?—I guess not. And I’m not wanting to take advantage of a situation. If you’ll look 278 clearly you’ll see this thing square. I guess it would have bin awkward if they had yanked us into this room—together.”

He said “good-night” softly and shut the door. Angela sat down on the bed and stared at the wall. So he had thought of that! It was amazing the things he could think of when he tried hard!

She tore off her clothes and flung herself on to the pillow, annoyed, exasperated, and generally bewildered. Then she got up, lighted the candle again, and surveyed her fresh, incomparable beauty in the mirror.

“Am I getting old—ugly?” she murmured. “Ah yes—Natalie is pretty enough to get things if she tries!”