162 THE OiNE THOUSAND DOZEN

absence of the centre ice was masked by the
snow, one of the Indians met his end. He
went through as quickly and neatly as a knife
through thin cream, and the current swept
him from view down under the stream ice.

That night his mate fled away through the
pale moonlight, Rasmunsen futilely puncturing
the silence with his revolver—a thing that he
handled with more celerity than cleverness.
Thirty-six hours later the Indian made a
police camp on the Big Salmon.

“ Um —um—um Funny mans —what you
call?—top um head all loose,” the inter-
preter explained to the puzzled captain. “ Eh?
Yep, clazy, much clazy mans. Eggs, eggs,
all a time eggs—savvy? Come bime-by.”

It was several days before Rasmunsen ar-
rived, the three sleds lashed together, and all
the dogs in a single team. It was awkward,
and where the going was bad he was com—
pelled to back-trip it sled by sled, though
he managed most of the time, through her-
culean efforts, to bring all along on the one
haul. He did not seem moved when the