Smoke Bellew by Jack London (chrome ebook reader txt) đ
- Author: Jack London
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âIf you donât like it, Iâll eat it,â Shorty volunteered maliciously.
Wild Water looked and smelled and shook his head. âNo, you donât, Shorty. Thatâs a good egg. Gimme a pail. Iâm goinâ to eat it myself for supper.â
Thrice again Wild Water cracked good eggs experimentally and put them in the pail beside him.
âTwo more than you figgered, Shorty,â he said at the end of the count. âNine hundred anâ sixty-four, not sixty-two.â
âMy mistake,â Shorty acknowledged handsomely. âWeâll throw âem in for good measure.â
âGuess you can afford to,â Wild Water accepted grimly. âPass the batch. Nine thousanâ six hundred anâ twenty dollars. Iâll pay for it now. Write a receipt, Smoke.â
âWhy not count the rest,â Smoke suggested, âand pay all at once?â
Wild Water shook his head. âIâm no good at figgers. One batch at a time anâ no mistakes.â
Going to his fur coat, from each of the side pockets he drew forth two sacks of dust, so rotund and long that they resembled bologna sausages. When the first batch had been paid for, there remained in the gold-sacks not more than several hundred dollars.
A soap-box was carried to the table, and the count of the three thousand began. At the end of one hundred, Wild Water struck an egg sharply against the edge of the table. There was no crack. The resultant sound was like that of the striking of a sphere of solid marble.
âFrozen solid,â he remarked, striking more sharply.
He held the egg up, and they could see the shell powdered to minute fragments along the line of impact.
âHuh!â said Shorty. âIt ought to be solid, seeinâ it has just been freighted up from Forty Mile. Itâll take an ax to bust it.â
âMe for the ax,â said Wild Water.
Smoke brought the ax, and Wild Water, with the clever hand and eye of the woodsman, split the egg cleanly in half. The appearance of the eggâs interior was anything but satisfactory. Smoke felt a premonitory chill. Shorty was more valiant. He held one of the halves to his nose.
âSmells all right,â he said.
âBut it looks all wrong,â Wild Water contended. âAnâ how can it smell when the smellâs frozen along with the rest of it? Wait a minute.â
He put the two halves into a frying-pan and placed the latter on the front lid of the hot stove. Then the three men, with distended, questing nostrils, waited in silence. Slowly an unmistakable odor began to drift through the room. Wild Water forbore to speak, and Shorty remained dumb despite conviction.
âThrow it out,â Smoke cried, gasping.
âWhatâs the good?â asked Wild Water. âWeâve got to sample the rest.â
âNot in this cabin.â Smoke coughed and conquered a qualm. âChop them open, and we can test by looking at them. Throw it out, Shortyâ Throw it out! Phew! And leave the door open!â
Box after box was opened; egg after egg, chosen at random, was chopped in two; and every egg carried the same message of hopeless, irremediable decay.
âI wonât ask you to eat âem, Shorty,â Wild Water jeered, âanâ if you donât mind, I canât get outa here too quick. My contract called for GOOD eggs. If youâll loan me a sled anâ team Iâll haul them good ones away before they get contaminated.â
Smoke helped in loading the sled. Shorty sat at the table, the cards laid before him for solitaire.
âSay, how long you been holdinâ that corner?â was Wild Waterâs parting gibe.
Smoke made no reply, and, with one glance at his absorbed partner, proceeded to fling the soap boxes out into the snow.
âSay, Shorty, how much did you say you paid for that three thousand?â Smoke queried gently.
âEight dollars. Go âway. Donât talk to me. I can figger as well as you. We lose seventeen thousanâ on the flutter, if anybody should ride up on a dog-sled anâ ask you. I figgered that out while waitinâ for the first egg to smell.â
Smoke pondered a few minutes, then again broke silence. âSay, Shorty. Forty thousand dollars gold weighs two hundred pounds. Wild Water borrowed our sled and team to haul away his eggs. He came up the hill without a sled. Those two sacks of dust in his coat pockets weighed about twenty pounds each. The understanding was cash on delivery. He brought enough dust to pay for the good eggs. He never expected to pay for those three thousand. He knew they were bad. Now how did he know they were bad? What do you make of it, anyway?â
Shorty gathered the cards, started to shuffle a new deal, then paused. âHuh! That ainât nothinâ. A child could answer it. We lose seventeen thousanâ. Wild Water wins seventeen thousanâ. Them eggs of Gautereauxâs was Wild Waterâs all the time. Anything else youâre curious to know?â
âYes. Why in the name of common sense didnât you find out whether those eggs were good before you paid for them?â
âJust as easy as the first question. Wild Water swung the bunco game timed to seconds. I hadnât no time to examine them eggs. I had to hustle to get âem here for delivery. Anâ now, Smoke, lemme ask you one civil question. What did you say was the partyâs name that put this egg corner idea into your head?â
Shorty had lost the sixteenth consecutive game of solitaire, and Smoke was casting about to begin the preparation of supper, when Colonel Bowie knocked at the door, handed Smoke a letter, and went on to his own cabin.
âDid you see his face?â Shorty raved. âHe was almost bustinâ to keep it straight. Itâs the big ha! ha! for you anâ me, Smoke. We wonât never dast show our faces again in Dawson.â
The letter was from Wild Water, and Smoke read it aloud:
Dear Smoke and Shorty: I write to ask, with compliments of the season, your presence at a supper tonight at Slavovitchâs joint. Miss Arral will be there and so will Gautereaux. Him and me was pardners down at Circle five years ago. He is all right and is going to be best man. About them eggs. They come into the country four years back. They was bad when they come in. They was bad when they left California. They always was bad. They stopped at Carluk one winter, and one winter at Nutlik, and last winter at Forty Mile, where they was sold for storage. And this winter I guess they stop at Dawson. Donât keep them in a hot room. Lucille says to say you and her and me has sure made some excitement for Dawson. And I say the drinks is on you, and that goes. Respectfully your friend, W. W.
âWell? What have you got to say?â Smoke queried. âWe accept the invitation, of course?â
âI got one thing to say,â Shorty answered. âAnâ that is Wild Water wonât never suffer if he goes broke. Heâs a good actorâa gosh-blamed good actor. Anâ I got another thing to say: my figgers is all wrong. Wild Water wins seventeen thousanâ all right, but he wins more ân that. You anâ me has made him a present of every good egg in the Klondikeânine hundred anâ sixty-four of âem, two thrown in for good measure. Anâ he was that ornery, mean cussed that he packed off the three opened ones in the pail. Anâ I got a last thing to say. You anâ me is legitimate prospectors anâ practical gold-miners. But when it comes to finance weâre sure the fattest suckers that ever fell for the get-rich-quick bunco. After this itâs you anâ me for the high rocks anâ tall timber, anâ if you ever mention eggs to me we dissolve pardnership there anâ then. Get me?â
XI. THE TOWN-SITE OF TRA-LEE
Smoke and Shorty encountered each other, going in opposite directions, at the corner where stood the Elkhorn saloon. The formerâs face wore a pleased expression, and he was walking briskly. Shorty, on the other hand, was slouching along in a depressed and indeterminate fashion.
âWhither away?â Smoke challenged gaily.
âDanged if I know,â came the disconsolate answer. âWisht I did. They ainât nothinâ to take me anywheres. Iâve set two hours in the deadest game of drawânothing excitinâ, no hands, anâ broke even. Played a rubber of cribbage with Skiff Mitchell for the drinks, anâ now Iâm that languid for somethinâ doinâ that Iâm perambulatinâ the streets on the chance of seeinâ a dogfight, or a argument, or somethinâ.â
âIâve got something better on hand,â Smoke answered. âThatâs why I was looking for you. Come on along.â
âNow?â
âSure.â
âWhere to?â
âAcross the river to make a call on old Dwight Sanderson.â
âNever heard of him,â Shorty said dejectedly. âAnâ never heard of no one living across the river anyway. Whatâs he want to live there for? Ainât he got no sense?â
âHeâs got something to sell,â Smoke laughed.
âDogs? A gold-mine? Tobacco? Rubber boots?â
Smoke shook his head to each question. âCome along on and find out, because Iâm going to buy it from him on a spec, and if you want you can come in half.â
âDonât tell me itâs eggs!â Shorty cried, his face twisted into an expression of facetious and sarcastic alarm.
âCome on along,â Smoke told him. âAnd Iâll give you ten guesses while weâre crossing the ice.â
They dipped down the high bank at the foot of the street and came out upon the ice-covered Yukon. Three-quarters of a mile away, directly opposite, the other bank of the stream uprose in precipitous bluffs hundreds of feet in height. Toward these bluffs, winding and twisting in and out among broken and upthrown blocks of ice, ran a slightly traveled trail. Shorty trudged at Smokeâs heels, beguiling the time with guesses at what Dwight Sanderson had to sell.
âReindeer? Copper-mine or brick-yard? Thatâs one guess. Bearskins, or any kind of skins? Lottery tickets? A potato-ranch?â
âGetting near it,â Smoke encouraged. âAnd better than that.â
âTwo potato-ranches? A cheese-factory? A moss-farm?â
âThatâs not so bad, Shorty. Itâs not a thousand miles away.â
âA quarry?â
âThatâs as near as the moss-farm and the potato-ranch.â
âHold on. Let me think. I got one guess cominâ.â Ten silent minutes passed. âSay, Smoke, I ainât goinâ to use that last guess. When this thing youâre buyinâ sounds like a potato-ranch, a moss-farm, and a stone-quarry, I quit. Anâ I donât go in on the deal till I see it anâ size it up. What is it?â
âWell, youâll see the cards on the table soon enough. Kindly cast your eyes up there. Do you see the smoke from that cabin? Thatâs where Dwight Sanderson lives. Heâs holding down a town-site location.â
âWhat else is he holdinâ down?â
âThatâs all,â Smoke laughed. âExcept rheumatism. I hear heâs been suffering from it.â
âSay!â Shortyâs hand flashed out and with an abrupt shoulder grip brought his comrade to a halt. âYou ainât telling me youâre buyinâ a town-site at this fallinâ-off place?â
âThatâs your tenth guess, and you win. Come on.â
âBut wait a moment,â Shorty pleaded. âLook at itânothinâ but bluffs anâ slides, all up-and-down. Where could the town stand?â
âSearch me.â
âThen you ainât buyinâ it for a town?â
âBut Dwight Sandersonâs selling it for a town,â Smoke baffled. âCome on. Weâve got to climb this slide.â
The slide was steep, and a narrow trail zigzagged up it on a formidable Jacobâs ladder. Shorty moaned and groaned over the sharp corners and the steep pitches.
âThink of a town-site here. They ainât a flat space big enough for a postage-stamp. Anâ itâs the wrong side of the river. All the freightinâ goes the other way. Look at Dawson there. Room to spread for forty thousand more people.
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