But the crowd suddenly turned its attention to the river, and even
Blackey refrained from his official task. A large raft, worked by a
sweep at either end, was slipping past the tail of Split-up Island,
close to the shore. When it was at their feet, its nose was slewed
into the bank, and while its free end swung into the stream to make the
consequent circle, a snubbing-rope was flung ashore and several turns
taken about the tree under which St. Vincent stood. A cargo of
moose-meat, red and raw, cut into quarters, peeped from beneath a cool
covering of spruce boughs. And because of this, the two men on the
raft looked up to those on the bank with pride in their eyes.
"Tryin' to make Dawson with it," one of them explained, "and the sun's
all-fired hot."
"Nope," said his comrade, in reply to a query, "don't care to stop and
trade. It's worth a dollar and a half a pound down below, and we're
hustlin' to get there. But we've got some pieces of a man we want to
leave with you." He turned and pointed to a loose heap of blankets
which slightly disclosed the form of a man beneath. "We gathered him
in this mornin', 'bout thirty mile up the Stewart, I should judge."
"Stands in need of doctorin'," the other man spoke up, "and the meat's
spoilin', and we ain't got time for nothin'." "Beggar don't have
anythin' to say. Don't savve the burro.
Pages:
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352