Reeves seated himself, and fumbling in his pocket, produced two cigars, one of which he tendered to Brent. "I came, partly on my own account, and partly at the earnest solicitation of my wife." He smiled, "I hardly know how to begin."

"If it's a sermon, begin about three words from the end; but if it is a drinking bout, begin at the beginning, but you will have to pardon me for beginning in the middle, for I have already consumed half a quart."

He indicated the bottle and Reeves noted that his lips were smiling, and that there was a sparkle in the muddy eyes.

"Not guilty on either count," he laughed, "I neither preach nor drink.

What brings me here is a mere matter of business."

"Business? Sure you haven't got your dates mixed. I have temporarily withdrawn from the business world."

Reeves was relieved to see that the fierce mood of a few hours before had given place to good humour. "No, it is regarding the termination of this temporary withdrawal that I want to see you. I understand you're a mining engineer."

"Colorado School of Mines--five good jobs within two years in Montana--later, placer miner, 'notorious gambler,' and--" he included himself and the interior of the cabin in an expressive gesture.

"Do you want another good job?"

"What kind of a job?"

"An engineering job. How would you like to be my a.s.sistant in the operation of this dredging proposition?"

Brent shook his head: "It wouldn't work."

"Why not?"

Brent smiled: "Too close to Dawson. I like the hooch too well. And, aside from that, you don't need me. You will be laying off men now. Not hiring them."

"Laying off laborers, yes. But there is plenty of work along that creek this winter for the right man--for me, and for you, if you will a.s.sume it."

Again Brent shook his head: "There is another reason," he objected, "I have got to make another strike--and a good one. I have an obligation to meet--an obligation that in all probability will involve more money than any salary I could earn."

"Small chance of a rich strike, now. The whole country is staked."

"Around here, yes. But not where I'm going."

"Where is that?"

"Over beyond the Mackenzie. In the Coppermine River country."

"Beyond the Mackenzie!" cried Reeves, "Man are you crazy!"

"No, not crazy, only, at the moment, comfortably drunk. But that has nothing whatever to do with my journey to the Coppermine. I will be cold sober when I hit the trail."

"And when will that be? How do you expect to finance the trip?"

"Ah, there's the rub," grinned Brent, "I have not the least idea in the world of how I am going to finance it. When that detail is arranged, I shall hit the trail within twenty-four hours."

Reeves was thinking rapidly. He did not believe that there was any gold beyond the Mackenzie. To the best of his knowledge there was nothing beyond the Mackenzie. Nothing--no towns--no booze! If Brent would be willing to go into a country for six months or a year in which booze was not obtainable--"There's no booze over there," he said aloud, "How much would you have to take with you?"

"Not a d.a.m.ned drop!"

"What!"

Brent rose suddenly to his feet and stood before Reeves. "I have been fooling myself," he said, in a low tense voice, "Do you know what my shibboleth has been? What I have been telling myself and telling others--and expecting them to believe? I began to say it, and honestly enough, when I first started to get soft, and I kept it up stubbornly when the softness turned to flabbiness, and I maintained it doggedly when the flabbiness gave way to pouchiness: 'I am as good a man as I ever was!' That's the d.a.m.ned lie I've been telling myself! I nearly told it at your table, and before your wife, but thank G.o.d I was spared that humiliation. Just between friends, I'll tell the truth--I'm a d.a.m.ned worthless, hooch-guzzling good-for-naught! And the h.e.l.l of it is, I haven't got the guts to quit!" He seized the bottle from the table and drank three or four swallows in rapid succession, "See that--what did I tell you?" He glared at Reeves as if challenging a denial. "But, I've got one chance."

He straightened up and pointed toward the eastward. "Over beyond the Mackenzie there is no hooch. If I can get away from it for six months I can beat it. If I can get my nerve back--get my _health_ back, By G.o.d, I _will_ beat it! If there's enough of a Brent left in me, for that girl, your wife, to recognize through this disguise of rags and hair and dirt, there's enough of a Brent, sir, to put up one h.e.l.l of a fight against booze!"

Reeves found himself upon his feet slapping the other on the back.

"You've said it man! You've said it! I will arrange for the financing."

"You! How?"

"On your own terms."

Brent was silent for a moment: "Take your pick," he said, "Grub-stake me, or loan me two thousand dollars. If I live I'll pay you back--with interest. If I don't--you lose."

Reeves regarded him steadily: "I lose, only in case you die--you promise me that--on the word of a Brent? And I don't mean the two thousand--you understand what I mean, I think."

Brent nodded, slowly: "I understand. And I promise--on the word of a Brent. But," he hastened to add, "I am not promising that I will not drink any more hooch--now or any other time--I have here a quart and a half of liquor. In all probability between now and tomorrow morning I shall get very drunk."

"You said you would leave within twenty-four hours," reminded Reeves.

"And so I will."

"How do you want the money?"

"How do I want it? I'll tell you. I want it in dust, and I want it inside of an hour. Can you get it?"

"Yes," answered Reeves, and drawing on cap and mittens, pushed out into the storm.

Hardly had the door closed behind him, than it opened again and Brent also disappeared in the storm.

In a little shack upon the river bank, an Indian grunted sleepily in answer to an insistent banging upon his door: "Hey, Joe Pete, come out here! I want you!"

A candle flared dully, and presently the door opened, and a huge Indian stood in the doorway rubbing his eyes with his fist.

"Come with me," ordered Brent, "To the cabin."

Silently the Indian slipped into his outer clothing and followed, and without a word of explanation, Brent led the way to his cabin. For a half hour they sat in silence, during which Brent several times drank from his bottle. Presently Reeves entered and laid a pouch upon the table. He looked questioningly at the Indian who returned the scrutiny with a look of stolid indifference.

"Joe Pete, this is Mr. Reeves. Reeves, that Injun is Joe Pete, the best d.a.m.ned Injun in Alaska, or anywhere else. Used to pack over the Chilkoot, until he made so much money he thought he'd try his hand at the gold--now he's broke. Joe Pete is going with me. He and I understand each other perfectly." He picked up the sack and handed it to the Indian: "Two thousand dolla--_pil chikimin_. Go to police, find out trail to Mackenzie--Fort Norman. How many miles? How many days? Buy grub for two. Buy good dogs and sled. Buy two outfits clothes--plenty tabac.

Keep rest of _pil chikimin_ safe until two days on trail, then give it to me. We hit the trail at eight o'clock tomorrow morning."

Without a word the Indian took the sack and slipped silently out the door, while Reeves stared in astonishment:

"You've got a lot of confidence in that Indian!" he exclaimed. "I wouldn't trust one of them out of my sight with a dollar bill!"

"You don't know Joe Pete," grinned Brent. "I've got more confidence in him than I have in myself. The hooch joints will be two days behind me before I get my hands on that dust."

"And now, what?" asked Reeves.