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Curwood, James Oliver, 1879-1927

"The Alaskan"

I take it that means somebody behind him, a force, something big to
reckon with. He asked me how many men we had. I told him, stretching it
a little. He grinned. He couldn't keep back that grin. It was as if a
devil in him slipped out from hiding for an instant."
Suddenly he caught Alan's arm and stopped him. His chin shot out. The
sweat ran from his face. For a full quarter of a minute the two men
stared at each other.
"Alan, we're short-sighted. I'm damned if I don't think we ought to call
the herdsmen in, and every man with a loaded gun!"
"You think it's that bad?"
"Might be. If Graham's behind Rossland and has men with him--"
"We're two and a half hours from Tatpan," said Alan, in a cold,
unemotional voice. "He has only half a dozen men with him, and it will
take at least four to make quick work in finding Tautuk and Amuk Toolik.
There are eighteen men with the southward herd, and twenty-two with the
upper. I mean, counting the boys. Use your own judgment. All are armed.
It may be foolish, but I'm following your hunch."
They gripped hands.
"It's more than a hunch, Alan," breathed Stampede softly. "And for God's
sake keep off the music as long as you can!"
He was gone, and as his agile, boyish figure started in a half-run
toward the foothills, Alan set his face southward, so that in a quarter
of an hour they were lost to each other in the undulating distances of
the tundra.


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