FullReads

“Steal the books!” chorused the Wags; and Dummy smiled.

“Why, sure.”

“You can’t stick up no saloon full of rough-necks and sleepers,” said Scrap Iron. “Sammy caches his books in the safe when he’s off shift, and we can’t blow the safe, ’cause the joint never closes.”

But the Dummy only grinned, for this was the sort of job he liked, and then he proceeded to make known his plan.

Those were terrible hours for June. She prayed with all the earnestness of her earnest being that her lover might be spared; repeatedly she strained her tear-filled eyes to the southward. As for Hope, he had tasted the consequences of his guilt, and his face grew lined and haggard with the strain of waiting. He could have met the future with some show of resignation had it not been for the knowledge of his sweetheart’s suffering; but as the hours passed and that thin black line of soot still hung upon the horizon, he thought he would go mad.

On the second day a steamer showed, hull down, having wormed her way through the floes, and Nome marched out upon the shore ice in a body.

June and Harry went with the others, hand in hand, and the man walked as if he were marching to the gallows. It was not the P. C. steamer, after all; it was the whaler Jeanie. The fleet was in the offing, however, so she reported, and would be in within another twenty-four hours, if the pack kept drifting.

Hope ground his teeth, and muttered: “Poor little June! I wish it were over for your sake!” and she nodded wearily.

But as they neared the shore again they heard rumors of strange doings in their absence. There had been a daring daylight hold-up at the Miners’ Rest. Six masked men had taken advantage of the exodus to enter and clean out the place at the point of the gun, and now Sammy Sternberg was poisoning the air with his complaints.

Details came flying faster as they trudged up into Front Street, and Doc Whiting paused to say:

“That’s the nerviest thing yet, eh, Harry?”

“Was anybody hurt?”

“No damage done except to Sammy’s feelings.”

“They surely didn’t get much money?”

“Oh, no! Their total clean-up wasn’t a hundred dollars; but they lugged off Sammy’s books.”

June felt herself falling, and grasped weakly at her lover’s arm, for she saw it all. “Come!” she said, and dragged him up to her own cabin, then on to the Wag-boys’ door. They were all there, sprawled about and smoking.

“You did this!” she said, shakingly. “You did it for me!”

“Did what?” they asked in chorus, looking at her blankly.

“Oh, we know,” said Harry Hope. “You’ve given me a chance–and I’ll make good!” His own voice sounded strange in his ears.

There was an instant’s awkward pause, and then the Scrap Iron Kid said, simply, “You’d better!” and the others nodded.

Llewellyn spoke up, saying, “Reddy is our regular chef; but I’d like to have you see me cook a goose.” Then he drew from his inside pocket what seemed to be a leaf torn from a ledger, and, unfolding it, he struck a match, then lighted it.

“I suppose I ought to be a man and face the music,” Hope managed to stutter, “but I’m going to cheat the ends of justice for June’s sake. I’m much obliged to you.”

When they had gone off, hand in hand, the Scrap Iron Kid nodded approvingly to George, saying, “That was sure some cookin’ you did, pal.”

And Llewellyn answered, “Yes, I cooked your goose and mine, but she’ll be happy, anyhow.”