"It's a sad, sad day,"' mourned George. "It just takes the taste out of everything for me. He's a cripple now, eh ?" "Yes! Helpless! I did not know Father Orloff had many--er--friends hereabout," continued the doctor. "He was thought to be hated by the whites. I'm glad the report was wrong." "Friends be damned," said the other strongly. "What's a friend? Ye can get them any place, but where can ye find another enemy like that man?" THE SCOURGE Coming down coast from the Kotzebue country they stumbled onto the little camp in the early winter, and as there was food a plenty, of its kind, whereas they had subsisted for some days on puree of seal oil and short ribs of dog, Captain and Big George decided to winter. A maxim of the north teaches to cabin by a grub-pile. It was an odd village they beheld that first day. Instead of the clean moss-chinked log shelters men were wont to build in this land, they found the community housed like marmots in holes and burrows. It seemed that the troop had landed, fresh from the States, a hundred and a quarter strong, hot with the lust for gold, yet shaken by the newspaper horrors of Alaska's rigorous hardships and forbidding climate. Debouching in the early fall, they had hastily prepared for an Associated Press-painted Arctic winter. Had they been forced to winter in the mountains of Idaho, or among Montana's passes, they would have prepared simply and effectively. Here, however, in a mystic land, surrounded by the unknown, they grew panic stricken and lost their wits. Thus, when the two "old timers" came upon them in the early winter they found them in bomb-proof hovels, sunk into the muck, banked with log walls, and thatched over with dirt and sod. "Where are your windows and ventilators?" they were asked, and collectively the camp laughed at the question. _They_ knew how to keep snug and warm even if half-witted "sourdoughs" didn't. _They_ weren't taking any chances on freezing, not on your tin-type, no outdoor work and exposure for them! As the winter settled, they snuggled back, ate three meals and more daily of bacon, beans, and baking-powder bread; playing cribbage for an appetite. They undertook no exercise more violent than seven-up, while the wood-cutting fell as a curse upon those unfortunates who lost at the game. They giggled at Captain and the big whaler who daily, snow or blow, hit the trail or wielded pick and shovel. However, as the two maintained their practice, the camp grew to resent their industry, and, as is possible only in utterly idle communities, there sprung up a virulence totally out of proportion, and, founded without reason, most difficult to dispel. Before they knew it, the two were disliked and distrusted; their presence ignored; their society shunned. Captain had talked to many in the camp. "You'll get scurvy, sure, living in these dark houses. They're damp and dirty, and you don't exercise. Besides, there isn't a pound of fresh grub in camp."