"Ask them what they'll take to sell me a bidarka." "One hundred dollars," Petellin told him, after an instant's parley. Emerson turned to George. "Will you tackle it alone with me?" The fisherman hesitated. "Two of us couldn't make it. Get a third man, and I'll go you." Accordingly Emerson resumed the subject with the Indians, but now their answer was short and decisive. Not one of them would venture forth unless accompanied by one of his own kind, in whose endurance and skill with a paddle he had confidence. It seemed as if fate had laid one final insurmountable obstacle in the path of the two white men, when "Fingerless" Fraser, who had been a silent witness of the whole scene, spoke up, in his voice a bitter complaint: "Well, that puts it up to me, I suppose. I'm always the fall guy, damn it!" "_You!_ You go!" cried Emerson, astounded beyond measure at this offer, and still doubting. The fellow had so consistently shirked every hardship, and so systematically refused every hazard, no matter how slight! "Well, I don't _want_ to," Fraser flared up, "you can just lay a bet on that. But these Siwashes won't stand the gaff, they're too wise; so I've _got_ to, ain't I?" He glared belligerently from one to the other. "Can you handle a boat?" demanded Big George. "Can I handle a--Hunh!" sniffed the fellow. "Say, just because you've got corns on your palms as big as pancakes, you needn't think you're the only human that ever pulled an oar. I was the first man through Miles Canon. During the big rush in '98 I ran the rapids for a living. I got fifty dollars a trip, and it only took me three minutes by the watch. That was the only easy money I ever picked up. Why, them tenderfeet used to cry like babies when they got a peek at them rapids. Can I handle a b----Yes, and I wish I was back there right now instead of hitched up with a pair of yaps that don't know when they're well off." "But, look here, Fraser," Emerson spoke up, "I don't think you are strong enough for this trip. It may take us forty-eight hours of constant paddling against wind and tide to make Uyak. George and I are fit enough, but you know you aren't--" "Fingerless" Fraser turned violently upon the speaker. "Now, for Heaven's sake, cut that out, will you? Just because you happened to give me a little lift on this cussed Katmai Pass, I s'pose you'll never get done throwing it up to me. My feet were sore; that's why I petered out. If it hadn't been for my bum 'dogs' I'd have walked both of you down; but they were sore. Can't you understand? _My feet were sore._" He was whining now, and this unexpected angle of the man's disposition completely confused the others and left them rather at a loss what to say. But before they could make any comment, he rose stiffly and blazed forth: