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London, Jack, 1876-1916

"The God of His Fathers: Tales of the Klondyke"


"Poor Louis Savoy!" men said; but Joy Molineau flashed her black eyes
defiantly and drove back to her father's cabin.
* * * * *
Midnight drew near on Olaf Nelson's claim. A few hundred fur-clad men
had preferred sixty below and the jumping, to the inducements of warm
cabins and comfortable bunks. Several score of them had their notices
prepared for posting and their dogs at hand. A bunch of Captain
Constantine's mounted police had been ordered on duty that fair play
might rule. The command had gone forth that no man should place a stake
till the last second of the day had ticked itself into the past. In the
northland such commands are equal to Jehovah's in the matter of potency;
the dum-dum as rapid and effective as the thunderbolt. It was clear and
cold. The aurora borealis painted palpitating color revels on the sky.
Rosy waves of cold brilliancy swept across the zenith, while great
coruscating bars of greenish white blotted out the stars, or a Titan's
hand reared mighty arches above the Pole. And at this mighty display the
wolf-dogs howled as had their ancestors of old time.
A bearskin-coated policeman stepped prominently to the fore, watch in
hand.


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