“Whoa!” Smoke yelled at the dogs, throwing his weight back on the gee-pole to bring the sled to a halt.  
“What's eatin' you now?” Shorty complained. “They ain't no water under that footing.”
 
“No; but look at that trail cutting out to the right,” Smoke answered. “I thought nobody was wintering in this section.”
 
The dogs, on the moment they stopped, dropped in the snow and began biting out the particles of ice from between their toes. This ice had been water five minutes before. The animals had broken through a skein of ice, snow-powdered, which had hidden the spring water that out of the bank and pooled on top of the three-foot winter crust of Nordbeska River.
 
“First I heard of anybody up the Nordbeska,” Shorty said, staring at the all but track covered by two feet of snow, that left the bed of the river at right angles and entered the mouth of a small stream flowing from the left. “Mebbe they're hunters and pulled their freight long ago.”
 
Smoke, the light snow away with hands, paused to consider, again, and again paused. “No,” he . “There's been travel both ways, but the last travel was up that . Whoever they are, they're there now—certain. There's been no travel for weeks. Now what's been keeping them there all the time? That's what I want to know.”
 
“And what I want to know is where we're going to camp to-night,” Shorty said, staring at the sky-line in the southwest, where the mid-afternoon was darkening into night.
 
“Let's follow the track up the creek,” was Smoke's suggestion. “There's plenty of dead timber. We can camp any time.”
 
“Sure we can camp any time, but we got to travel most of the time if we ain't goin' to starve, an' we got to travel in the right direction.”
 
“We're going to find something up that creek,” Smoke went on.
 
“But look at the grub! Look at them dogs!” Shorty cried. “Look at—oh, hell, all right. You will have your will.”
 
“It won't make the trip a day longer,” Smoke urged. “Possibly no more than a mile longer.”
 
“Men has died for as little as a mile,” Shorty retorted, shaking his head with resignation. “Come on for trouble. Get up, you poor sore-foots, you—get up! Haw! You Bright! Haw!”
 
The lead-dog obeyed, and the whole team strained weakly into the soft snow.
 
“Whoa!” Shorty yelled. “It's pack trail.”
 
Smoke pulled his snow-shoes from under the sled-lashings, bound them to his moccasined feet, and went to the to press and pack the light surface for the dogs.
 
It was heavy work. Dogs and men had been for days on short , and few and limited were the reserves of energy they could call upon. Though they followed the creek bed, so pronounced was its fall that they on a stiff and unrelenting up-grade. The high rocky walls quickly drew near together, so that their way led up the bottom of a narrow . The long lingering twilight, blocked by the high mountains, was no more than semi-darkness.
 
“It's a trap,” Shorty said. “The whole look of it is rotten. It's a hole in the ground. It's the stampin'-ground of trouble.”
 
Smoke made no reply, and for half an hour they toiled on in silence—a silence that was again broken by Shorty.
 
“She's a-workin',” he . “She's sure a-workin', an' I'll tell you if you're minded to hear an' listen.”
 
“Go on,” Smoke answered.
 
“Well, she tells me, plain an' simple, that we ain't never goin' to get out of this hole in the ground in days an' days. We're goin' to find trouble an' be stuck in here a long time an' then some.”
 
“Does she say anything about grub?” Smoke unsympathetically. “For we haven't grub for days and days and days and then some.”
 
“Nope. Nary whisper about grub. I guess we'll manage to make out. But I tell you one thing, Smoke, straight an' flat. I'll eat any dog in the team exceptin' Bright. I got to draw the line on Bright. I just couldn't him.”
 
“Cheer up,” Smoke girded. “My is working . She tells me there'll be no dogs eaten, and, whether it's moose or or on toast, we'll all up.”
 
Shorty snorted his unutterable disgust, and silence obtained for another quarter of an hour.
 
“There's the beginning of your trouble,” Smoke said, halting on his snow-shoes and staring at an object that lay on one side of the old trail.
 
Shorty left the gee-pole and joined him, and together they gazed down on the body of a man beside the trail.
 
“Well fed,” said Smoke.
 
“Look at them lips,” said Shorty.
 
“Stiff as a poker,” said Smoke, lifting an arm, that, without moving, moved the whole body.
 
“Pick 'm up an' drop 'm and he'd break to pieces,” was Shorty's comment.
 
The man lay on his side, solidly frozen. From the fact that no snow powdered him, it was patent that he had lain there but a short time.
 
“There was a general fall of snow three days back,” said Shorty.
 
Smoke nodded, bending over the , twisting it half up to face them, and pointing to a bullet wound in the temple. He glanced to the side and his head at a revolver that lay on top of the snow.
 
A hundred yards farther on they came upon a second body that lay face downward in the trail. “Two things are pretty clear,” Smoke said. “They're fat. That means no famine. They've not struck it rich, else they wouldn't have committed suicide.”
 
“If they did,” Shorty objected.
 
“They certainly did. There are no tracks besides their own, and each is powder-burned.” Smoke dragged the corpse to one side and with the toe of his moccasin nosed a revolver out of the snow into which it had been pressed by the body. “That's what did the work. I told you we'd find something.”
 
“From the looks of it we ain't started yet. Now what'd two fat geezers want to kill theirselves for?”
 
“When we find that out we'll have found the rest of your trouble,” Smoke answered. “Come on. It's blowing dark.”
 
Quite dark it was when Smoke's snow-shoe tripped him over a body. He fell across a sled, on which lay another body. And when he had dug the snow out of his neck and struck a match, he and Shorty glimpsed a third body, wrapped in blankets, lying beside a dug grave. Also, ere the match out, they caught sight of half a dozen additional graves.
 
“B-r-r-r,” Shorty shivered. “Suicide Camp. All fed up. I reckon they're all dead.”
 
“No—peep at that.” Smoke was looking farther along at a dim of light. “And there's another light—and a third one there. Come on. Let's hike.”
 
No more delayed them, and in several minutes, over a hard-packed trail, they were in the camp.
 
“It's a city,” Shorty whispered. “There must be twenty cabins. An' not a dog. Ain't that funny!”
 
“And that explains it,” Smoke whispered back excitedly. “It's the Laura Sibley . Don't you remember? Came up the Yukon last fall on the Port Townsend Number Six. Went right by Dawson without stopping. The steamer must have landed them at the mouth of the creek.”
 
“Sure. I remember. They was Mormons.”
 
“No—.” Smoke grinned in the darkness. “They won't eat meat and they won't work dogs.”
 
“It's all the same. I knowed they was something funny about 'em. Had the allwise to the yellow. That Laura Sibley was goin' to take 'em right to the spot where they'd all be millionaires.”
 
“Yes; she was their seeress—had visions and that sort of stuff. I thought they went up the Nordensjold.”
 
“Huh! Listen to that!”
 
Shorty's hand in the darkness went out warningly to Smoke's chest, and together they listened to a , deep and long , that came from one of the cabins. Ere it could die away it was taken up by another cabin, and another—a vast suspiration of human . The effect was and nightmarish.
 
“B-r-r-r,” Shorty shivered. “It's gettin' me goin'. Let's break in an' find what's eatin' 'em.”
 
Smoke knocked at a lighted cabin, and was followed in by Shorty in answer to the “Come in” of the voice they heard . It was a simple log cabin, the walls moss-chinked, the earth floor covered with sawdust and shavings. The light was a -lamp, and they could make out four , three of which were occupied by men who ceased from groaning in order to stare.
 
“What's the matter?” Smoke demanded of one whose blankets could not hide his broad shoulders and massively muscled body, whose eyes were pain-racked and whose cheeks were hollow. “Smallpox? What is it?”
 
In reply, the man at his mouth, spreading black and lips in the effort; and Smoke at the sight.
 
“,” he muttered to Shorty; and the man confirmed the with a nod of the head.
 
“Plenty of grub?” Shorty asked.
 
“Yep,” was the answer from a man in another . “Help yourself. There's slathers of it. The cabin next on the other side is empty. Cache is right alongside. into it.”
 
In every cabin they visited that night they found a similar situation. Scurvy had the whole camp. A dozen women were in the party, though the two men did not see all of them. Originally there had been ninety-three men and women. But ten had died, and two had recently disappeared. Smoke told of finding the two, and expressed surprise that none had gone that short distance down the trail to find out for themselves. What particularly struck him and Shorty was the helplessness of these people. Their cabins were littered and dirty. The dishes stood unwashed on the rough tables. There was no aid. A cabin's troubles were its own troubles, and already they had ceased from the of burying their dead.
 
“It's almost weird,” Smoke to Shorty. “I've met shirkers and loafers, but I never met so many all at one time. You heard what they said. They've never done a tap. I'll bet they haven't washed their own faces. No wonder they got scurvy.”
 
“But vegetarians hadn't ought to get scurvy,” Shorty contended. “It's the salt-meat-eaters that's supposed to fall for it. And they don't eat meat, salt or fresh, raw or cooked, or any other way.”
 
Smoke shook his head. “I know. And it's vegetable diet that cures scurvy. No drugs will do it. Vegetables, especially potatoes, are the only dope. But don't forget one thing, Shorty: we are not up against a theory but a condition. The fact is these grass-eaters have all got scurvy.”
 
“Must be .”
 
“No; that the doctors do know. Scurvy is not a germ disease. It can't be caught. It's generated. As near as I can get it, it's due to an condition of the blood. Its cause is not something they've got, but something they haven't got. A man gets scurvy for lack of certain chemicals in his blood, and those chemicals don't come out of powders and bottles, but do come out of vegetables.”
 
“An' these people eats nothin' but grass,” Shorty . “And they've got it up to their ears. That proves you're all wrong, Smoke. You're spielin' a theory, but this condition sure knocks the spots outa your theory. Scurvy's catchin', an' that's why they've all got it, an' rotten bad at that. You an' me'll get it too, if we hang around this diggin'. B-r-r-r!—I can feel the crawlin' into my system right now.”
 
Smoke laughed skeptically, and knocked on a cabin door. “I suppose we'll find the same old thing,” he said. “Come on. We've got to get a line on the situation.”
 
“What do you want?” came a woman's sharp voice.
 
“We want to see you,” Smoke answered.
 
“Who are you?”
 
“Two doctors from Dawson,” Shorty in, with a that brought a punch in the short from Smoke's elbow.
 
“Don't want to see any doctors,” the woman said, in tones crisp and staccato with pain and . “Go away. Good night. We don't believe in doctors.”
 
Smoke pulled the , shoved the door open, and entered, turning up the low-flamed kerosene-lamp so that he could see. In four bunks four women ceased from groaning and sighing to stare at the intruders. Two were young, thin-faced creatures, the third was an elderly and very woman, and the fourth, the one whom Smoke identified by her voice, was the thinnest, of the human race he had ever seen. As he quickly learned, she was Laura Sibley, the seeress and professional who had organized the expedition in Los Angeles and led it to this death-camp on the Nordbeska. The conversation that ensued was . Laura Sibley did not believe in doctors. Also, to add to her , she had wellnigh ceased to believe in herself.
 
“Why didn't you send out for help?” Smoke asked, when she paused, breathless and , from her initial . “There's a camp at Stewart River, and eighteen days' travel would fetch Dawson from here.”
 
“Why didn't Amos Wentworth go?” she demanded, with a that bordered on hysteria.
 
“Don't know the gentleman,” Smoke countered. “What's he been doing?”
 
“Nothing. Except that he's the only one that hasn't caught the scurvy. And why hasn't he caught the scurvy? I'll tell you. No, I won't.” The thin lips compressed so tightly that through the transparency of them Smoke was almost convinced he could see the teeth and the roots of the teeth. “And what would have been the use? Don't I know? I'm not a fool. Our caches are filled with every kind of fruit juice and preserved vegetables. We are better than any other camp in Alaska to fight scurvy. There is no prepared vegetable, fruit, and nut food we haven't, and in plenty.”
 
“She's got you there, Smoke,” Shorty . “And it's a condition, not a theory. You say vegetables cures. Here's the vegetables, and where's the cure?”
 
“There's no explanation I can see,” Smoke acknowledged. “Yet there is no camp in Alaska like this. I've seen scurvy—a sprinkling of cases here and there; but I never saw a whole camp with it, nor did I ever see such terrible cases. Which is neither here nor there, Shorty. We've got to do what we can for these people, but first we've got to make camp and take care of the dogs. We'll see you in the morning, er—Mrs. Sibley.”
 
“MISS Sibley,” she . “And now, young man, if you come fooling around this cabin with any doctor stuff I'll fill you full of birdshot.”
 
“This divine seeress is a sweet one,” Smoke , as he and Shorty felt their way back through the darkness to the empty cabin next to the one they had first entered.
 
It was evident that two men had lived until recently in the cabin, and the partners wondered if they weren't the two suicides down the trail. Together they the cache and found it filled with an undreamed-of variety of canned, powdered, dried, evaporated, condensed, and desiccated foods.
 
“What in the name of reason do they want to go and get scurvy for?” Shorty demanded, to the light packages of egg-powder and Italian mushrooms. “And look at that! And that!” He tossed out cans of tomatoes and corn and bottles of stuffed olives. “And the divine steeress got the scurvy, too. What d'ye make of it?”
 
“Seeress,” Smoke corrected.
 
“Steeress,” Shorty . “Didn't she steer 'em here to this hole in the ground?”
 
Next morning, after daylight, Smoke encountered a man carrying a heavy sled-load of firewood. He was a little man, clean-looking and spry, who walked briskly despite the load. Smoke experienced an dislike.
 
“What's the matter with you?” he asked.
 
“Nothing,” the little man answered.
 
“I know that,” Smoke said. “That's why I asked you. You're Amos Wentworth. Now why under the sun haven't you the scurvy like all the rest?”
 
“Because I've exercised,” came the quick reply. “There wasn't any need for any of them to get it if they'd only got out and done something. What did they do? and kicked and grouched at the cold, the long nights, the hardships, the aches and pains and everything else. They loafed in their beds until they up and couldn't leave them, that's all. Look at me. I've worked. Come into my cabin.”
 
Smoke followed him in.
 
“Squint around. Clean as a whistle, eh? You bet. Everything shipshape. I wouldn't keep those chips and shavings on the floor except for the warmth, but they're clean chips and shavings. You ought to see the floor in some of the . Pig-pens. As for me, I haven't eaten a meal off an unwashed dish. No, sir. It meant work, and I've worked, and I haven't the scurvy. You can put that in your pipe and smoke it.”
 
“You've hit the nail on the head,” Smoke admitted. “But I see you've only one bunk. Why so unsociable?”
 
“Because I like to be. It's easier to clean up for one than two, that's why. The lazy blanket-loafers! Do you think that I could have stood one around? No wonder they got scurvy.”
 
It was very convincing, but Smoke could not rid himself of his dislike of the man.
 
“What's Laura Sibley got it in for you for?” he asked .
 
Amos Wentworth shot a quick look at him. “She's a crank,” was the reply. “So are we all cranks, for that matter. But Heaven save me from the crank that won't wash the dishes that he eats off of, and that's what this crowd of cranks are like.”
 
A few minutes later, Smoke was talking with Laura Sibley. Supported by a stick in either hand, she had paused in hobbling by his cabin.
 
“What have you got it in for Wentworth for?” he asked, of nothing in the conversation and with a suddenness that caught her off her guard.
 
Her green eyes flashed bitterly, her emaciated face for the second was convulsed with rage, and her sore lips on the of unconsidered speech. But only a splutter of , sounds issued , and then, by a terrible effort, she controlled herself.
 
“Because he's healthy,” she panted. “Because he hasn't the scurvy. Because he is selfish. Because he won't lift a hand to help anybody else. Because he'd let us rot and die, as he is letting us rot and die, without lifting a finger to fetch us a pail of water or a load of firewood. That's the kind of a he is. But let him beware! That's all. Let him beware!”
 
Still panting and gasping, she hobbled on her way, and five minutes , coming out of the cabin to feed the dogs, Smoke saw her entering Amos Wentworth's cabin.
 
“Something rotten here, Shorty, something rotten,” he said, shaking his head , as his partner came to the door to empty a pan of dish-water.
 
“Sure,” was the cheerful rejoinder. “An' you an' me'll be catchin' it yet. You'll see.”
 
“I don't mean the scurvy.”
 
“Oh, sure, if you mean the divine steeress. She'd rob a corpse. She's the hungriest-lookin' female I ever seen.”
 
“Exercise has kept you and me in condition, Shorty. It's kept Wentworth in condition. You see what lack of exercise has done for the rest. Now it's up to us to prescribe exercise for these hospital . It will be your job to see that they get it. I appoint you chief nurse.”
 
“What? Me?” Shorty shouted. “I resign.”
 
“No, you don't. I'll be able assistant, because it isn't going to be any soft snap. We've got to make them . First thing, they'll have to bury their dead. The strongest for the burial ; then the next strongest on the firewood squad (they've been lying in their blankets to save wood); and so on down the line. And spruce-tea. Mustn't forget that. All the sour-doughs swear by it. These people have never even heard of it.”
 
“We sure got ourn cut out for us,” Shorty grinned. “First thing we know we'll be full of lead.”
 
“And that's our first job,” Smoke said. “Come on.”
 
In the next hour, each of the twenty-odd cabins was raided. All and every rifle, shotgun, and revolver was .
 
“Come on, you invalids,” was Shorty's method. “Shootin'-irons—fork 'em over. We need 'em.”
 
“Who says so?” was the at............