“How is that possible when it’s been carried four thousand miles?”

“Because the A. C. and N. A. T. and T. boats got frozen in this side of Dawson.  They know by the time they get there in June a lot of stuff will have come in by the short route through the lakes, and the town will be overstocked.  So there’s flour and bacon to burn when you get up as far as Minook.  It’s only along the Lower River there’s any real scarcity.”

The Big Chimney men exchanged significant looks.

“And there are more supply-boats wintering up at Fort Yukon and at Circle City,” the General went on.  “I tell you on the Upper River there’s food to burn.”

Again the Big Chimney men looked at one another.  The General kept helping himself to punch, and as he tossed it off he would say, “Minook’s the camp for me!” When he had given vent to this conviction three times, Benham, who hadn’t spoken since their entrance, said quietly: 

“And you’re going away from it as hard as you can pelt.”

The General turned moist eyes upon him.

“Are you a man of family, sir?”

“No.”

“Then I cannot expect you to understand.”  His eyes brimmed at some thought too fine and moving for public utterance.

Each member of the camp sat deeply cogitating.  Not only gold at Minook, but food!  In the inner vision of every eye was a ship-load of provisions “frozen in” hard by a placer claim; in every heart a fervid prayer for a dog-team.

The Boy jumped up, and ran his fingers through his long wild hair.  He panted softly like a hound straining at a leash.  Then, with an obvious effort to throw off the magic of Minook, he turned suddenly about, and “Poor old Kaviak!” says he, looking round and speaking in quite an everyday sort of voice.

The child was leaning against the door clasping the forgotten Christmas-tree so tight against the musk-rat coat that the branches hid his face.  From time to time with reverent finger he touched silver boat and red-foil top, and watched, fascinated, how they swung.  A white child in a tenth of the time would have eaten the cakes, torn off the transfiguring tinfoil, tired of the tree, and forgotten it.  The Boy felt some compunction at the sight of Kaviak’s steadfast fidelity.

“Look here, we’ll set the tree up where you can see it better.”  He put an empty bucket on the table, and with Mac’s help, wedged the spruce in it firmly, between some blocks of wood and books of the law.

The cabin was very crowded.  Little Mr. Schiff was sitting on the cricket.  Kaviak retired to his old seat on Elephas beyond the bunks, where he still had a good view of the wonderful tree, agreeably lit by what was left of the two candles.

“Those things are good to eat, you know,” said the Colonel kindly.

Mac cut down a gingerbread man and gave it into the tiny hands.

“What wind blew that thing into your cabin?” asked the General, squinting up his snow-blinded eyes at the dim corner where Kaviak sat.