The Town-Site of Tra-Lee
Smoke and Shorty encountered each other, going in opposite directions, at the corner where stood the Elkhorn saloon. The former's face wore a pleased expression, and he was walking briskly. Shorty, on the other hand, was slouching along in a depressed and indeterminate fashion.
"Whither away?" Smoke challenged gaily.
"Danged if I know," came the disconsolate answer. "Wisht I did. They
ain't nothin' to take me anywheres. I've set two hours in the deadest
game of draw--nothing excitin', no hands, an' broke even. Played a
rubber of cribbage with Skiff Mitchell for the drinks, an' now I'm
that languid for somethin' doin' that I'm perambulatin' the streets on
the chance of seein' a dogfight, or a argument, or somethin'."
"I've got something better on hand," Smoke answered. "That's why I
was looking for you. Come on along."
"Now?"
"Sure."
"Where to?"
"Across the river to make a call on old Dwight Sanderson."
"Never heard of him," Shorty said dejectedly. "An' never heard of no
one living across the river anyway. What's he want to live there for? Ain't he got no sense?"
"He's got something to sell," Smoke laughed.
"Dogs? A gold-mine? Tobacco? Rubber boots?"
Smoke shook his head to each question. "Come along on and find out, because I'm going to buy it from him on a spec, and if you want you can come in half."
"Don't tell me it's eggs!" Shorty cried, his face twisted into an
expression of facetious and sarcastic alarm.
"Come on along," Smoke told him. "And I'll give you ten guesses while
we're crossing the ice."
They dipped down the high bank at the foot of the street and came out
upon the ice-covered Yukon. Three-quarters of a mile away, directly
opposite, the other bank of the stream uprose in precipitous bluffs
hundreds of feet in height. Toward these bluffs, winding and twisting
in and out among broken and upthrown blocks of ice, ran a slightly
traveled trail. Shorty trudged at Smoke's heels, beguiling the time
with guesses at what Dwight Sanderson had to sell.
"Reindeer? Copper-mine or brick-yard? That's one guess. Bear-skins, or any kind of skins? Lottery tickets? A potato-ranch?"
"Getting near it," Smoke encouraged. "And better than that."
"Two potato-ranches? A cheese-factory? A moss-farm?"
"That's not so bad, Shorty. It's not a thousand miles away."
"A quarry?"
"That's as near as the moss-farm and the potato-ranch."
"Hold on. Let me think. I got one guess comin'." Ten silent minutes
passed. "Say, Smoke, I ain't goin' to use that last guess. When this
thing you're buyin' sounds like a potato-ranch, a moss-farm, and a
stone-quarry, I quit. An' I don't go in on the deal till I see it an'
size it up. What is it?"
"Well, you'll see the cards on the table soon enough. Kindly cast
your eyes up there. Do you see the smoke from that cabin? That's
where Dwight Sanderson lives. He's holding down a town-site
location."
"What else is he holdin' down?"
"That's all," Smoke laughed. "Except rheumatism. I hear he's been
suffering from it."
"Say!" Shorty's hand flashed out and with an abrupt shoulder grip
brought his comrade to a halt. "You ain't telling me you're buyin' a
town-site at this fallin'-off place?"
"That's your tenth guess, and you win. Come on."
"But wait a moment," Shorty pleaded. "Look at it--nothin' but bluffs
an' slides, all up-and-down. Where could the town stand?"
"Search me."
"Then you ain't buyin' it for a town?"
"But Dwight Sanderson's selling it for a town," Smoke baffled. "Come
on. We've got to climb this slide."
The slide was steep, and a narrow trail zigzagged up it on a
formidable Jacob's ladder. Shorty moaned and groaned over the sharp
corners and the steep pitches.
"Think of a town-site here. They ain't a flat space big enough for a
postage-stamp. An' it's the wrong side of the river. All the
freightin' goes the other way. Look at Dawson there. Room to spread
for forty thousand more people. Say, Smoke. You're a meat-eater. I
know that. An' I know you ain't buyin' it for a town. Then what in
Heaven's name are you buyin' it for?"
"To sell, of course."
"But other folks ain't as crazy as old man Sanderson an' you."