"What a mess!" he remarked, as he paused and surveyed the scene.
The severed eggs were beginning to thaw in the heat of the stove,

and a miserable odour was growing stronger.
"Must a-happened on the steamer," he suggested.

Rasmunsen looked at him long and blankly.
"I'm Murray, Big Jim Murray, everybody knows me," the man

volunteered. "I'm just hearin' your eggs is rotten, and I'm
offerin' you two hundred for the batch. They ain't good as salmon,

but still they're fair scoffin's for dogs."
Rasmunsen seemed turned to stone. He did not move. "You go to

hell," he said passionlessly.
"Now just consider. I pride myself it's a decent price for a mess

like that, and it's better 'n nothin'. Two hundred. What you
say?"

"You go to hell," Rasmunsen repeatedsoftly, "and get out of here."
Murray gaped with a great awe, then went out carefully, backward,

with his eyes fixed an the other's face.
Rasmunsen followed him out and turned the dogs loose. He threw

them all the salmon he had bought, and coiled a sled-lashing up in
his hand. Then he re-entered the cabin and drew the latch in after

him. The smoke from the cindered steak made his eyes smart. He
stood on the bunk, passed the lashing over the ridge-pole, and

measured the swing-off with his eye. It did not seem to satisfy,
for he put the stool on the bunk and climbed upon the stool. He

drove a noose in the end of the lashing and slipped his head
through. The other end he made fast. Then he kicked the stool out

from under.
THE MARRIAGE OF LIT-LIT

When John Fox came into a country where whisky freezes solid and
may be used as a paper-weight for a large part of the year, he came

without the ideals and illusions that usually hamper the progress
of more delicately nurtured adventurers. Born and reared on the

frontier fringe of the United States, he took with him into Canada
a primitive cast of mind, an elemental simplicity and grip on

things, as it were, that insured him immediate success in his new
career. From a mere servant of the Hudson Bay Company, driving a

paddle with the voyageurs and carrying goods on his back across the
portages, he swiftly rose to a Factorship and took charge of a

trading post at Fort Angelus.
Here, because of his elemental simplicity, he took to himself a

native wife, and, by reason of the connubial bliss that followed,
he escaped the unrest and vain longings that curse the days of more

fastidious men, spoil their work, and conquer them in the end. He
lived contentedly, was at single purposes with the business he was

set there to do, and achieved a brilliant record in the service of
the Company. About this time his wife died, was claimed by her

people, and buried with savage circumstance in a tin trunk in the
top of a tree.

Two sons she had borne him, and when the Company promoted him, he
journeyed with them still deeper into the vastness of the North-

West Territory to a place called Sin Rock, where he took charge of
a new post in a more important fur field. Here he spent several

lonely and depressing months, eminently disgusted with the
unprepossessing appearance of the Indian maidens, and greatly

worried by his growing sons who stood in need of a mother's care.
Then his eyes chanced upon Lit-lit.

"Lit-lit--well, she is Lit-lit," was the fashion in which he
despairingly described her to his chief clerk, Alexander McLean.

McLean was too fresh from his Scottish upbringing--"not dry behind
the ears yet," John Fox put it--to take to the marriage customs of

the country. Nevertheless he was not averse to the Factor's
imperilling his own immortal soul, and, especially, feeling an

ominous attraction himself for Lit-lit, he was sombrely content to
clinch his own soul's safety by seeing her married to the Factor.

Nor is it to be wondered that McLean's austere Scotch soul stood in
danger of being thawed in the sunshine of Lit-lit's eyes. She was

pretty, and slender, and willowy; without the massive face and
temperamental stolidity of the average squaw. "Lit-lit," so called

from her fashion, even as a child, of being fluttery, of darting
about from place to place like a butterfly, of being inconsequent

and merry, and of laughing as lightly as she darted and danced
about.

Lit-lit was the daughter of Snettishane, a prominent chief in the
tribe, by a half-breed mother, and to him the Factor fared casually

one summer day to open negotiations of marriage. He sat with the
chief in the smoke of a mosquito smudge before his lodge, and

together they talked about everything under the sun, or, at least,
everything that in the Northland is under the sun, with the sole

exception of marriage. John Fox had come particularly to talk of
marriage; Snettishane knew it, and John Fox knew he knew it,

wherefore the subject was religiously avoided. This is alleged to
be Indian subtlety. In reality it is transparentsimplicity.

The hours slipped by, and Fox and Snettishane smoked interminable
pipes, looking each other in the eyes with a guilelessness superbly

histrionic. In the mid-afternoon McLean and his brother clerk,
McTavish, strolled past, innocently uninterested, on their way to

the river. When they strolled back again an hour later, Fox and
Snettishane had attained to a ceremonious discussion of the

condition and quality of the gunpowder and bacon which the Company
was offering in trade. Meanwhile Lit-lit, divining the Factor's

errand, had crept in under the rear wall of the lodge, and through
the front flap was peeping out at the two logomachists by the

mosquito smudge. She was flushed and happy-eyed, proud that no
less a man than the Factor (who stood next to God in the Northland

hierarchy) had singled her out, femininely curious to see at close
range what manner of man he was. Sunglare on the ice, camp smoke,

and weather beat had burned his face to a copper-brown, so that her
father was as fair as he, while she was fairer. She was remotely

glad of this, and more immediately glad that he was large and
strong, though his great black beard half frightened her, it was so

strange.
Being very young, she was unversed in the ways of men. Seventeen

times she had seen the sun travel south and lose itself beyond the
sky-line, and seventeen times she had seen it travel back again and

ride the sky day and night till there was no night at all. And
through these years she had been cherished jealously by

Snettishane, who stood between her and all suitors, listening
disdainfully to the young hunters as they bid for her hand, and

turning them away as though she were beyond price. Snettishane was
mercenary. Lit-lit was to him an investment. She represented so

much capital, from which he expected to receive, not a certain
definite interest, but an incalculable interest.

And having thus been reared in a manner as near to that of the
nunnery as tribal conditions would permit, it was with a great and

maidenly anxiety that she peeped out at the man who had surely come
for her, at the husband who was to teach her all that was yet

unlearned of life, at the masterful being whose word was to be her
law, and who was to mete and bound her actions and comportment for

the rest of her days.
But, peeping through the front flap of the lodge, flushed and

thrilling at the strange destiny reaching out for her, she grew
disappointed as the day wore along, and the Factor and her father

still talked pompously of matters concerning other things and not
pertaining to marriage things at all. As the sun sank lower and

lower toward the north and midnight approached, the Factor began
making unmistakable preparations for departure. As he turned to

stride away Lit-lit's heart sank; but it rose again as he halted,
half turning on one heel.