Black John Gives a Tip

Black John trailed his paddle and sniffed at the warm air as his canoe carried him swiftly down Halfaday Creek a short distance above its confluence with White River. The faint odor of spruce smoke reached his nostrils and his eyes scanned he banks for sign of a camp. Five minutes later the light craft shot out into the swift current of the river and he saw a canoe drawn up on a strip of shingle just below the mouth of the creek. At the edge of a thicket a man sat beside a small fire above which a tea pail was suspended.

The man rose to his feet as, with a twist of the paddle, Black John beached his canoe beside the other and stepped ashore. He said, "Hello!"

"Overlookin' the triteness of yer observation, I'll return it," Black John replied, as he joined the man at the fire, his glance taking in the shifty eyes, wide spaced below a bulging forehead, the buck teeth, and the receding chin that gave the man's face a beaver-like appearance.

"How?" The bulging brow wrinkled as though the man were trying to grasp the meaning of the reply.

"Jest another way of sayin' 'hello'."

The man just stared into the bearded face. "You might be Black John Smith," he said.

"Damn if I mightn't."

"How?"

"How! The simple accident of birth coupled with a certain ingenuity of misnomer produced the result."

"By God, you be him! Cuter Malone claimed you looked like a pirate an' talked like some damn lawyer. It was him told us about Halfaday Crick an' the gang of outlaws you run up there."

"Us? Is there more than one of you?"

"Not here there ain't. The other boys is down to Dawson. I come on up ahead to sort of look the ground over an' kind of get acquainted with you. Ever hear of Simcoe Sam?"

"No. The name seems strangely onfamiliar."

"That's me. I guess you don't read the papers much."

"Livin' quite a ways back like we do, it's kind of hard to keep right up to the minute on news. Has the papers, perchanct, be'n mentionin' some exploit of yours?"

"The Montreal, an' Winnipeg, an' Toronto papers, an' most of the ones in the States has be'n printin' pieces about the C.P.R. holdup, east of Winnipeg. I had bad luck on account the mail clerk on the the train was Walt Kimmon, which I an' him used to go to school together, an' he seen me an' squarked. Sence I quit school I'd be'n guidin' tourists till I lost my license on account some rich guy claimed I stole four hundred dollars off'n him on a trip up in the Nippigon country."

"Did you get the four hundred?"

"Sure I got it! What I claim, if a guy takes four hundred dollars back in the bush, he deserves to lose it."

Was the C.P.R. venture a financial success?"

"How?"

"I say, did you make a cleanup on that train robbery?"

"No. That was some more hard luck. After I lost my license I hung around Winnipeg pickin' up a few dollars peddlin' dope. That's how I met up with the boys from the States. An' believe me, they're okay! They'll tackle anything from a bank to a train. They're good.

"I'd got acquainted with a bank messenger, an' he tipped me off about this here shipment of money to Montreal. Only the damn cuss either lied, or he got balled up, because the night he claimed this eighty thousan' would be in the mail car, it wasn't. An' all we got was four thousan' that was shipped to some branch bank. So when Walt Kimmon seen me an' squarked, the papers claimed how I was one of the train robbers, an' they printed my pitcher, only it didn't look nothin' like me, on account it was some other guy's pitcher they printed an' claimed it was me. After that we figgered we better get to hell outa the country. So we split the four thousan' an' come to Dawson.

Black John nodded. "Misfortune seems to dog yer footsteps, Sam," he said. "What was yer object in headin' fer Halfaday to get acquainted with me?"

"We've got a job on, an' we aim to hit fer Halfaday Crick when we pull it. So the boys figgered I better go on up ahead an' get acquainted with you, an' find some place to stay, an' fix it so we can join up with your gang. Fact is, I ain't so good when it comes right down to the rough stuff, like the other boys is. I'm all right in the bush with a rifle, but I never had no use fer a pistol. I'm a better hand at kind of chummin' up with folks, an' findin' out things, like when shipments is goin' to be made, an' then tippiin' the boys off."

"Sort of a smoothie, eh?"

"Yeah, that's right. It was me that found out about this here gold shipment. We be'n hangin' around Cuter Malone's sence we hit Dawson, an' Cuter he tipped me off to a guy that works fer the Consolidated Dredge Company, an' I get acquainted with this guy, an' he tips me off that the Consolidated is makin' this shipment on the Helen the first of the month. He tips me off about the shipment fer a cut, on account he's be'n losin' heavy lately playin' the wheel an' the faro layout in Cuter's place, an' it would give him a chanct to get even, an' some more along with it."

"Did he say how much gold was bein' shopped?"

"He claimed it was a hundred thousan' dollars. Right around four hundred pound. An' it would be in four heavy wooden boxes."

"The amount is worth contemplatin'," Black John admitted. "How many of you boys is there? An' how do you figger on pullin' this robbery off?"

"There's three besides me. There's the Chicago Kid, an' Lefty Horowitz, an' the Parson."

"The Parson!!"

"Yeah. He ain't no reg'lar preacher. We call him the Parson on account when he gets drunk he likes to sing church pieces, like "Rocky Ages," and "Nearer By God to Thee," an' pieces like them. He can beller 'em out good an' loud, so it sounds almost like a guy would be in a church, 'specially if he can get some perfesser to whang along on the pyanner at the same time he's singin'. One night he had a couple of them girls at the Kondike Palace bawling'. An' I claim, if a man can sing good enough to make them bawl, he's goin' some!"

"It was ondoubtless a touchin' scene," the big man observed. "But about this robbery? Was you aimin' to pull if off in Dawson?"

"Cripes, no! The police is there. The boys will be on the Helen, an' when she gets somewheres around the mouth of the White, they'll make the captain pull over to shore, an' they'll load the gold on one of her boats, an' bury it somewhere, an' then pole the boat on up to Halfaday Crick. We ain't no dumb clucks. We figger everything out ahead. That's why I come on up to get acquainted with you an' fix it so we can join up with your gang."

"H-u-u-m. They wasn't aimin' to fetch the gold up to Halfaday, eh?"

The man grinned. "I told you we wasn't no dumb clucks. Why would we fetch a hundred thousan' in gold up to a crick where forty er fifty outlaws hangs out? No, sir! We aim to bury that gold where no one but us knows where it is. Twenty-five thousan' apiece is a damn good ace in the hole."

Black John nodded. "The plan has its merits. But when does this Consolidated man that tipped off the shipment get his cut?"

The other laughed. "What you doin' -- kiddin' me? That damn sap don't get no cut. All he gets is a promise -- an' he's had that."

"Suppose he'd squawk when he finds out he's been double-crossed?"

"He won't dast to squark. He couldn't do it without he got hisself in bad.

"Well, there's that angle too," Black John admitted. "It looks like you boys has figgered everything out."

"You bet we have! Cuter said we'd ort to fit right in with your gang. He claims that you're the damnest crook that ever kep' out of jail. We'll sure be proud to join up with you."

Black John nodded. "An' fer my part I can state, without the preadventure of a doubt, that never within my recollection has Halfaday be'n menaced with sech a dubious acquisition to her population."

The man looked pleased. "Oh, that's all right, John. I know'd you'd be glad to get us, when you found out about us. It's just like Cuter claimed -- you sure can talk like a damn lawyer. Maybe that's how you've kep' out of jail.

"Well, there's other reasons, too. I've got to be goin', now. I'm shore glad I met up with you. You better shove on up Halfaday. Tell Cush I said to let you move into One Eyed John's shack till I get back, when we'll ondoubtless call a miners' meetin' an' abruptly terminate yer mundane sojourn."

"How?"

"In the usual manner, I hope."

"I mean, I don't get you. I ain't onto all them big words."

"It don't make no difference -- neither is Cush. So long."

"Where you goin'?"

"Dawson."

"Dawson, eh? Well then, you stop in to the Kondike Palace an' tell Cuter Malone I said to make you acquainted with the boys. They'll be proud to know you."

"Okay. Any friend of Cuter's is an enemy of mine, too?"

"How?"

"When a man strives for obfuscation rather than clarity, the postulate becomes too involved in application to --"

Gawda 'mighty!" the man cried, a look of awe on his face. "A man would have to be a Chinee to figger out what you're talkin' about!"

After a couple of drinks in the Tivoli Saloon, Black John proceeded to the office of the Consolidated Dredge Company and inquired for the manager. After a short wait he was shown into an inner office to be greeted by a pompous individual with a cold eye and muttonchop whiskers, who was seated behind a flat-topped desk. The man glanced at him over the top of a pair of rimless nose glasses. Black John noted that he was dressed in store clothes -- evidently a rank cheechako.

The official cleared his throat with a show of importance, opened a drawer in his desk, took out two cigars, tendered one to Black John, and bit the end off the other. Black John took the cigar, sniffed at it, and laying it on the desk, produced pipe and tobacco.

The other frowned, lighted his cigar, and spoke in short, clipped sentences: "Come, come, my good man -- speak up! My time is valuable. I presume you have a property to dispose of?"

Black John held a match to the tobacco, and when his pipe was going, drew up a chair and seated himself. "Nope," he replied, and blew a cloud of gray smoke from his lungs.

The manager's frown became a scowl. "If you come to seek employment, you should have applied to the superintendent or to one of the various foremen, I can't be bothered with trivial matters."

"Can't, eh?" You ought to correct the habit of goin' off half cocked."

"What's that?"

"When you've be'n in the country longer, you'll learn to find out what yer talkin' about before you start talkin'."

The manager's face flushed with anger. "What do you mean?" he demanded.

"Meanin' that I ain't huntin' a job. I wouldn't work fer yer damn outfit if you'd give me half of it. I come here to give you a tip."

"A tip?"

"Yeah. It's about that hundred thousan' dollar gold shipment yer figgerin' on sendin' out on the Helen, on the first of the month.

The color drained from the man's face, his eyes widened, and he leaned forward in his chair. "What's that? What do you know about a gold shipment? How could you possibly know?"

You've got a leak in yer dike."

"What?"

"A trickle of information has reached the ears of the wrong parties. There's a plot afoot to knock off that hundred thousan'."

"Who passed out that information?"

Black John shrugged. "I don't know. An' I wouldn't tell you if I did."

"But -- who is planning this robbery?"

"There's four in the gang."

"Who are they? Are they here in Dawson?"

"I understand that three of 'em is. I never seen 'em."

"How do you know of this plot, then?"

"There's a leak in their dike, too."

"Who are you?"

"John Smith. More er less favorably known as Black John, on account of my whiskers resemblin' that color."

"Black John Smith! You mean that you are the -- the notorious -- ah -- er -- outlaw? The leader of the band of criminals that infests Halfaday Creek, on the Alaska border?"

"Well, I've heard rumors to that effect."

"And knowing your reputation, do you expect me to sit here and give heed to any tip you might give me?"

Black John shrugged. "You know whether you're contemplatin' shippin' out that gold, er not. I don't. I was only tellin' you what I heard. If you'd ruther yer tip come from someone with a different reputation, there's half a dozen preachers in Dawson -- you might see what you can get out of them."

"But it doesn't make sense! Why would you, an outlaw, come to me and warn me of an impending robbery?"

"Well, it ain't on account of no inherent sense of rectitude I've got in my soul. Nor neither it ain't because I'd hate to see the Consolidated lose that shipment. I wouldn't give a damn if someone would steal one of yer million dollar dredges. I might even help 'em hide it -- if they kep' it off'n Halfaday. An' it shore as hell ain't on account of any personal regard I've got fer you. The reason is simple, bein' merely that these robbers aim to hit fer Halfaday after they pull off the job. An' I don't want no sech depraved characters on the crick."

"But why not? What difference would it make, if you're all outlaws, up there?"

"If you claim the boys on Halfaday is all outlaws, you know a damn sight more about 'em than I do. I wouldn't neither admit, nor deny that somewheres in their past some of the boys might have committed some slight infringement of the law. What they done before they come to Halfaday ain't none of my business. But onct they locate there, every damn one of 'em has got to be a pillar of rectitude, er get hung. Halfaday is the moralest crick in the Yukon -- bar none."

The man seemed unconvinced. "Extraordinary!" he exclaimed, and slanted a shrewd glance at the speaker. "Would you be willing to wait here while I send for Corporal Downey? He is the officer in command of the Northwest Mounted Police," he added, eyeing Black John as though he expected him to bolt from the room.

The big man knocked the dottle from his pipe on the corner of the desk and refilled it. "Shore, I'll wait. They say a man is known by the company he keeps. I hate to have Downey find me in here. But I guess he'll overlook it, if I don't let it happen again."

"When Corporal Downey stepped into the room a few minutes later, the manager of Consolidated pointed at the big man who had elevated his heels to the desktop, tilted back against the wall, and was calmly smoking his pipe.

"This person brazenly admits that he is Black John Smith, of Halfaday Creek," he announced.

Downey grinned. "Well -- what of it?" He turned to the other. "What you doin' here, John?"

"Merely consortin' with a doubtful character," the big man replied. "I feel safer, now that you're here."

The manager flushed angrily. "Do you stand there and permit a citizen to be insulted in his own office?"

"I ain't heard no insult," Downey replied. "An' even if I had, insultin' ain't a crime, in the Yukon. Is that what you sent fer me for?"

"This man came here and warned me that there is a plot afoot to steal a shipment of gold that we are supposed to be sending outside on the Helen, on the first of the month. He says there are four men implicated."

"Well? I'd say he done you a favor."

"But -- the man is a notorious outlaw! Why would he warn me of this impending robbery?"

Black John's grin widened. "He can't seem to get it through his skull, Downey, that I'm doin' it because I don't want them damn cusses pilin' in on us on Halfaday. Me an' Cush has trouble enough as it is tryin' to keep the crick moral, without a lot of cheap crooks pilin' in on us."

"Who are these crooks?"

"I don't know, Downey. An' I wouldn't tell you if I did."

"That is the second time he has had the effrontery to boast of the morality of Halfaday Creek," exclaimed the manager, in disgust.

"I shore wish every crick in the Yukon was as free of crime as Halfaday is," Downey said. "It would make our work a lot easier."

"Do you mean to say that you would give credence to this man's warning?"

"I shore would," the officer replied. "If Black John tipped me off that a robbery was planned, I'd give heed to it, you bet! There's be'n plenty of times when the information he's slipped to me has proved correct."

"Then I demand a police guard for this shipment. I demand that an adequate detail of police be placed aboard the Helen."

Downey shook his head. "I'm sorry sir, -- but it ain't in the cards. I've got just one constable at detachment to police Dawson with. All the others are down to Fortymile workin' on a murder an' robbery on Coal Crick. Any other time I'd be glad to accommodate you."

The manager thumped the desktop with his fist. "Do you mean that this shipment -- a hundred thousand dollars' worth of gold, must go out on the Helen unprotected? What kind of police cooperation do you call that? It's an outrage!"

Corporal Downey held his voice level. "You could hold the shipment over a few days. The Hannah's due upriver on the fourth, an' the Sarah's due the seventh. I expect my men back by that time -- part of 'em, anyway. I could detail a man, then."

"But I've made arrangements to ship this gold on the Helen.

Black John grinned. "You don't look like no Mede, er no Persian. You could change them arrangements, couldn't you?"

"I suppose I'll have to," the man admitted grudgingly. "But it is a deuced nuisance! It is a fine state of affairs when the police inefficiency is allowed to disarrange the due course of business!"

"Ain't it hell!" Black John exclaimed, with a covert wink at Downey. "But at that, if I was you, I'd rig up a dummy shipment an' send it out on the Helen. Accordin' to the tip I got, there's three of these robbers here in Dawson, an they'll shore be watchin' fer that shipment to go aboard. An' if it don't go, neither will they."

"What do you mean -- a dummy shipment?"

"Well, lead's heavy -- an' it's cheap. Box up some lead an' ship it out on the Helen, jest as you'd have shipped the gold. If the robbers get it, you ain't out much -- an' if they don't, the boat can fetch the lead back on her down trip."

"That looks like a good bet," Downey agreed. "Anyway, it'll take these damn cusses out of Dawson till I get some men back."

Black John rose, placed his pipe in his pocket, and turned toward the door. "I got to be goin'. It's about time the sourdoughs will be showin' up at the Tivoli fer a game of stud."

When the door closed behind him, the manager frowned. "Despite your endorsement of that man, I can't help but believe that there is some deep ulterior motive behind his action. The idea of allowing a known outlaw to come in and suggest a method of averting a robbery is as preposterous as it is bizarre! I'd be willing to wager that the Helen will make her trip with the dummy shipment aboard unmolested. And that the boat with the gold on it will be the scene of an attempted robbery -- and that this Black John will be mixed up in it."

"I'll take that bet, fer a box of cigars," Downey said.

"But that man is an avowed outlaw!"

"That's what they say," Downey admitted. "But you ain't been in the country long enough to know that there's a damn sight of difference in outlaws."

Black John played stud that night, and next morning he stepped into his canoe and headed up the Yukon.

Early in the evening of the first day of the month, he lay in the bush at the mouth of the White River and grinned to himself as he watched a smudge of smoke resolve itself into a steamboat forging steadily against the current. "This ort to be good," he muttered, "watchin' three hard guys stick up a steamboat fer a shipment of lead!"

The boat held well toward the middle of the river, and just as the big man began to think that there had been some hitch in the plan -- that the dummy shipment had not been made, or that the three robbers had not boarded her -- the boat swerved toward shore. As it neared the bank, Black John could clearly make out the name Helen, could see also that there were two men in the pilothouse, and that a dozen or more persons, evidently passengers and crew, were huddled into the bow on the upper deck where a man kept them covered with a revolver. On the lower or freight deck, a boat was ready for launching, and two other men, evidently roustabouts, stood beside four stout, flattish wooden boxes piled near the boat. These men were also covered with a revolver held in the hand of a large man, and as the boat nosed into the bank, Black John saw that the pilot was also covered.

A bell jangled and the wheel slowed to a churning just sufficient to hold her against the bank. The large man barked an order and the two roustabouts slipped the rowboat into the water, and stowed the four wooden boxes, together with three packsacks, into her. The man on the upper deck kept the group in the bow covered until the man in the pilothouse came down and stepped into the rowboat. Then he joined the two others.

Again the bell jangled and the steamboat backed away from the bank, swung her bow into the stream, and continued upriver. Two of the men in the rowboat manned the oars and rowed into the mouth of the White. Shifting his position, Black John watched them land a short distance above. The three stepped ashore, taking their packsacks with them, but leaving the boxes in the boat which they drew part way onto the sandy beach and secured her painter to a tree.

The sound of chopping was soon followed by the appearance of a thin column of smoke. The men were camping for the night, evidently intending to cache the boxes under cover of darkness.

As the daylight faded, Black John devoured a cold lunch, then made his way stealthily back to a spot where, screened by a scrub spruce, he could see and hear all that went on in the camp on the sandbar at the edge of the bush.

While the other two prepared supper, the large man sat with a bottle in his hand from which he drank from time to time, occasionally passing it to the others. Presently he broke into song, waving the bottle in the manner of a baton. His bull-throated voice, booming out on the still air, sounded startlingly loud:

"Touch not the cup, it is death to thy soul, Touch not the cup, touch it not! Beware of the demon that lurks in the bowl, Touch not the cup, touch it not!"

He paused and tendered the bottle to the others. "C'm on, boys, join in the singin'! Hell, a man don't like to sing alone!"

"Grub's ready," one of them replied. "You better throw something into you besides that rotgut, Parson. Accordin' to Cuter Malone, we've got better'n a hundred miles of upriver shovin' before we hit Halfaday Crick, an' he claims part of it is damn tough goin'. You ain't goin' to be worth a damn tomorrow if you've got a hangover."

The large man returned the cork to the bottle and rummaged in his pack for cup and plate. "I ain't goin' to have no hangover," he said, a bit thickly. "I'll do as much work as both of you half-pints. We'll eat, an' then we'll sing. By God, I like to sing, an' I'm goin' to sing, an' no one's goin' to stop me!"

One of the men filled his plate and frowned across the fire. "I wish to hell we had Simcoe Sam along. He's the only one of us that knows how to handle a boat -- an' you send him on up ahead, an' leave us to do all the work."

The parson blinked owlishly. "Lefty, I'll have you to know who's runnin' this job. Simcoe Sam ain't worth a damn with a gat, an' he ain't got no guts, besides. I wanted him to kind of fix it up with this here Black John, an' sort of get the lay of the land before we got up there. What we've got to do is get in with him -- not buck him. Accordin' to Cuter's tell, there's forty, fifty of them outlaws, an' they're damn bad actors."

"Will Simcoe tell 'em about this job?" asked the Chicago Kid.

"Sure he will. How else would Black John know we was any good?"

Lefty Frowned. "Cuter claims they've hung plenty men, up there. Suppose they grab us an' offer to hang us unless we give 'em a cut on this gold -- or maybe give 'em all of it?"

"They won't hang us. They might make a play like that -- but it would only be a bluff. If we kep' our mouth shut, they'd let up. It wouldn't get 'em nothin' to go through with it -- an' it would give us a swell chanct to show 'em we've got guts. The main thing is to get in good with this Black John. Once we get in, I've got plans. He's pretty good -- but he ain't be'n around none. Cuter claims there's a hundred crick with prospectors on 'em just waiting' to be took -- an' Black John don't make no play for 'em. He's go the gang, an' the setup -- but he ain't got what it takes to go out an' get the stuff.

"What you goin' to do about it?"

Listen -- I ain't be'n there a month till I'm running' that gang -- see? We'll watch our chance, an' when the time's right, we rub this Black John out. Hell, with a setup like that there's millions in it!"

"Why didn't you go up to Halfaday yourself an' leave Simcoe to help us with this damn boat?"

"Like I said, Simcoe wouldn't have be'n worth a damn there on the Helen. An' besides, he's be'n a guide, an' he's used to gettin' around in a country like this. Hell, I couldn't ever have found Halfaday Crick! I'd got lost. On top of that, Simcoe's good at gettin' in with folks. You boys know that. He'll be damn handy for us in a country like this. None of us is worth a damn outside a city."

"You said it -- an' I wish I was back in one, right now!" the Chicago Kid growled. "To hell with this country! It's too big, an' too damn still. LIsten -- you can't hear nothin' but a lot of damn mosquitoes!"

"We'll get used to it," the Parson said. "An' what with all the gold that's layin' around to be lifted, it won't be no time at all till we're headin' back with a million." He finished his meal and tossed his plate aside. "I'm like you. I think it's too still, so I'm goin' to sing a hymn. Come on, boys, join in. Let's wake the damn place up a little." He picked up the bottle, took a long pull, and broke forth in song:

"Oh come, we'll gather at the river, The beautiful, the beautiful a-river. Oh come let us gather at the river That flows by the throne of --

"Well, I'll be damned! Who the hell are you?" The song broke off abruptly, the bottle dropped from his hand, and the firelight flickered on a blue-black six-gun that covered the big man who had stepped suddenly from the bush. Guns appeared also in the hands of the other two.

White teeth flashed behind the black beard as Black John stepped into the firelight. "Put up yer artillery, gents. I'm jest a lone traveler in the Northland. I was driftin' down the river in my canoe an' I heard the singin' an' thought there was a camp meetin' goin' on, like the missionaries sometimes holds fer the Siwashes. I never miss a camp meetin' if I can get to one. They're very beneficial to a man's soul."

The Parson scowled. "Well, now you've found out this ain't a camp meetin', the best thing you can do is climb back in you canoe an' get to hell out of here. I was just singin' for our own amusement."

The smile dies from Black John's lips. "You ain't a very hospitable bunch," he said. "I'd like to stay awhile. I take amusement in singin', too. 'Specially songs like that last one. It sort of sets me to wonderin' if a man can hang onto what he gathers at a river."

"What! Hey -- what do you mean by that?"

"Merely that, as an abstract proposition, it is interestin' to contemplate the ability --"

Say -- who the hell ar you, anyway?" the Chicago Kid demanded, abruptly.

Again the smile flashed behind the black beard. "Me? I'm Black John Smith."

"Black John!" cried he man known as Lefty.

The Parson pocketed his gun and thrust out his hand. "By God, it's him, all right! Cuter claimed he talked like a damn lawyer, or a preacher, or someone like that! Did you see Simcoe Sam?"

"Oh shore. Sam, he's up on Halfaday. He told me about you boys aimin' to take that shipment of gold the Consolidated was sendin' out on the Helen. How'd you make out? Did you get it?"

For an instant the Parson hesitated, then jerked his thumb toward the boat drawn onto the sand. "Take a look, an' see what you think."

Black John stepped to the boat and glanced down at the four wooden boxes. "Damned if you didn't!" he exclaimed. "You boys must be good!"

The Parson tendered his bottle. "I'll say we're good!" he agreed. "Have a snort of licker. Nothin' like a little licker amongst friends."

Black John took a drink and the Parson passed the bottle to the others. "Kill it, boys," he said. "I've got a couple of more in my packsack.:

"What you doin' down here?" the Chicago Kid asked, whit a glance toward the boat. "Cuter Malone claimed it's better than a hundred miles from here to Halfaday Crick."

"Sam claimed you boys was city fellas, an' I figgered you might have trouble shovin' the boat up the river, so I come on down to give you a hand. There's quite a bit of white water between here an' Halfaday."

"Did Simcoe fix it up for us to join up with your gang?" the Parson asked.

"Yeah, he claimed you'd like to j'ine up. Fer as Sam goes, he's all right. He's a good hand with a rifle an' a canoe, an' he can find his way around in any country. But I don't know -- with city fellas, it's different."

"What do you mean -- different?" the Parson asked, as he produced another bottle from his pack sack and drew the cork. "Them boxes of gold says we can deliver the goods, don't they?"

"Oh, shore. That part's all right. but -- did you have to do any shootin' to get 'em?"

"Hell, no!" the Parson exclaimed. "We had it all worked out. We watched 'em load the stuff, an' seen that they sent a couple of guards along with it. Yesterday, Chicago and Lefty, here, makin' out like they was a couple of cheechako prospectors, got acquainted with the guards. An' this evenin', just before we got to the White River, they slipped 'em a couple of drinks out of a bottle that was loaded with enough chloral to kill a horse. Believe me, them two will be lucky if they ever wake up!

"In the meantime, I'd chummed up with the deckhands, an' when one of 'em pointed out the mouth of the White River, I give Chicago an' Lefty the office, an' Chicago slipped into the pilothouse an' covered the pilot, an' Lefty herded the passengers up in the bow an' kept them covered, an' I covered he deckhands, an' made 'em shove the boat in the water an' load the boxes of gold, after Chicago had made the pilot run the Helen to the bank. It worked slick as grease -- just like we figgered it would. It takes brains to pull of a job like that."

Black John nodded. "That's right. But the brains has got to be backed up with a certain amount of skill. What if the pilot, er one of the passengers, er a deckhand had put up a fight -- draw'd a gun on you. What would have happened then?"

"Why -- we'd have blasted 'em down -- that's what!"

Again Black John nodded. "That's what I'm gettin' at. Take my gang, up on Halfaday, every man has got to be good. Some are good at one thing, an' some are good at another. But they're all good in their line. It ain't brains I'm after -- it's skill. I've got brains enough fer the whole outfit. What I'm gettin' at is, how do I know you boys would have ahd the skill to blast anyone down? Take it with a six-gun, a man's not only got to be a good shot, but he's got to be fast."

The Parson laughed. "I guess you don't need to worry about us," he said. "We'll show you in the morning."

Black John's face became grave, and he slowly shook his head. "Jest what I was afraid of," he said, speaking more to himself than the others. "Daylight shooters."

"What do you mean -- daylight shooters?"

"Most anyone can shoot pretty good in daylight. But the fact is, from the nature of our enterprise, most of 'em is pulled off in the night. Take it like now, with what little starlight there is on the water there, if I was to toss a chunk of this firewood into the river, there ain't a man in my gang that couldn't empty his gun into it as it floats past without a damn miss -- some with a rifle, an' some with a six-gun.

"There ain't a damn one of us that couldn't, neither," the Parson said.

Black John smiled, "Well, as the fella says, I'm from Missouri. You've got to show me."

"Toss out your chunk! Come on boys, we'll show him!"

Selecting a sizable firewood chunk, Black John stepped to the water's edge. "Now you boys line up below me, here, an' have yer guns ready. When this chunk hits the water, I want the man nearest to me to shoot, then the next man, an' then the next. I want them shots to foller one another without no break in the rotation. An' I want 'em to foller fast, an' straight. That'll not only show me how good you are, but whether you can carry out an order without gettin' balled up an' shootin' out of turn. All right -- here goes -- an' keep them shots a rollin' til yer guns is empty!"

He tossed the chunk into the river and a barrage of shots rang out as the chunk rolled and bobbed from the impact of bullets, an water splashed up all about it. The noise ceased abruptly.

"An' now yer guns is empty, toss 'em in the river!" Black John commanded, his voice gone suddenly hard.

Lefty and the Chicago Kid, the two nearest, turned to face him, sudden terror depicted on their faces in the bright starlight. Beyond them there was a swift movement, nd Black John leaped aside as a shot roared out. An agonizing pain shot through him, and his left arm dangled helplessly at his side.

"You ain't got all the brains!" cried the Parson, "or you'd have counted on them shots. I saved one shell -- just in case!"

Black John's right hand flashed beneath his shirt and came out grasping a .45 six-gun whose muzzle covered the three. "If you'd be'n twict as smart you'd have saved two," he retorted. "Toss them guns in the river -- an' be damn quick about it, er they'll be a row of corpses follerin' that chunk downstream!"

Three guns splashed into the water, and three pairs of hands reached skyward.

"What the hell is this -- a stickup?" the Parson asked.

"What do you think?" Black John asked, grinning despite the pain in his arm. "I'm free to admit that you boys displayed a modicum of skill. But skill without brains won't get a man very far. An' I'll further admit that the Parson, there, displayed a certain amount of craftiness in holdin' back that last shell. If he'd had just a little more skill, he'd have rubbed me out -- like he claimed he would, awhile back. You see, I was layin' there in the scrub listen' to what you planned to do onct you got to Halfaday.

"I'd ort to shot every damn one of you rats right where you stand. Or better yet, take you up to Halfaday, an' hang you. But instead, I'm givin' you a break. Keep together, an' pick up yer packsacks an' walk on ahead of me to the big river, jest below where the Helen landed."

"What are you goin' to do to us?" the Parson asked, a note of fear in his voice.

"I'm goin' to load you into my canoe, an' start you on yer wa. An' if you've got any sense at all, you'll keep on upriver, an' go back out over the pass. The country don't need no sech onprincipled scum as you. Yer nothin' by common thieves!"

"How about you -- liftin' the gold off'n us?"

"That is neither here nor there. You me have your own sins to answer for. I'm not takin' this property through any desire to profit by the transaction, but merely to teach you men that crime don't pay. Get goin'!"

As the three, under Black John's direction, slipped the light craft into the water, the Parson eyed it dubiously. We don't know nothin' about canoes."

"You'll know quite a bit about 'em by the time you get to the Chilcoot. Keep on up the Yukon, an' up through the lakes. Don't try to go to Halfaday, or the boys will hang you like we hung Simcoe Sam."

"Hung Simcoe!" cried Lefty. "What did you hang him for?"

"We hung him because, after he'd outlined this nefarious plot to rob the Consolidated, we deemed him to be a man of questionable repute. We can't afford to have no sech onprincipled characters on Halfaday. An' don't try to go back to Dawson. I'm headed fer there, right now, to get my arm patched up. An' the first thing I'll do when I get there will be to furnish the police with a detailed description of all three of you, an' tell 'em about you bein' wanted fer that Manitoba train robbery. An' if them Consolidated guards imbibed as much chloral as you figger they did, there'll be a little item of murder agin you, to boot. Get goin' now -- an' remember that the closter you hold to the shore, the less chanct you've got of gettin' drowned. You'll get the hang of it after the first few tip over. So long."

When the canoe, with one man seated amidships, and two paddling, disappeared upstream, Black John returned to the fire, slit the sleeve of his shirt, and examined his wounded arm. Blood oozed from the holes made by the Parson's bullet, but not in sufficient quantity to indicate damage to any important artery or vein. The bone, however, was undoubtedly broken at a point three inches above the elbow. Picking up the Parson's bottle, he took a stiff drink, and sloshing the remainder onto his wounds, bound a clean handkerchief about the arm and rigged a sling out of an extra shirt he took from his packsack.

"The quicker I get to a doctor, the better," he muttered. "It shore is a good thing that Dawson is downriver from here, er I'd be in a hell of a fix with a busted arm, an' this heavy boat." He untied the painter, and after some difficulty, and no little pain, succeeded in shoving the boat from the sand and climbing in.

As it shot swiftly out into the Yukon, he eyed the four wooden boxes with a scowl. "Blood pizen ain't apt to set in," he said aloud, "but if it does -- well, a left arm is a hell of a price to pay fer a little fun, an' four hundred pounds of lead! Anyway, I headed them damn cusses off'n Halfaday. We shore don't want no one like them gummin' up the crick. It would have be'n jest like that damn psalm singin' bum to rub me out like he claimed he would. I didn't like the look in his eyes."

The hours passed slowly as the heavy rowboat floated down the Yukon, turning aimlessly as the current carried it along. Black John dozed fitfully, the throbbing pain in his arm waking him at frequent intervals. With the coming of early dawn he managed, by using an oar, to work the craft ashore on a point, cook his breakfast, and down a half-dozen cups of strong black coffee. He scowled at the four wooden boxes in the bottom of the boat. "At the rate I'm driftin', it'll be midnight before I hit Dawson," he figured aloud. "But with this south wind, the boat would drift a damn sight faster without all that lead. I'll dump the damn stuff in the river an' shorten the trip a mile an' hour, er more." Suiting the action to the word, he stepped into the boat, and with much cursing under his breath, finally succeeded in dumping the boxes overboard, despite the pain which every movement cost him. When the task was accomplished, he grinned. "There -- I'll make better time, now. An' I won't be caught with any incriminatin' evidence when I get to Dawson. That manager would think I was out of my head -- knockin' off that cargo of lead!"

It was early evening when he managed, handicapped as he was, to beach the boat a short distance below the sawmill. Stepping ashore, he shoved the boat out into the current and proceeded at once to the hospital.

"Gunshot wound, eh?" the young intern observed, as he removed the bandage and examined the arm.

"Yeah. Don't amount to no hell of a lot. Jest a prank."

"A prank! Say, you're Black John Smith of Halfaday Crick, aren't you? I've seen you several times at the Tivoli."

"Yeah, that was ondoubtless me. It's a habit of mine, when in town to frequent places of doubtful repute, an' consort with evil companions."

The doctor laughed. "From what I hear, you've got evil companions enough on Halfaday Crick to consort with. According to the reports, that must be a mighty rough bunch, up there."

"Oh, I don't know. We've be'n more er less maligned. Fact is, we ain't so rough. We're about like any other crick. We dig our gold, an' have our fun, in our own quiet way."

"But -- this wound? You say it is the result of a prank?"

"Yeah. Me'n Cush got tired of shakin' dice, the other day, so we we got to playin' hit er miss."

"Hit or miss? I never heard of it."

"Oh, it's jest a little game we invented, up there, to pass the time away. We each lay a six-gun on the bar an' then watch the clock, ain't when the minute hand gets to an agreed p'int, we grab fer our guns an' shoot. It's fun when four er five games gets to goin' at once acrost the bar."

The young doctor's eyes widened. "You mean, you grab up these guns and shoot at each other!"

"Oh shore, It's all in fun. Jest fer the drinks. We try to jest nick the other fella. Cush, he held jest a might too far to the right, this time. He claimed it was on account of his glasses bein' gummed up on him. Anyhow, the drinks was on me."

"So they brought you down to get fixed up, eh?"

"Brought -- hell! I come down alone. It ain't but a little ways -- couple hundred miles. You'd ort to come up an visit us sometime. It gets kind of dull on the crick, an' we like to have a friend er two drop in on us, now an' then. We'll try to stir up a little excitement fer you."

"Thanks for the invitation," the doctor said, dryly. "I may do that -- sometime when I feel the need for excitement." A few minutes later, he looked up. "You're lucky," he announced. "The bullet just chipped the bone and broke it clean. It isn't shattered. You'll be as good as ever in a few weeks."

The following morning Black John, his arm in a sling, strolled into police detachment to find Corporal Downey busy at his desk. The officer looked up.

Hello, John! I thought you'd pulled out. What the hell! What happened to your arm?"

"Broke it."

"How'd that happen?"

"I was paddlin' upriver, day before yesterday. The mosquitoes was kinda bad an' goin' agin the current like I was, I didn't dast to stop paddlin', so I tried to scratch my ear with my elbow -- an' it didn't work."

Downey laughed, and before he could reply, the door flew open and the manager of the Consolidated Dredge Company burst into the room.

"We've been robbed," he cried. "It's a damned outrage! I demanded police protection for that shipment -- and you refused. And now we've been robbed. I just got word from Whitehorse!"

"What shipment are you talkin' about?" Downey asked. "The one that went out on the Helen?"

"Certainly, the one that went on the Helen!"

Black John grinned. "What you all het up about? Hell, there wasn't nothing but lead in them boxes!"

"Lead -- your grandmother! It was gold. One hundred thousand dollars' worth."

Corporal Downey frowned. "But -- I thought it was agreed that you would make up a dummy shipment for the Helen and hold the gold over for shipment on one of the later boats, when I could furnish you with a guard."

The manager's muttonchop whiskers fairly quivered with rage, as he pointed a shaking finger at Black John. "The plan was his! I'll admit that, at the moment, it sounded reasonable. But afterward I got to thinking --"

"That was a mistake," grinned the big man.

The other ignored the interruption. "This man, a notorious outlaw, was the one who suggested the plan to outwit the robbers. The thing looked strange to me -- mighty fishy. I smelled a plot within a plot! I realized that here was some deep laid scheme of this outlaw to force me to somehow play into his had. I was determined to outwit him. So apparently carrying out his suggestion, I had dummy packages made up so that, if any information was leaking out, it would reach his ears that the play was being carried out as agreed. But unknown to anyone but myself and a single trusted employee, we switched the packages. And it was the gold that went out on the Helen! I also armed a couple of my own men and placed them aboard as guards, just in case these robbers he mentioned should really exist and make a play for the gold. These men are now at death's door in the hospital at Whitehorse, apparently the victims of some drug."

Black John's grin widened slowly. Then, suddenly, he threw back his head and roared with laughter.

"What's so damn funny?" asked Corporal Downey glumly.

"Hell, Downey!" the big man replied "Ain't you got no sense of humor? This man's master-mindin' has cost the Consolidated a hundred thousan' dollars! It serves 'em right fer hirin' anyone to run their outfit who thinks he can think."

"But that don't get the gold back," retorted the officer sourly.

"That's right. An' what's more -- I'm bettin' you never will locate it. Them damn criminals is smart. What with the start they've got -- an' you shorthanded. I'd say you ain't got a chanct in the world." He turned to the irate manager. "An' now, my good man, my advice to you is that the next time someone slips you a friendly tip -- you take it. Better jest leave the thinkin' to someone else." He rose, stretched his good arm, high above his head, and yawned prodigiously. "Heigh-ho! Well, I've got to be goin'. It'll prob-ly be a hell of a job tryin' to play stud poker one-handed -- but I'll make her, somehow."

As he made his way toward the Tivoli, Black John chuckled to himself. "When this arm gets well, I'll do a little quiet divin'. The water off that p'int ain't no more'n six, seven foot deep. I guess this busted arm wasn't sech a bad investment after all. Luck shore moves in a mysterious way, sometimes. A man can't never tell.