The first of a new series of stories about the Competents in Alaska. Theseason ended, they throw their last shovelfuls of dirt and bid good-byto the homely cabin on the mountainside. But their last days on theclaim were not to pass without adventure.
Shakespeare George, lover of poetry, found the quotation in an oldmagazine, and carefully framed and tacked it above his bunk, where, insomber moods, he might refer to it. And the rest of us, partners in thatisolated heart of Alaska, smiled, being well aware that cynicism had noplace in his character. Sometimes, when tales of ingratitude came to hisears, he attempted to quote it; usually after this fashion:
He sometimes stated that there were cases where even the poetry wasinadequate, and in particular mentioned this fact in connection withLaughing Jim.
Jim was bad, through and through, with a thoroughness that left no causefor mistake, and he was rendered worse by such a charm of recklessness,bravery, and laughter, that half his misdeeds were overlooked. He laidno claim to honesty, and with amazing, disarming truthfulness, admittedhis own shortcomings. He was a delightful story-teller, who could amuseand interest his auditors with recountals of his varied experiences inmany jails. He was above the average in height, and as if to give thelie to his life, had fearless, candid, laughing eyes. Perhaps it was hissense of humor that made one doubt whether he was consciously bad, ormerely lacking in moral sense. Anyway, he laughed at everything, himselfincluded.
No one quite remembers when he arrived in Marook, or, at least, noneever mentioned it. Probably he came with that inrush in the late fall of’97, when the newly discovered Klondike sent its refugees hurrying downthe river to camps where they might be sure of supplies through the longwinter season, and he laughed his way into a job as bartender, for wantof something else to do, and then, in time, graduated to the post ofrunning the roulette wheel at the Hang-out. He was distinguished indress by having the only toothpick shoes in camp, which he always wore,and for the excellent care he bestowed on his hands. He was popular withthose who went to the Hang-out to lose their hard-won gold dust, and seta new pace in crying his wares.
“Come, gather round me, merry gentlemen!” he would shout, when businesslanguished. “Why play the bank when you can lose your money here so muchfaster? Your money extracted without pain. Try the wheel! No man everquit me winner!”
And then he would throw back his handsome young head, and that free,reckless laugh of his would roar out over the rumble of conversation,the clink of bottle on glass, the persistent clacking of chips andmarkers at the bank, and the clattering of dice where chuck-a-luck heldforth. My partners, known to the camp as “the Competents” Westernersall, and all of th