a man in the crowd, “him an’ another one. We tol’ ’em they was fools. They was a foot o’ water on top o’ the ice, an’ no one but a fool or a crazy man w’d of tackled it. Said they’d take a chanct, bein’ in some consid’ble of a hurry fer to fetch a doc fer a sick pard. We ’lowed they was lyin’, but ’tworn’t our funeral. They made it, though. We watched ’em acrost.”
“What do you want of this here Squigg?” asked the officer.
“Got to beat him to Dawson. He’s trying to file a claim that belongs to my pardner and me. I cut across from Ten Bow in hope of crossing the river before the break-up.”
“Never mind, kid, we’ll beat him to it! He can’t make no time without a boat. of course, he might of got holt of a canoe, but the chances is, he’s still this side of Indian River.” The officer turned to him of the festive shirt:
“Come on. Rip, throw your stuff in the scow an’ the three of us’ll nail this here Squigg. I want him for a little job of swindlin’ I run foul of up river—didn’t place it, then—but I know now it’s Squigg—’bout his size.”
Rip Wade glanced toward the moving river ice.
