# ACCORDING TO NG LOY

By W. C. Tuttle
Author of “Blind Trails,” “Reputation,” etc.

Fate is a queer dealer in the game of life; a dealer whose sense of humor is not hampered by the grim play of put-and-take. It is not always a square deal. Fate knows how to stack the cards, and many a pat-hand is beaten by a four-card draw.

But Fate never dealt a worse assorted trio than it handed to Trinity Creek. An Irishman, a Swede and a Chinaman. Three court-cards that never belonged in the deck.

Ng Loy, the Chinaman, came first. Loy was very old. He had come from Seattle in the gold rush; a little, round-shouldered Celestial, wrinkled of face, but with the heart of an Argonaut. For a number of years he had clawed over deserted placer dumps; gleaning what gold had escaped the hurried sluicing, but now he had accumulated a grub-stake and penetrated to Trinity Creek—far from humanity.

Lars Anderson and Jimmy Mulcahy were partners. Wherever a strike was reported—there you would find them. Lars was a huge figure of a man, mustached like a Viking, slow of thought, slow of action. He growled in his throat like a grizzly bear, drank whisky like men drink water and was as superstitious as a voodoo worshipper.

Jimmy Mulcahy was a trifle smaller than Lars, typically Irish, and, if such a thing were possible, more superstitious.

Lars and Jimmy had been thawing gravel across the range from Trinity Creek; overstaying their grub-stake in hopes of uncovering some rich streak—which did not appear. The lack of food did not disturb them, because of the fact that they had made a grub-cache a few months before at a spot about fifty miles away, and this would suffice to take them back to an outfitting post.

But two days before they were ready to leave their diggings the Winter moved in upon them; a howling, swirling blizzard, in which the temperature tumbled downward until the fir-trees snapped like fire-crackers and the dirt floor of their cabin frosted to within inches of the rough fireplace.

Day after day it screamed and tore at the little cabin, while Lars and Jimmy humped beside the fire, swathed in blankets, watched their food supply dwindle to a mere handful of beans and a piece of bacon the size of a walnut.

“Christmas daisy, and wouldn’t ye think it would blow itself out?” queried Jimmy. “Sure, there must be a tail-ind to it somewhere, Lars.”

“Ay guess she’s de round vind,” said Lars hopelessly. “She goes round and round, all de time. Bot den, of course, she’ll vare out sometime, Yimmy.”

“And we’ll be a fine pair of hunks o’ ice. If ye stop breathin’ for a minute ye can feel yerself harden. Why in the —— didn’t we mush out a week ago, I dunno?”

“If Ay ever get out of hare—ba gosh, Yimmy; how you like for feel de hot stove and de hot whisky. Skoal!”

Lars shook his head sadly. “Ay guess dis be de finish for us.”

Jimmy threw back his blanket and got to his feet.

“Finish, ye say? Ye cock-eyed Swede, are ye quittin’? Are ye goin’ to let a bit of a blow and a handful of snow make ye lie down and die?”

Lars got heavily to his feet and began folding his blanket.

“Ay guess we go now, eh, Yimmy? Ho, ho, ho, ho! Ve bite holes in de vind, eh? We find de grub-cache and mush to Dugout City. Ho, ho, ho! Ay am de cock-eyed Svede and you are de crazy Irishman. Fifty mile to de grub.”

“If we have any luck,” muttered Jimmy, “We’ve got to have a little luck.”

“By gosh, you bet. Bot den of course at de same time, ve need even-break. Come on, vild Irishman.”

There were no preparations to make; nothing to take with them, except their blankets. The blizzard whipped into them and the snow particles stung and cut like ground glass, but they headed into it, traveling in single file that they might not lose each other.

Straight over the divide they struggled; two men who looked like shadows in that gray whirl of the elements. But even the long climb did not warm their blood. There were no landmarks to follow. Everything was blotted out at a few feet distance and they did not realize that they had crossed the divide until the mountain sloped downward again.

And here a new trouble assailed them. The ice-like snow had gnawed the lacing of their snow-shoes into shreds, and the crust was not strong enough to hold them up without the shoes. There was no chance to repair them; so they went blindly on.

Mile after mile they floundered down the timbered slopes, praying for a break in the gray shroud that they might get their bearings; but the break would not come.

Night overtook them, but they went on. It was their only hope. Neither of them knew where they were, nor in which direction lay the cache, but they were trusting to luck to carry them through.

It was a hundred miles from the cache to Dugout City, they had estimated, and the cache would furnish them plenty of food for the hundred mile trip.

Then the last strands of Jimmy’s snow-shoes parted. Lars’ shoes were only good for a short distance more, and there were many miles of snow ahead of them.

And, as if in celebration of this last misfortune, the blizzard took on a new lease of life and fairly blotted them out in a maelstrom of whirling snow. Gone was all sense of direction, but they went on. Lars’ snow-shoe webs parted company with the bows, but he floundered on, with Jimmy following him blindly.

There was no chance for conversation. It was merely a case of flounder ahead, fall down, get up and keep going. And it was thus that Fate drove them almost into the snow-piled side of Ng Loy’s little cabin at the forks of Trinity Creek.

If the cabin had been a hundred feet farther on, Ng Loy would, in all probabilities, have found them in the Spring, when the snow went off for its short vacation from Trinity Creek.

But Fate caused them fairly to collide with the side of the cabin—or rather the roof, because the snow was piled high about Loy’s habitation—and he found them just in time.

It was several hours later that Jimmy awoke, swathed in blankets, in a warm cabin, and to his nostrils came the savory odor of simmering mulligan. Slowly he emerged from his blankets—his head did—and he looked straight at the wrinkled little Chinaman—who was watching him.

Jimmy’s face was raw from the frost and he ached in every muscle and joint, but his eye was clear. There was frank amusement on his face and his voice was husky as he said—

“Sure now, and where is Saint Peter?”

“No sabe.” The old Chinaman shook his head. “Why fo’ yo’ want him?”

“I’ve got to find him,” Jimmy shook his head slowly. “I’ve no doubt he mistook me nationality and sint me to a Chinese heaven, don’t ye see?”

Loy’s wrinkled face broke into a grin. He was not without his sense of humor and he knew what Jimmy meant.

“This no be heaven. This Tlinity Cleek, yo’ sabe?”

“I’ve no doubt ye think that, me friend,” said Jimmy seriously, “but it’s the nearest thing to heaven I’ve ever seen. Is me pardner no worse than I am?”

“No much bad. Pletty bad sto’m. I hear you bump my li’l cabin.”

“Pretty bad storm! Sure, I hope I niver see a worse. Hey! Lars! You cock-eyed Swede, wake up, will ye?”

Came a movement under the Swede’s blankets and his face emerged. He stared at Loy in a stolid sort of a way; blinking his eyes wonderingly. Then he caught sight of Jimmy.

“Halo dere! Where in de —— are ve, Yimmy?”

“Right here, Lars,” Jimmy laughed joyfully. “We bumped into the Chinaman’s cabin and he hauled us inside.”

“By yee, dat was close call!”

The Swede grimaced with pain from his frost-bites and sniffed audibly.

“Yo’ lik’ soup?” grinned Loy, pointing at the black kettle. “Li’l piece car-boo, some onion, potato—ver’ nice.”

Jimmy started to struggle out of his blankets, but the Chinaman stopped him.

“Yo’ stay in bed. Long time yo’ ve’y sore; yo’ sabe? I bling soup. Li’l bit now, li’l bit bimeby. Yo’ too hungly.”

“You been assayin’ me while I was asleep,” complained Jimmy. “Nobody could tell I was too hungry. And it’s a lucky thing ye had plenty of blankets.”

Ng Loy nodded quickly.

“Yessah. Need plenty blanket. Chinaman get old, get ve’y chilly. I buy some blanket, trade fo’ some blanket, yo’ sabe? Bimeby I have plenty blanket—jus’ right.”

Ng Loy brought them tin cups of the hot mulligan. It warmed them up and put new life into their bodies. They begged for more, but Loy was adamant.

“No can do. I sabe yo’ ve’y hungly—too hungly. Bimeby I give yo’ mo’. Too much now—plenty sick.”

“I niver thought that a Chinaman could keep me from me food,” wailed Jimmy, “but I suppose I’ve got to keep me timper. What’s your name?”

“My name Ng Loy.”

“Thasso? And how do ye spell the first half of it?”

“How spell. Jus’ same like N.G. Make sound ‘Ing.’”

“Now, who the —— iver gave ye that name. N.G., is it? Ye are not! In this country, Loy, they say anythin’ is N.G., when it’s no good.”

“Mebbe so Ng Loy no good.”

“The —— ye say! Not to me they don’t say it.”

Loy smiled softly and stirred the soup.

“Ay know how das happen—” Lars shook the blankets off his head—“over in das China country they read and write everyt’ing oopside down und backvards, Yimmy.”

“Sure, and that’s a fact, Lars. He’s N.G., with the reverse-English. Whin do we eat agin’, Loy?”

“Bimeby.”

Loy’s cabin was very small, with a big fireplace which warmed it well. There were two bunks built into the sides of the cabin, the rear of which was piled high with wood. There was little room to move about, and the furniture consisted of a small, crudely-built table and one chair.

“You minin’, Loy?” asked Jimmy.

“Yessah, li’l bit mine. I come hea’ las’ Summa. Cabin not much good, I fix up nice. I got mine claim hea’.”

“Show anythin’, Loy?”

“Pletty good show. Splingtime, I make money. Where you flom?”

Jimmy tried to explain the location of their cabin, but Ng Loy had never crossed the divide.

“Yo’ locate hea’?” he asked.

Jimmy grinned and looked across at Lars. It was a novelty to find a miner who was willing to divulge the fact that there was pay-dirt in sight.

“I dunno,” Jimmy shook his head.

“Two fork hea’,” explained Ng Loy, holding out his hand, with two fingers spread.

“I plospect plenty, but nobody dig hea’. Mebbeso one fork have pay-stleak, mebbe so two fork. You tly. I catchum gold my claim. Gold come down stleam, I t’ink.”

“You want us to locate on the forks?” queried Jimmy.

“Yessah. Be good, I t’ink. Claim below me, mebbeso good. Nobody tly.”

“Well,” Jimmy settled back on his blankets, “you come near bein’ plumb white, Loy. We’ll outfit and come back.”

“Ay t’ink ve bane lucky,” observed Lars thoughtfully.

“Luck?” Ng Loy smiled softly. “Yes-s-s, luck.”

He stepped over to the table and picked up a little white object, holding it in his open palm.

“This is luck,” he said slowly. “Today I make an old Chinese prayer to the white elephant. It was for evelybody in storm; yo’ sabe?”

“Ye say ye did?” Jimmy’s eyes gleamed with interest. “What did ye say the thing is?”

Ng Loy held it out in his hand—a little, carved ivory elephant.

“And ye prayed to it?”

“Yes. Li’l white elephant of old China. Good luck.”

“Ay betcha das right,” nodded Lars solemnly. “Somet’ing bring us hare, Yimmy.”

“By golly, that looks like good luck,” breathed Jimmy. “The white elephant brought us out of the snow.”

“It is more than good luck,” said Ng Loy slowly and in perfectly good English. “The owner will in some way bring happiness to others. Good luck and happiness.”

“Some elephant!” exclaimed Jimmy. “By golly, I’d like to have one.”

“Ay like dat, too,” nodded Lars.

Ng Loy smiled and placed it on the table. “Mebbeso bling good luck to all.”

“Why do you speak good English sometimes and then pidgin-English, Loy?” asked Jimmy.

“I fo’get,” smiled Loy. “I been this country long time. I study English to talk like American. Sometimes I no can do—like now; yo’ sabe?”

“Like I mix in Irish brogue, I reckon,” smiled Jimmy. “But when do we eat agin’, Loy?”

Two days later Lars and Jimmy started for Dugout City after grub. The storm had broken the night they arrived at Ng Loy’s place. Ng Loy had two pairs of old snow-shoes, which they patched up with rawhide strips.

Much to their amazement Loy handed them a poke of gold to pay for the food.

“We are partners,” he declared and refused to take back the money. Then he gave them the white elephant.

“Long ways to go,” he declared. “Mebbe so big snow come—yo’ need luck. White elephant bling yo’ back to Ng Loy.”

“By ——, you’re a white man!” blurted Jimmy. “We’ll sure come back, partner.”

And it was three days later that they arrived at Dugout City, after a hard trip. Dugout consisted of a few log cabins, almost buried under the drifts, where the inhabitants holed up for the long Winter, with nothing to do but to eat, sleep, drink and gamble.

One building was used as a store. It was well stocked with supplies, but prices were almost prohibitive. Dugout City welcomed Jimmy and Lars with open arms. Any strange face was welcome in Dugout City in Winter.

It was the one community center in all that vast district, and the meeting place for all the sour-doughs for miles around. Jimmy and Lars bought their supplies first and became sociable afterward.

Ng Loy’s poke of gold was lighter by half when the purchases were over, but that lighter half was enough for their amusement and comfort.

The saloon was a small cabin, unventilated, where the miners crowded in until there was hardly room for the short bar and the one roulette wheel. Even the poker-table occupied so much room that it was advisable to shove one side of it against the wall, so cutting down the possible number of players by at least two.

In there was the reek of stale liquor, the stifling smoke from many strong pipes, and the varied smells of humanity; but to Jimmy and Lars it meant liquor and cards, something which had been denied them for a long time.

There was a vacant seat at the poker-table and room for another at the whirling roulette wheel. Lars settled heavily into the poker-seat, while Jimmy looked on and grinned.

And twenty-four hours later, Lars and Jimmy walked out into the below-zero air, with the accumulated wealth of Dugout City in their sagging pockets.

Their luck had been phenomenal. Dugout City was broke, and it would be many moons before there would be enough gold in the camp to pull off a decent-sized poker-game. Neither Jimmy nor Lars were gamblers. It was just simple, unadulterated luck—and they knew it.

They not only had all the gold of the camp, but Jimmy had won a dog-team from “Mukluk John,” a well-known musher. They had snow-shoed in with Ng Loy’s gold, bought a grub-stake and were going back in dog-team style, with their pockets lined with gold.

As they started to pack their grub on the sled, Lars grunted and straightened up as if with a sudden idea.

“What is it, Lars?” queried Jimmy, looking back.

“Ay just remember, Yimmy. All das luck.”

“That white elephant?” exploded Jimmy, searching frantically through his pockets and finding it in the last one to be searched.

“Ay tank das bane luck,” declared Lars, grinning widely.

“Jist as sure as there’s a banshee in Ireland.”

“Ay forgot it.” Lars was almost apologetic.

“Sure ye did—and so did I. But the elephant didn’t forget, Lars. We’re lucky ——, so we are.”

The weather held fine for their homeward journey and Ng Loy welcomed them with a smile and a mulligan stew. He listened closely while they told of their good luck and gazed in amazement at the gold they brought back with them. He fondled the little elephant for a while, but placed it back in the center of the table.

“Plenty good luck for t’lee,” he declared. “Bling plenty happiness sometimes—I hope.”

Lars and Jimmy had been inseparable for years, and now it looked as if Ng Loy was going to make the third member of the team.

“We’re a fine layout,” declared Jimmy. “A Chink, a Swede and a Mick. Sure it’s a ——’s own mess and there’s little choice I’m thinkin’.”

“Perhaps it is the will of the gods,” smiled Loy.

“That’s right, Loy; blame it on the gods. Why don’t ye blame some of it on the elephant?”

“Ah, yes, perhaps.”

“Ay tank you better not speak bad of de elephant,” warned Lars.

“Nor of the gods either, I’m thinkin’,” grinned Jimmy.

“Do you believe in gods?” queried Loy.

“Jist one,” said Jimmy seriously. “Lars had a lot of ’em. Get him drunk and he rumbles about a feller named Thor. Loy, that cock-eyed Swede thinks that a feller by the name of Erickson discovered this country.”

Loy smiled softly and put more wood on the fire.

“We all must have some gods,” he said. “Something to look up to. It is not good to look down all the time.”

“I s’pose. What is your idea of heaven, Loy?”

“Friendship.”

“Friendship, eh? Sure, that’s a queer idea. And what do ye think is hell like?”

“Losing that friendship.”

Jimmy laughed and sucked on his old pipe. It was a new angle with him.

“There is little worth while, except love and friendship.” Ng Loy was speaking good English now and was very thoughtful. “Love and friendship smooth the paths of life. Lose love and friendship and the path becomes very rough. If you love everybody, the world is filled with flowers and the song of birds; if you hate everybody, the world is dark, there are no flowers, except those of cruel thorns, and the song of the birds is like the croaking of buzzards.”

“Yes, that’s right,” admitted Jimmy. “You talk like a man who knows, Loy. Have you ever hated?”

“Yes, I have loved and hated, my friend. Ng Loy is very old in years and old in experience. Some day I will not be here. You wonder why I dig for gold? You wonder why I want much gold, when I will not be here long?

“You smile when I tell you that I wish to die in my own land. The Ng family are very old in China, and it is my wish to have my bones beside that of my ancestors. Queer, is it not?”

“I’ve heard of it,” nodded Jimmy. “Somethin’ about the rest of the family bein’ disgraced if ye don’t hole up with ’em. Is that it?”

“That is near enough. There are things that would sound queer to you, but to me they are not queer. I am of a different race and my thoughts are not your thoughts.”

“That’s right,” Jimmy agreed quickly. “Now you take this Swede pardner of ours, Loy. He sees things different than we do.”

“Ay betcha,” nodded Lars sleepily. “Ay am Swede—de best peoples in de vorld.”

“Bunch of white-haired snuff makers!” snorted Jimmy. “Let’s go to bed.”

And contrary to general belief, these three men remained friends, even though confined to the one cabin during those long Winter days. While the blizzard howled across the Trinity and the world seemed a smother of snow, the two white men sat and listened to the philosophy of Ng Loy, or argued questions which neither knew anything about.

Then came a day when the warmer winds moaned in the tall trees and the huge drifts moved jerkily, as if some giant were moving under his monster counterpane. The Chinook was at Trinity Creek. The huge slides rumbled down the steep mountains and the water hissed down the forks of the creek, past the cabin, as if trying to make up for the time lost in Winter.

The landscape changed hourly. Bushes, held down by a weight of snow, snapped upright like a jack-in-a-box; the jack-pines shook away their covering and stood forth in black blotches, where had been only a white expanse; and here and there ledges of rock appeared, as if looking out to see what had happened to the world during the Winter.

Lars and Jimmy located on the west fork of the creek and included Ng Loy’s name in their notice. It was still too early for active operations as the ground was frozen too hard; so they began enlarging Loy’s cabin, making it big enough for all three.

Then came another storm and more freezing weather, as if the elements were only joking and had no intentions of letting Spring hold sway for a long time to come.

“Sure, and it may be a good omen,” declared Jimmy. “It strikes me that this would be a good time to make a trip to Dugout City and bring in more grub. It will be harder when the snow is gone and we can’t use the dogs.”

“Ay betcha das good idea,” agreed Lars. “Ve go now, because dis not last long.”

Ng Loy agreed that this would be an opportune time; so the next morning Jimmy and Lars pulled out of Trinity Creek and drove straight for Dugout City. There was no talk of drinking nor gambling this trip.

Dugout City was in the throes of Spring outfitting and had no time for games. The Winter was about over and the prospectors were hurrying to break ground as early as possible.

Jimmy and Lars outfitted quickly, swung their team around and headed north. There was a soft feeling in the air and they did not want to run into a Chinook, which would make snow-shoeing and sledging almost impossible as the snow packs quickly.

On the sixth day after their departure from Trinity Creek they were back again. The last few miles were made over a wet snow and they entered the cabin just ahead of a rain storm, which cut the snow and ice like a knife.

Ng Loy seemed very grave, as Jimmy enumerated what they had brought back.

“We’re all set for a big season, Loy. We’ll take out a lot of money, old timer.”

“Yes, my friend. Did you bring the elephant safely back home?”

“The elephant?” Jimmy scratched his head wonderingly. “Why, I didn’t have no elephant, Loy.”

Jimmy turned and looked at Lars, who was pulling off his boots. Lars gawped open-mouthed at Loy.

Loy smiled depreciatingly.

“It is no matter, my friends. Let us forget it.”

“Huh!”

Jimmy snorted and searched the table-top, on which a flea could not have hidden itself.

“No, it is not there,” said Ng Loy. “It was gone after you left. But it doesn’t matter.”

Lars said nothing, but his beetling eyebrows seemed to draw down over his deep-set eyes, as if unable to think beyond a certain point. Jimmy’s mouth lost its habitual grin and the muscles of his jaw bulged as he gripped his pipe-stem. Ng Loy laughed and joked incessantly, but his words were lost on his hearers.

Suddenly Jimmy got to his feet and walked over to where Lars was sitting on the edge of a bunk.

“Now, you —— cock-eyed Swede, give up that elephant!”

Lars peered at him, his mouth twisting nervously.

“Give it up, you thief!” roared Jimmy.

“Ay give up not’ing!”

Lars heaved his huge bulk off the bunk, only to jerk back from Jimmy’s smashing blow which caught him on the side of the head.

“Tryin’ to hog the luck, were ye!” growled Jimmy.

But Lars did not speak. He swung forward, hunched low and smashed at Jimmy with both hands. Lars was slow, awkward, but his blows were like the smashing of a pile-driver weight.

Back and forth across the little cabin they surged, smashing, cursing, growling like grizzlies. Both men were getting badly hurt. Neither used any science; only brute strength. There was no blocking of blows. Every punch went straight to its mark unhampered.

The walls, the blankets were spattered with gore. Loy begged and pleaded with them to stop, but his words fell on deaf ears. He finally climbed to the top of a bunk, where he crouched like an idol, but winced every time a smashing blow found its mark.

Flesh and blood could not stand such punishment for a great length of time. Both men were blinded, choked with blood, until their blows flailed into empty air and they went down on their knees, still striking, mouthing curses.

Lars toppled over and was still, while Jimmy rested on his side, propped up on one elbow, blind as a bat, but still anxious to fight. Loy bathed their heads and bound up their cuts, and they endured it in silence.

“Be friends,” begged Loy. “It was nothing to fight over.”

But neither man would speak to the other. Their fight had proved nothing; given neither any satisfaction. Loy pointed out this fact, but neither man would agree. All Jimmy would say was—

“I’ll never speak to that cock-eyed thief agin’!”

“Ay hope you never speak,” said Lars through swollen lips. “Bot at de same time, if you do, I not speak back.”

And thus ended the partnership of Lars and Jimmy. After years of sharing the same blanket, going through thick and thin, fighting each other’s battles—they broke friendship over a little elephant carved from yellow ivory.

And a sadness of heart drove the smiles from Ng Loy’s wrinkled face. Lars gloomed by himself; a great brooding figure, who spoke rarely. Jimmy lost his optimistic outlook upon life, and blamed it all upon the sinister influence of the little elephant.

Spring came in earnest and the warm weather thawed deep into the earth. Lars packed up his part of the food, strapped it on his back and went up the east fork of the creek, went away without explanation or a good-by to any one.

Ng Loy shook his head sadly and watched Jimmy take his pack and head for the claim on west fork. It was the parting of the ways for Jimmy and Lars. Ng Loy went back to work on his crude sluice-boxes, tearing with weak efforts into the gravel, to get enough money to enable his old bones to lie beside those of his ancestors.

It was a month later that Jimmy came down to see Ng Loy. They talked little as they smoked in the doorway of the little cabin, but before Jimmy departed he laid a heavy poke of gold on the table.

“You split it three ways, Loy.”

“T’lee ways, Jimmy?”

“Sure. A third belongs to you and a third to——”

Jimmy jerked his thumb toward the east fork mountains.

“Mebbe so he not come back.”

“Ah, ye bet he’ll come back, Loy. He knows that I’m honest and he’ll come back to git his share. See ye later, Loy.”

Loy stood in the doorway and watched Jimmy disappear in the timber. Loy knew that deep in Jimmy’s heart was a dead, dull ache for the companionship of his old partner.

“Friendship is heaven,” mused Loy sadly. “Perhaps they did not believe Ng Loy’s creed. It was heaven for Ng Loy, too; but it is heaven no longer.”

Two weeks later Lars mushed in, with the muck of the creek on his clothes. His face appeared drawn and tired and there was a hunch to his big frame that had not been there before.

“Ay locate on small creek,” he told Loy slowly, “and Ay cut de pay-streak. Hare—” he tossed a poke onto the table—“you divide, Loy. Ay locate you and Yimmy on de claim.”

Loy smiled softly. He knew that the slow-moving Swede was eating his heart out for the companionship of Jimmy, but was too bull-headed even to admit it to himself. He told Lars about Jimmy bringing in his clean-up, and gave Lars his share of the gold.

Lars squinted over it, like a huge ape which had found something he did not understand. Then he stowed it away inside his shirt and went back up the creek. Loy smiled and went back to his work.

A week later Jimmy came down to see him, and sat down beside Loy who was stripping a small piece of bed-rock.

“I kinda got pleurisy,” explained Jimmy, “so I knocked off work for the day. Loy, I ain’t been feelin’ well for a week.”

Loy took him up to the cabin and gave him his share of Lars’ gold.

“I’ll not take it!” exploded the Irishman. “I’ll not soil me hands with that cock-eyed Swede’s gold.”

“He took his share of your gold,” said Loy.

“He would. He’d take everythin’ that ain’t nailed down.”

Loy said nothing, but puttered around, getting a meal.

“Ye told us about that elephant once,” said Jimmy thoughtfully. “What was it ye said about it bringin’ happiness, Loy?”

Loy smiled softly and shook his head.

“Only to the owner is it a charm. Good luck it might bring to any one, but the owner of it will in some way bring happiness to others.”

“I understand,” thoughtfully. “But stealin’ don’t make for ownership, Loy.”

“No.”

“It’s still your elephant, Loy.”

“Yes. No matter who has it—it is still mine, Jimmy.”

“By golly, it was a fine elephant, so it was.”

“It is,” corrected Loy softly.

“That’s right. May the —— fly away wid that cock-eyed Swede for takin’ it. He wanted to hawg all the luck, so he did.”

“Has it brought him luck?”

Jimmy frowned thoughtfully. He knew that the elephant had not brought Lars any luck.

“Bein’ a thief kinda cooks your luck, Loy.”

“Yes. Honesty is a good luck charm, Jimmy.”

“Sure, you’re a queer Chink, Loy. You’re honest as —— and ye’ve some queer ideas of heaven and hell, but, I dunno.”

“Because I believe that there is heaven in friendship?”

Jimmy shook his head slowly and looked straight at Ng Loy.

“No, Loy; that part of it is true—Gospel true.”

“And to hate is to suffer torture, Jimmy.”

Jimmy got to his feet and stowed away his pipe.

“Well, I’ll be goin’ now, Loy. So long.”

It was several days later that a lone prospector came mushing up the creek and stopped at Jimmy’s claim. He was heading across the divide, but stopped to relate what news he had of the Outside.

“Did ye see the Chink down at the forks?” asked Jimmy.

“I seen the cabin, but there wasn’t any one around there. The door was open, but the cabin looked kinda like nobody had been in there for a few days. Yuh know what I mean—dirty dishes and all that.”

“Sure, that’s queer,” observed Jimmy. “Ye say the door was open?”

“Yeah. I looked in. Yuh know how a place looks when folks has been away a few days.”

They talked about other things and as soon as the man had gone, Jimmy knocked off work and went down the creek, wondering what had happened to Ng Loy.

At the open door he met Lars. It was their first meeting since Lars had left the cabin, but there was no sign of friendship in their attitude toward each other.

“Where’s Loy?” growled Jimmy.

“Ay don’t seen him,” Lars shook his head.

Jimmy turned and went down to the cut where Loy had been digging, with Lars stumbling along behind him.

And there they found Ng Loy. The Spring thaw had loosened the roots of a big fir-tree on the slope above the cut and under this fallen monarch they found Ng Loy. He had been dead for at least two days.

“By gosh, das hard luck!” breathed Lars sorrowfully.

Jimmy looked at Lars, his eyes filled with tears.

“Hard luck, ye say? Who gave him the hard luck, I’d like to know. Ye stole his luck, ye cock-eyed Swede!”

Lars shook his head, like a wounded buffalo, and hunched close to Jimmy.

“Das lie! You steal de luck yourself.”

“Me!”

Jimmy fell into a fighting crouch, his big hands opening and shutting spasmodically.

“Ye take that back, or I’ll massacree ye, Swede. Ye stole the luck of the whole creek when ye took that elephant.”

But Lars shook his head and glared at Jimmy.

“Ay don’t want for to fight you,” he said slowly. “Ay am tire’ for fighting. You go way.”

“Me go away? And why in the —— should I go away?”

“Ay am feex up de poor Chink—me. Ay take him to de coast unt ship to China.”

“Oh, ye would, would ye? Ye would steal his luck and then ship him to China, would ye? Well, I’m tellin’ ye that I’m goin’ to do that, Swede. Hands off, that’s what I say to ye; and I’ll tend to me friend’s remains.”

Jimmy turned, picked up Ng Loy’s ax and began cutting away the tree. Lars stood dumbly aside and watched him work, but when Jimmy had severed the trunk of the tree, Lars stepped in and helped him lift it aside.

“I don’t need yer help,” assured Jimmy hoarsely. “Pick up yer heavy feet and go home.”

“You can’t do dis all alone,” declared Lars. “It be a long ways to de coast. Better we make box unt bury him until de snow come.”

Jimmy mopped his brow and considered Lars’ words. It was a long way to the coast, and he had no way of transporting the body. They could bury Ng Loy now, exhume him after the snow came and take him out with the dog-team.

“W’at you t’ink?” queried Lars.

“Sure, I was goin’ to do that,” said Jimmy, unwilling to concede the suggestion.

It was a hard job to make the box, and it was nearly dark when it was completed.

“I’ll bury him on the point of the hill there by the big rock,” said Jimmy.

Lars secured the shovel and pick, but Jimmy demanded that he be allowed to do the work. Lars followed him up the hill and stood aside, while Jimmy cleared away the débris from beside the big rock.

He wanted to place the box as close as possible to the outcropping of granite, beside which was a pile of loose branches, moss and the accumulation of years. Swiftly he yanked this aside with the point of his pick, using it as a rake.

As he started to drive the pick into the dirt, he stopped with the pick raised above his head. He held the pose so long that Lars grunted wonderingly and started forward.

Then Jimmy dropped the pick behind him and fell to his knees, his right hand open, fingers spread, as if afraid to pick up what he had seen.

“Lars!” he croaked thickly. “Will ye look and tell me what ye see? Look man, for the love of God!”

Lars stumbled ahead, crouching almost to the ground. His lips worked soundlessly as he stared at the débris.

“Do ye see it?” breathed Jimmy.

“Ay see dat elephant,” said Lars foolishly.

With a swift, clutching movement, Jimmy sprang to his feet, holding the ivory elephant. He staggered back, as if afraid some one might try to take it from him, holding it close to him in both hands.

“Das —— pack-rat nest,” said Lars.

Jimmy lifted his eyes and looked across at Lars, and for a space of about ten seconds they stared at each other.

“You cock-eyed Swede!” shouted Jimmy. “You didn’t steal it!”

Lars shook his head and a smile flashed across his face.

“Nor you didn’t, you wild Irishman! By gosh, I’m glad!”

Together they sat down and examined the elephant, as if they had never seen it before. They did not shake hands nor offer any apologies. But they both knew.

“It was good luck, Lars—” Jimmy turned his head and looked square into Lars’ eyes—“but there must have been a lot of evil in that —— pack-rat. Loy said it was only good luck to its owner, but I dunno.

“Loy still owns it, Lars; so we’ll bury it with him, if ye don’t mind.”

“Dat be best,” nodded Lars. “Ve bury it with Ng Loy.”

For a long time they sat on the side of the hill, while the long shadows stretched down across Trinity forks and threw the little cabin into a blend with the dark of the fir forests beyond it.

They did not talk. It was as if they were resting after a long, long toil. Lars’ huge hands were locked over his knees and on his big face was an expression of wonder.

“If Ng Loy was only here,” said Jimmy.

“Ay vould like dat,” said Lars. “You betcha Ay vould like dat, Yimmy.”

“And do ye remember he said that the owner of the elephant would bring happiness to some one, Lars?”

“I vonder ’bout dat, Yimmy. If he don’t die ve don’t find de elephant—unt never be happy.”

“Ye said it, Lars. Fate works in queer ways.”

And they went down the slope in the twilight—partners again.

Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the December 20, 1923 issue of Adventure magazine.