The Project Gutenberg eBook of Two-way trail
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.
Title: Two-way trail
Author: Clay Perry
Release date: February 15, 2026 [eBook #77939]
Language: English
Original publication: New York: Street & Smith Corporation, 1929
Credits: Prepared by volunteers at BookCove (bookcove.net)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TWO-WAY TRAIL ***
Two-Way Trail
By Clay Perry
A romance of Alaska--treasure house of strange
stories of men and women and life in the raw.
The old sour dough, “Shorty” Freem, began the serious operation of
lighting his pipe. It was serious for two good reasons: first, because
the mercury had dropped to fifty below during the afternoon; and,
second; because there was some doubt whether he could ignite the old
heel that was left in the bowl of the cracked corncob.
He got a splinter from the fire, sheltering it with a gnarled and horny
hand until the flame crawled up the stick and scorched his thumb.
He applied flame to the cavity and pulled hard until with a sputter and
a flicker it went out, drowned by thick vapor from Shorty’s lips.
Thin smoke mingled with the steam as Shorty thrust his hand back into
his mitten and beat his knee to restore circulation to his fingers.
Gresham watched him anxiously. He was “looking color”--not the kind
of the old Klondiker had dug for, underground, but human color,
“human interest.” This was what his paper had sent him for, along the
old gold trails of the Yukon--to exploit the romance of the region in
which interest had been revived.
Gresham believed he had got Shorty started in the right vein at last.
It was time, for they were far out on the trail and so far Gresham’s
prospecting had been disappointing.
On the steamer, up from Seattle, he had thought himself lucky to strike
up an acquaintance with Hartwell, who admitted to being an ex-miner and
who was going in over the old trails again on some errand.
But Hartwell proved taciturn almost to the point of being speechless,
and Gresham concluded that he was one of those modern miners--agent for
a syndicate which washed gold out of the hills by hydraulic pressure and
got rich without romance. However, Gresham found that Hartwell knew how
to pick a guide.
And here they were, almost one hundred miles above Dawson, camped in
the firs--and Shorty, the guide, was telling a story of the old days
in Dawson during the gold rush.
It was so cold that the dogs had burrowed in the snow bank. The sun set
at three, for the long arctic night was beginning to close down.
Shorty had piled up a sloping bank of eight-foot logs against two young
trees, six feet apart, for a Siwash fire, and all three men had scraped
the snow up for the bank shelter on the other side. They waited for snow
to melt in the kettle for boiling up.
Hartwell sat in his robes, propped against the Yukon sled, his face
covered by the hood of his parka so that only the glint of his eyes
was visible in the firelight.
They were remarkable, deep-set, far-looking eyes, bright with some
strong inner fire; young eyes in a deep-lined face which was made to
seem older by the frame of snow-white hair and brows that spoke of a
day of suffering--perhaps tragedy. How Gresham wished he could get
his story!
However, it was something to have got Shorty started. He was telling
a tale of Dawson in the winter of the food panic and the fire--and of
a girl who had sold herself at auction from the bar of a dance-hall
saloon.
In the pause for pipe lighting Gresham grew doubtful whether Shorty had
finished or not, and he asked a quick question to make sure--a question
about the girl and the man who bid highest:
“How did they come out?” he inquired.
“Why, I never heard,” was Shorty’s maddening reply. “I never heard
how they did come out. But I reckon,” he added judicially, “that they
was only one way they could’ve come out. Seemed a shame, for she was
a likely-lookin’ gal.”
He flung some more snow in the kettle, looked reproachfully at his pipe,
whose stem had clogged--frozen up--and gave a little grunt and hunched
closer to the fire. Gresham despaired. But Shorty resumed talking.
“It was a lot of fun at the time,” he said, “but I was sorry it
happened, because I got to know somethin’ about her and how and why
she come into the gold country. ‘Cap’ Hanson told me. She come up the
Yukon to Dawson on his steamer, from Fort Yukon. It was the last boat
that got to Dawson that season.”
Shorty drew a long breath and sighed a spurt of steam.
“It seems,” he drawled, “that there was a man named Clark----”
Gresham chuckled inwardly, for his training told him that the old man
now intended really to tell the story he had only sketched before.
The bundled man, who was leaning against the sled, made a movement. It
was only to draw his parka hood closer.
Shorty pulled another log onto the fire. The heat was flung back from
the Siwash wall into their pit-like shelter, and happily there was no
wind.
Gresham burrowed in his robes on the boughs which made a floor and which
would be their bed.
“The way I get it,” Shorty resumed, “this man Clark brung the gal
into the country to help her locate her brother, who was supposed to
be somewheres in the vicinity of Circle City, mebbe at the Birch
Creek mines. They come up from Seattle to St. Michael’s Island early
in the summer, caught a river steamer up to the fort, and it was
there I first run acrost the trail.
“People said she seemed to have plenty money. They was a lot of us had
it in them days--money to burn and not much to do with it but burn it.
Up in Dawson, the winter before, food was so scarce that we went on
rations. The winter follerin’ they was plenty of food, but you could
pay a dollar a pound for jest dog food, and whisky was fifty a gallon
and jest about as fit to drink as kerosene which was the same price.
“But then they was the fire that wiped out most of the stores and
saloons. It looked, for a while, like another winter on rations. No
chance of anythin’ comin’ upriver. Why, I paid a dollar apiece for
candles--and ate ’em! Learned the trick from a Eskimo. Money to
burn--but not candles.
“Well, the gal put in a few weeks around the fort and then went up the
creek to Circle City and cruised around the Birch Creek district. Then
she caught the last steamer up and landed in Dawson.
“This man Clark was on the same boat, but Cap Hanson told me they
wasn’t together--any more. It looked queer, because he was supposed
to be a relative of hers of some kind. And he brung her in. But the
gal kept shy of him on the boat, and when she landed at Dawson she
streaked off by herself. Clark tried to foller her, but she made it
plain she was through with him.
“The next thing I knowed of, Clark, he settled down in Louse Town with a
Injun squaw, jest acrost the creek. Of course, they was plenty of men in
the diggin’s which had entered into companionate arrangements with the
female denizens of Louse Town, and they managed to live it down. The
trouble with Clark seemed to be, he lived down to it.”
Shorty put some more sparkling white fluff in the kettle and watched it
become yellowish water, for the kettle was old and rimed with tea stain.
“The gal,” he said, “went to work at Aleck’s Place. It seems her money
had run out. On the other hand, Clark seemed to have plenty. Used to
see him around Aleck’s. He gambled quite a little. Everybody did--but
we gambled for fun, most of us. Clark took it serious--damn serious.
He got hisself disliked.
“After a while only a chechahco or a stranger would sit in a game
with him. He got to be called ‘Chesty’ Clark. Almost everybody had a
nickname of some sort. Some of them fitted and some of ’em sounded
queer--there was ‘Cutthroat’ Johnson, for instance. But the reason
Clark was called ‘Chesty’ was not because he was always braggin’ or
had a big chest. It was because he played his cards too close to his
bosom to suit the free-and-easy habits of most of the miners.
“They was another feller who was called by the name of the ‘Red Rover.’
He had reddish hair, and some one said they’d seen him a thousand miles
upriver from Dawson the winter before, and some one else had seen him
almost as far downriver. He had a dog team! I’m a nut on dogs, anyhow.
One of the huskies that’s curled up under that there snow bank is a
grandson of Whitenose, which was the Red Rover’s lead dog.
“Well, jest two days after he struck town he got into a game with Chesty
and was cleaned.
“I seen that game. Everybody seen some of it. The Red Rover made a
sociable event of it. Every time the pot was opened he’d buy a round
of drinks. He liked fun. When he’d win a pot he’d set ’em up--and
then when he begun to lose he set ’em up, too, laughin’ like a kid.
The gals hung around and seemed to be pullin’ for him--but--Chesty
kept on winnin’.
“This here gal I been tellin’ you about--I forget her name; seems to me
it was May or----”
“Never mind the name,” came the unexpected interruption from Hartwell,
his words breaking on the frosty air like icicles.
Shorty looked up quickly. He reached for the tea sack and sifted some
dusty particles into the briskly boiling water. His wrinkled, seamed
face was squinted up against the heat. He looked a veritable patriarch
of the trail. And yet his hair was only touched with gray. Hartwell
might have been the elder.
“Anyhow,” Shorty continued, fumbling the cups in his mittened hands,
“she kept sort of away from the table where they were playin’, until
along toward the last. I remember seein’ her standin’ behind Chesty’s
chair a little ways, with a look in her face---- Well, when Chesty
raked in the last pot the Red Rover looked up, grinnin’ like the kid
he was, flung his hands wide open and sat back and said: ‘Sold!
Nothin’ to do now but travel.’
“Then I saw his eyes fly wide open as he saw the gal.
“I’ll play you the last pot against your dog team,” Clark offered.
“Well, she was a good-lookin’ gal. Aleck always prided hisself on havin’
his gals dressed in real Paris style. Evenin’ gowns an’ silk stockin’s
and high-heeled dancin’ slippers. They was all good lookin’, in their
way, but this gal stood out from the rest like a thoroughbred. She was a
picter. But it was the eyes--I got a habit of watchin’ people’s eyes. If
it wasn’t for that I might never have noticed how them two looked at
each other. Everybody else was watchin’ the Red Rover’s hands, palms up
on the table--and Chesty’s claws rakin’ in his winnin’s. A pile of money
and a big poke of dust and some nuggets---- I reckon the tea’s ready
now.”
Shorty tipped the boiling kettle so that the dark fluid ran into the
ready cups, warming by the coals. Hartwell pushed back his parka and
lifted a steaming drink to his lips. Gresham noticed his eyes--again.
Then he looked at Shorty. The old man had one eye squinted against the
flare of the flames, but the open one was focused on Hartwell.
Gresham sipped scalding tea and cleared his throat.
“It was her brother, eh?” he ventured.
“Who?” croaked Shorty, his voice cracking. He spilled some tea on his
mitten. “The Red Rover? Well, I thought they knowed each other. Seemed
as if he was flabbergasted to see the gal there and in that costume
And it seemed as if she was hit hard, too, seein’ him settin’ opposite
Chesty Clark with empty hands and empty pockets. But only their eyes
that said anythin’. The Red Rover got up. Chesty Clark turned around
and seen the gal standin’ near by. He picked up a poke of dust and
tossed it at her, with a nasty laugh.
“‘Tuck that away,’ he says, ‘where I can find it--later.’
“She caught the bag, held it in her hand and hefted it a minute. Then
she tucked it in her bosom and patted it softly.
“‘I’ll put it away,’ she says, ‘where you will never touch it! It
belongs to me--and more--you dirty thief!’
“Aleck had started up the noise which passed for music and the dancin’
had begun and they was only a few that caught on to what was passin’. I
was one of them few--and the Red Rover.
“Chesty Clark, he went livid and made a lunge for the gal. He took a
swipe at her with his hooked fingers, tryin’ to grab the poke, and tore
her dress a little. The next thing he was flat on the floor and the Red
Rover standin’ over him. Everybody crowded around and begun formin’ a
circle for a fight--but shucks! they wasn’t any fight. Chesty Clark was
all through--and besides, the poke of dust he’d flung to the girl was
in his claws again, and he snarled somethin’ about the gal not bein’
able to take a joke. Then he dragged his freight out.
“The gal disappeared.
“It was the very next day that the word went round town about a queer
thing that was goin’ to happen at Aleck’s Place. The story was that
one of the gals was goin’ to have herself auctioned off to the highest
bidder.”
Shorty tested out his pipe. It had thawed out and with a refill it
worked.
“At first,” he went on, “we took it as a sort of a put-up job to
advertise the place. It sounded, the story did, like a hoax, but we
was willin’ to be entertained even if the joke was on us. So the
advertisement worked.
“Everybody who could walk was at Aleck’s long before ten o’clock, which
was the time set for the auction. When it got out that it was the new
gal who was goin’ to be the one, the excitement was pretty high. Myself,
I couldn’t quite see why. Then I learned that she had discovered that
her brother was dead. Yes, sir, he was one of the boys that never even
got over Chilkoot Pass. I reckoned it that the gal had been purty hard
hit and was desperate. I had the idee she was a good gal. So did Cap
Hanson. But here she was at Aleck’s Place, broke and without a friend or
relative--except Chester Clark, of course, and he was a queer sort of a
relative. I figgered she was afeared of him.
“Well, when Aleck helped this gal up onto the bar at ten o’clock and
announced the terms of the auction, you could’ve heard a button bust
off, everythin’ was so quiet.
“‘This lady,’ he says, ‘has agreed to be auctioned off to the highest
bidder, to be his housekeeper for the winter, to live with him as his
wife until spring, and to collect the money, which will be deposited
with me as the company agent’--that was the Alaska Company--‘which I
promise to hand to her when the break-up comes. Or, if either party to
the agreement isn’t satisfied, or either one breaks it, he or she can
quit and they’ll split the pot and call it off any time. Gentlemen,
what am I offered?’
“The biddin’ started off brisk as hell. I put in a bid myself. Not
that I wanted the gal to keep house for me--because I was satisfied
with my own cookin’, but I felt, like a lot of others, that she ought
to git a show. She gave us one. She was a picter. She had on a dress
of velvet and satin which gleamed smooth and shiny under the big oil
lamp which hung over the bar. It was a black dress. It matched her
hair, which was just as smooth and shiny and black. And her eyes. She
was a good-lookin’ gal. White as milk, except for a little rosy flush
in her cheeks. She held her head up and smiled.
“Chesty Clark made the first bid. ‘One thousand dollars,’ he said.
“‘Two thousand!’ snapped a voice close behind me.
“I turned and see it was the Red Rover. His face was as pale as--as the
gal’s and more so. His eyes was black--around ’em. He looked as if he
had been on a tear or hadn’t slept much or somethin’. I was surprised to
hear him bid because I knowed he was broke. I guess I looked surprised.
He gave me a grin and a wink and then his face settled back into a sort
of frozen mask.
“Clark raised it to twenty-five hundred. The Red Rover’s lips set
and his eyes narrowed. He didn’t say anythin’. Right there I put in
my little two cents’ worth. I said: ‘Twenty-eight hundred.’ In two
minutes it had gone to four thousand. Somehow it seemed to stick
there. It wasn’t such a pile of money. As much and more was lost and
won by a good many of the miners every night at Aleck’s at poker.
“But Aleck, he sensed somethin’ wrong. He had been a hoss auctioneer
down in the States for a spell. He knew his job. He asked the gal to
walk up and down the bar, and while she did he begun to ballyhoo.
“They wasn’t any horse talk in what he said. Nobody did any jokin’.
It was all serious and quiet. Red Rover, he hadn’t made another bid.
Chester Clark was high man. He looked pleased with hisself, but not
pleasin’.
“‘What am I offered, gentlemen? Mr. Clark says four thousand.’ Aleck was
sweatin’. He was workin’ hard. I give him credit; he wanted to get the
girl a good grubstake.
“Somebody said, sotto voce, near by me: ‘Clark is married, ain’t he?’
“‘Not on this side of the creek,’ was the answer, and it got a snicker.
“‘Four thousand, once! Going once! Going twice!’
“Aleck stopped, because the gal made a motion to him and spoke up:
“‘Mr. MacDonald hasn’t given you all of the terms of the auction,
gentlemen,’ she said in a clear voice. ‘He has forgotten to announce
that I reserve the right to refuse any bid that is made.’
“The silence got dense for a minute. Then a cur’ous murmur went up.
Aleck broke right in. ‘That’s right,’ he says. ‘I forgot to announce
that. The lady makes her own choice or refusal. Four thousand three
times and----’
“‘Forty-eight hundred!’ sang out the Red Rover, like the crack of a dog
whip.
“‘Forty-eight hundred is bid by Mister----’” Shorty was choked by a
sudden fit of coughing.
“Drat this old sewer!” he snapped, glaring reproachfully at his pipe.
With an angry movement he tossed it into the coals, but lunged after
it with mittened hand at once and raked it out into the snow.
Neither of his hearers smiled or moved or spoke.
“Chesty Clark come right back with a bid of forty-nine,” Shorty
continued in a husky tone, “and there the biddin’ stopped again. It
stopped because the Red Rover was dickerin’ with me. I’d told him, the
previous day, that I’d like to own his dogs. He was makin’ me the
offer. He asked twenty-five hundred for ’em--five of ’em. I didn’t try
to beat him down. A good dog was worth four or five hundred dollars in
Dawson that winter.
“‘Forty-nine hundred is bid by Chester Clark of Louse Town,’ yelped
Aleck. ‘Going once!’
“‘I refuse that bid, Mr. MacDonald,’ came the gal’s voice. ‘I learn that
Mr. Clark already has a housekeeper.’
“Everybody turned to look at Chesty. He got red in the face and so mad
he could only splutter. He had a scab on his chin where a fist had hit
him, and a bump on the back of his head where it had hit planks the
night before.
“‘Which sets it back to forty-eight,’ announced Aleck. ‘Do I hear
another?’
“‘Five thousand dollars,’ came the quick answer--from the Red Rover.
“‘_And sold!_’ sung out Aleck, quick as that. ‘To the red-headed gent in
shirt and pants over there beside Shorty Freem.’
“A laugh went up. It was the first time anybody laughed out loud since
the auction commenced. It died down right away, because the Red Rover
plowed through the crowd to the bar and turned around and stood there,
facin’ us, with his arms folded.
“‘I want to make an announcement,’ he says. ‘I want you all to hear it.
In the first place,’ he says, ‘I haven’t got five thousand dollars. I’ve
got twenty-five hundred. Here it is, Aleck. I just sold my dog team to
Shorty Freem to raise it. If you, Aleck, and the lady will trust me,
I’ll agree to produce the other twenty-five hundred before the spring
break-up. But to make this all on the square, I want to say that, right
here and now, I am making this lady an offer of marriage, to take it or
leave it, now or later.’
“He turned and looked at the gal. She was shakin’ her head. I seen her
lips move, but it looked as if she hadn’t spoken a word out loud. It
turned out, though, that she had. Aleck told me afterward that she said
to the Red Rover: ‘I’ll trust you for the money. I want it and need
it--but I can’t take it under any conditions other than those that were
made before the auction.’
“After that she vanished from the saloon hall. Red Rover stuck around,
and Aleck hung him up for credit. He bought drinks--but didn’t take any
liquor hisself. Chesty Clark got drunk and tried to pull a gun out of
his boot, and the Red Rover floored him and took the gun away, and that
was all the excitement they was.
“But the next day”--Shorty retrieved his pipe, which was now covered
with a coating of ice, from the snow, and pocketed it regretfully--“the
next day the gal and Red Rover was gone. They quit town. I never seen
’em afterward and I don’t know how they come out.”
Gresham groaned, but he had sense enough to hold his tongue this time.
Perhaps Shorty was only putting another period to his peroration. The
silence persisted for so long that he ventured a remark.
“Well, the girl had courage,” he said. “Didn’t she ever come back to
collect?”
“Oh, she had courage, all right,” Shorty agreed heartily. “I don’t know
about what she did. I don’t know how it come out. I could guess. There
was only one way it could come out, to my way of thinkin’. It was a
one-way trail she traveled, son.”
“What do you mean?” Gresham sat up abruptly.
“This here old trail is--or was--a one-way trail for women, up above
Dawson, son,” Shorty replied good-naturedly. “I mean, no woman ever went
out, upriver. They could and did come in that way, from Juneau over the
Pass and through the Rapids and so on. But goin’ out, it was always down
to St. Michael’s by river boat and catch the first steamer for Seattle.
This gal went upriver.”
“You mean she----”
“Once I thought I did see her, afterward,” Shorty, went on doubtfully.
“I couldn’t be sure and I didn’t ask questions. Besides, she was
travelin’ the wrong way. The woman I mean was travelin’ upriver, too.
She was in a hurry. She was all bundled up to the eyes and didn’t talk
much, and I didn’t annoy her with questions.”
Gresham winced but pretended not to notice the slap.
“You had her as a passenger?” he inquired.
“Yep. And the travelin’ was bad. It was spring. Shucks! it couldn’t been
this gal, May--er--whatever her name was, because she’d have been goin’
downriver. She’d have paid her passage. I never seen Aleck to ask him if
she did collect. He died.”
“Well, I’ll be damned!” ejaculated Gresham. And then, with sudden
inspiration, born, perhaps, out of the uncanny sixth sense of the good
news reporter, he turned to Hartwell and said: “What do you make of it,
Mr. Hartwell? You’ve been in this country. Did you ever hear----” He
paused. Something seemed to halt him. Something stood like a shadow--or
a flicker of light--on the frosty air, between the huddled man against
the sled and himself. It was silence.
Shorty Freem piled more logs on the fire. It was long past the usual
hour for turning in but the spirit of sleepless curiosity, of unanswered
mysteries, seemed to tingle in the air, like the frost. The wilderness
crackled with cold all about them. Now and then a tree exploded like a
bomb. A wolf howled.
The men’s eyes were drawn to the fire as to a magnet.
“Yes, I’ve been in this country,” came the unexpected remark from the
taciturn Hartwell. “I’ve camped on this very trail. Going over it again
brings back old memories, some of them bitter and some of them sweet.”
Gresham pricked up his ears, for the voice had a ring to it, a rhythm to
it which seemed, somehow, familiar. It was the voice of a man accustomed
to express himself--and all this time he had been silent. Something had
unlocked his tongue. Gresham locked his own tightly behind his teeth.
“In the first place, Shorty,” Hartwell went on pleasantly, “I’ve got
to disagree with you about the Dawson trail being one-way for a woman.
I won’t quarrel with you about it because I understand you made the
statement as a sort of parable in connection with your story of the
girl.
“I’ll agree with you that she had courage,” he continued, his voice
rising more clearly. “She needed it to get herself out of Aleck’s
hell hole. I suppose that it would do no harm to try to guess at how
they came out,” he finished, sinking back against the sled again.
Once more Gresham groaned, but this time inwardly. He almost cheered at
the next sentence Hartwell uttered.
“Let us suppose,” Hartwell said, “that in the grip of grief and fear
the girl was insanely desperate; that she wanted to get out of the
country, and that something put the crazy notion in her head to sell
herself as--well, perhaps as many women she had known had done. Under
social contract. Marrying money. In order to make a decent guess,” he
apologized with a smile, “it is going to be necessary to make some
analyses and establish some motives and set up some assumed facts as
a theorem. Suppose she feared Clark because--he was her stepfather.
Suppose that her life at home had been unhappy. Suppose her only
brother, a year younger than herself, had fled from home and struck
out for the gold fields.
“Their mother was dead, let us say; she had been married, very young, to
a man much older than herself--a wealthy man whom she did not love. Her
second marriage to Clark, a man younger than herself, was a rebound from
her first mistake--and it proved but a second mistake.
“Her daughter was just blooming into womanhood and the mother saw in
her, shortly, an unconscious rival for the fitful affections of her
young husband. A situation such as this might give the girl a background
and help us make a logical guess. Clark was a scoundrel--you’ve made
that clear, Shorty. Particularly despicable where women were concerned.
Worse even than Aleck.
“The mother died, leaving the girl to the tender mercies of her
stepfather. She died with her son’s name on her lips and pledged the
girl to find him. The girl could hardly hope to make the journey into
the Klondike and the Yukon alone. In her innocence she did not dream
of her stepfather’s feeling toward her. She gladly accepted his offer
to accompany her. She was just coming of age when the journey began.
“When she reached Fort Yukon she was of age--in years and in
experience--for she had learned of Clark’s feelings and been frightened
by them. Terrified, she made a frantic search for her brother, and Clark
followed her relentlessly. She had trusted him in everything--even with
her money. And--suppose he kept it?
“My guess is that he would be capable of that--and her words, as he
flung her the gold, seem to prove it. He had followed her to Dawson,
knowing that what little money she had with her soon would give out.
And then--her brother was discovered to be dead. It had been a one-way
trail for him.
“Fear and grief! These were enough, combined with loneliness and the
strange, rough ways of the mining camp, to drive her to the seeming
refuge of Aleck’s Place. It was not until after she had been there
for a few days that she really discovered what an Alaskan dance-hall
saloon meant. Possible disgrace was added to her grief and her fear.
It almost unbalanced her mind. Then she met the Red Rover. She felt
that he had become infatuated with her almost at first glance--not
knowing he had seen her before, on the boat, and had followed her,
too.
“She thought of suicide. She was afraid. Aleck’s was no refuge. Aleck,
in his own way, had made her understand that. Girls who were willing to
be entertaining to miners with money were too plentiful at Aleck’s Place
for him to be tolerant of one who was frightened--and grief-stricken. In
the courage of desperation she evolved this plan to sell herself at
auction. It had been her own mother’s way.”
The last sentence came out like a flash of an icicle touched by fire.
It gave Gresham, hardened news hound, a start. He hardly breathed, as
he waited for Hartwell to continue. The “analysis” Hartwell was making
had got to be more than that. It was parable. Gresham waited for it to
become something more.
He studied Hartwell’s face and saw that it was really young, despite
deep lines and snow-white hair and brows. It was strong, peaceful, good
to look upon. It thrust out of the furred hood of his parka in cameo,
and seemed in place here in the frosty wilds. Gresham wondered just why
Hartwell was traveling this trail. He had been unable to find out by
any of the questions he had asked.
“When the Red Rover knocked Chesty Clark down for touching her, the
girl knew that here was a man who would, and could, protect her.
Something electric had passed between them at their first meeting of
glances. Perhaps she did recognize him as a man she had seen on the
steamer. To be sure, she knew that he had been cleaned out by Clark,
had no money, and perhaps she had heard the old Alaskan proverb--that
a man will not fight for his wife but he will fight for his dog. And
she wondered whether he might sacrifice his dogs to get the money. I
assume that she did not dream the bidding would go half so high.
“When she found Clark was bidding above any one else, she grew more
frightened and, there on the bar, as she walked up and down, showing
off her attractions like a slave on the block, she framed up the
saving portion of the auction agreement--that she might refuse to
accept the bid of any man she did not like.
“Women are far more clever than we give them credit for,” resumed
Hartwell; “clever even in their desperation. And besides, the girl had
the background of a more sophisticated civilization than Dawson could
boast. And as you have described it--the Red Rover made the winning
bid, if not the highest bid, and won her.”
“Sure thing! But it was highest, too. He bid five thousand.”
“This was late in the fall, you said, Shorty?” inquired Hartwell
musingly.
“It was October.”
Gresham remembered distinctly that Shorty had not defined the time at
all except that it was winter. His news nose tingled.
“‘You have freighted food and supplies out to the most isolated spots in
the country, in the dead of winter, to some stubborn old sourdoughs who
stuck to their diggings,’ Hartwell said. “Not all the miners huddled in
town and gambled, drank and danced. And some of them were without dogs,
too. So that it was perfectly possible for the Red Rover to pack out,
afoot, to some claim he had located back in the hills--and the girl with
him, bearing her share. She would do that. I picture her as being proud
and brave and willing.”
“You bet you! A magnificent gal for her age! Strong and able to stand a
lot of hardship.”
“It was early enough,” Hartwell went on argumentatively, “to kill some
game and jerk meat and dry fish. A log hut with double walls, air space
between, a good stove made out of telescoped-kerosene tins. Credit
established for a grubstake of tinned things; salt, beans, sugar. Some
clothing and blankets.
“They would be able to trek back in the hills two hundred miles
before the worst weather came, safely hidden from Clark--or anybody
else. She didn’t want her mother’s widower killed--by the Red Rover.
Not even though he was the gray wolf on her trail. Woman’s reasons.
We don’t understand them very well. Her mother had loved Clark. That
was enough.
“On the trail together, young, strong, looking gold. Their spirits
would run high. The girl was free of the shadow of Clark and the dance
hall. The Rover had proven himself decent. Winter would pass quickly.
In the spring she would book passage on the first steamer out. When
the savage coast of Alaska and the Aleutians had faded from view, all
that portion of her life would be past and forgotten. In the States no
one would know.
“The winter passed.”
With those three words the very last vestige of Gresham’s professionally
skeptical doubt, concerning what sort of fanciful stuff Hartwell was
giving them, vanished. Yet he was puzzled. Why did Hartwell talk in
parable? He thought Shorty looked puzzled, too--or was it merely that he
listened, with his wrinkled face all squinted up as he hunched over by
the fire and looked stupid?
“Spring approached,” Hartwell continued, “and the claim, upon which the
Red Rover had counted so much, had yielded less than three thousand
dollars’ worth of gold. It had been frozen up too hard to pan out
gravel or sand. They had burned out dirt with fire and picked it over.
They quarreled one day because Red declared he would go down to Dawson
and sell out the claim so that he could pay his debts.
“‘You mustn’t do that,’ she objected. ‘I believe there is a rich
vein here. You’ve got enough to pay your debts--because I shall take
only what you posted in cash from the sale of your dogs. I’ll split
with you. It’s pretty good wages for a housekeeper, that twenty-five
hundred.’
“‘You will take it all!’ he insisted. The quarrel grew bitter.
“The next morning the Red Rover woke with his feeling that the cabin
was empty except for himself. And it was. The girl had packed her sack
and gone. How long she had been gone, he did not know. Full daylight
was coming, the summer solstice, when it is daylight all the time and
warm.
“The Red Rover trailed her thirty solid hours without stopping, and
yet did not overtake her. He came, however, to the end of her trail.
It was a gorge in the ice of the river. Twenty feet deep, to the
rushing, boiling water--and her footprints at the edge. The ice had
broken through.
“He risked his own life, crossing at another place to try to pick up the
trail on the other side, hoping against hope that the break-up had come
after she crossed. There was no trail on the other side.
“There on the ice, with the raging, raving torrent grinding,
groaning, thrashing its way toward the sea, in the birth pangs of the
spring break-up, Red Rover crouched and suffered the harsh agony of a
man with a broken heart. He knew then how much he loved the girl. He
had fought it all winter. The quarrel had come because he loved her.
He had bought her at auction--for the winter. But he had held out to
her, at all times, her chance for freedom, when and if she wanted it.
Never again had he proposed what he had announced publicly at Aleck’s
Place--marriage. Nor had she reminded him of it. Probably she had
taken it as a flourish, an attempt on his part, gallant enough, but
insincere as gallantry is likely to be, to save her face. At any
rate--this was answer enough for him. So he thought. But there was
another answer.
“He found it in his pack later--a note she had written him in farewell.
It ran something like this:
“I am sorry, but I can’t go on with this. And I can’t take
your money. Not any of it. So, I am going back to Clark.
I have a claim against him and I’m going to collect. I was
foolish not to do it, in the first place--but I was afraid.
This winter has taught me to be afraid of no man. You taught
me that, so I owe you--much. God bless you. Good-by.
“When Red Rover finished reading this tear-stained note, it was stained
with fresh tears--his own. He knew then that the girl had fled from him
because she loved him. She was going back to Clark. No, she could not do
that! Because--she was dead. The river had her. She would reach the sea,
perhaps some time--free forever.
“And now the full force of new suffering had him. His agony left its
mark upon him. Back to his cabin he went, because he could not bear
to be with men, to face them. What would they say when he came
out--_alone_?
“At the cabin the irony of fate thrust itself upon him with more
mockery. He struck it rich. Baking sour dough bread in a hole in the
ground, between gold pans, he exposed a vein richer than he had even
dreamed to find there. It was a bonanza. You’ve heard of the Ashpit
Mine, Shorty?”
“Um!” grunted Shorty, as if he had been pricked awake from sound
sleep with a jab. “I should say so! That’s one of the few claims the
original discoverer wouldn’t never sell. Why, the railroad built a
spur up to it, the other side of the next big ridge, but they is an
old trail cuts acrost to it from this one, only forty miles from
here. I’ve passed that branch purty often and I allers thinks of the
time I let off a woman passenger there, and she----”
“I’ve been there,” cut in Hartwell. “I know something of its history.
Well, that was Red Rover’s find, and it was no joy to him when he
found it. Only mockery. He went into a sort of melancholia, all alone
there, and finally into a fever which was something like brain fever.
In his delirium he lived, over and over again, the quarrel they had
had--the last words he had snapped at her.
“And then he went back, in his memory, to the auction and lived that
over, too. With the clairvoyance of the half insane he saw that the
girl had loved him from the very first and, with a woman’s desperate
cleverness, had managed to have him the successful bidder at the
auction.
“She had loved him; she could not let herself be bought and paid
for--and he believed she had grown to despise him and herself, too--so
that she had started back. Back to Clark.
“If he had not quarreled with her, if he had but reached out his hand
to her, two days before, if he had repeated his proposal of marriage
to her, she would be with him, alive, to dance upon the golden floor
he had scratched into the light in his fireplace--and they would have
gone out to Dawson together.
“As it was, he descended to the lowest depths of brooding sorrow and
despair. He lapsed into veritable insanity; he scarcely ate; he went
about blindly for hours, calling her name. He forgot to drink, and
sleep was never with him. Shorty, I would like another cup of tea.”
Shorty started as if he had been shot. He poured tea for all of
them. It was bitter, brackish, full of ashes. Gresham could not down
it. Hartwell, however, swallowed it greedily and as if it were sweet
nectar.
“Um! that tastes good. I think I’ll never get over liking the taste
of strong, hot tea. I went without anything to drink, once, for a
long, long time. A cup of hot tea was the first thing I remember
tasting. Perhaps that’s the reason---- Oh, you were right about your
woman passenger, Shorty. It was--we shall call her May, though that
wasn’t her real name----”
“Then the girl--wasn’t dead?” exploded Gresham.
Hartwell smiled, and his smile was like nothing Gresham had ever seen on
a man’s face--peaceful, tender, beautiful.
“No! Oh, no! She had gone downriver on the ice for several miles,
unaware of her danger. She walked the surface of a hollowed-out ice
gorge--and it caved in after she had passed. The Red Rover couldn’t
even have guessed that, when he came to the trail’s end, at the brink
of a fuming torrent.
“She went to Dawson, and there she found that Clark had been shot to
death in a brawl at Aleck’s, caught cheating. His money--including what
he had held out from her--went to her. He had piled it up, playing a
crooked game, plenty. She could have chartered a steamer for Seattle.
The old----” Hartwell checked himself.
“Well, she did start downriver on the first steamer out,” he continued.
“She announced publicly at Aleck’s Place that the agreement was broken.
She refused the stake that she might have taken--because, you see, it
was the break-up. The time was up.
“It was at Fort Yukon, wasn’t it, Shorty, that you picked her up and
brought her back--over the old ‘one-way trail’ for women? You sold
her your dog team--the one you bought of the Red Rover. You sold it
to her for just what you paid for it--twenty-five hundred dollars.
And up ahead, at the branch trail, where it goes over the ridge, she
left you and went in alone with a load of provisions. With a bale of
clothes--like a woman. Some more tea, please?”
Gresham shook his head when Shorty questioned his thirst with a look.
“And so,” Hartwell went on, refreshed by a dark draft, “they came out
together, after all. No, they didn’t go down to Dawson. They went on,
upriver, up past White Horse Rapids, over Chilkoot, to Dyea, to Juneau,
and, by steamer, home. Which proves it a two-way trail--for one woman,
eh?”
“The exception, which it proves the rule,” Shorty answered.
Gresham expelled a breath.
“That _is_ a story,” he said. “But how did you get to know it so well?
Did you ever meet the Red Rover?”
“Yes,” replied Hartwell. “In fact, I’m up here on business for him.
Going up to the Ashpit Mine, over the old trail, for the fun of it. He
intends to bring his wife up next season to visit the old claim--and
the old cabin which they shared. It is still standing, though moved to
another spot. You see, like a woman, she wanted to know just how the
Yukon took it after all these years. Down in the States, of course,
nobody knows--_and they never will know_.”
He paused abruptly, and Gresham felt the chill of cold, very
suddenly--and Hartwell’s eyes upon him, though he did not meet them.
“Well, no,” Gresham said, “it could hardly be told down there.”
Then he gulped strong tea avidly, being mighty thirsty all at once, and
didn’t mind that it was cold tea and more bitter than when it was hot.
“Of course,” Hartwell went on casually, “nobody would know the Red
Rover to-day. He’s changed so. _You’d_ never know him, Shorty. He
was red-headed when you knew him, and now his hair is as white as my
own.”
“Well, I dunno,” drawled Shorty, with the sidelong squint he had, and
with his one open eye looking at Hartwell; “I dunno about that. I got
a habit of watchin’ people’s _eyes_.”
[Transcriber’s note: This story appeared in the May 7, 1929 issue
of _The Popular Magazine_.]
*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TWO-WAY TRAIL ***
Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will
be renamed.
Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright
law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works,
so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United
States without permission and without paying copyright
royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part
of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project
Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™
concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark,
and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following
the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use
of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for
copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very
easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation
of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project
Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away—you may
do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected
by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark
license, especially commercial redistribution.
START: FULL LICENSE
THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project
Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full
Project Gutenberg™ License available with this file or online at
www.gutenberg.org/license.
Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg™
electronic works
1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg™
electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or
destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in your
possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a
Project Gutenberg™ electronic work and you do not agree to be bound
by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person
or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg™ electronic works if you follow the terms of this
agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg™
electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.
1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the
Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection
of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. Nearly all the individual
works in the collection are in the public domain in the United
States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the
United States and you are located in the United States, we do not
claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing,
displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as
all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope
that you will support the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting
free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg™
works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the
Project Gutenberg™ name associated with the work. You can easily
comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the
same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg™ License when
you share it without charge with others.
1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are
in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States,
check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this
agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing,
distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any
other Project Gutenberg™ work. The Foundation makes no
representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any
country other than the United States.
1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other
immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg™ License must appear
prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg™ work (any work
on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the
phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed,
performed, viewed, copied or distributed:
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you
are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws
of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is
derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not
contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the
copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in
the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are
redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project
Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply
either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or
obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg™
trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any
additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms
will be linked to the Project Gutenberg™ License for all works
posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the
beginning of this work.
1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg™
License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg™.
1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg™ License.
1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including
any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access
to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg™ work in a format
other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official
version posted on the official Project Gutenberg™ website
(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense
to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means
of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain
Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the
full Project Gutenberg™ License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg™ works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
access to or distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
provided that:
• You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
the use of Project Gutenberg™ works calculated using the method
you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed
to the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, but he has
agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid
within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are
legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty
payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in
Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation.”
• You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™
License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all
copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue
all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™
works.
• You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of
any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of
receipt of the work.
• You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works.
1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project
Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than
are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing
from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of
the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set
forth in Section 3 below.
1.F.
1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project
Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™
electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may
contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate
or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or
other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or
cannot be read by your equipment.
1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right
of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.
1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium
with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you
with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in
lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person
or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second
opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If
the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing
without further opportunities to fix the problem.
1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO
OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT
LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of
damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement
violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the
agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or
limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or
unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the
remaining provisions.
1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in
accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the
production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™
electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses,
including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of
the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this
or any Project Gutenberg™ work, (b) alteration, modification, or
additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg™ work, and (c) any
Defect you cause.
Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg™
Project Gutenberg™ is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of
computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It
exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations
from people in all walks of life.
Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg™’s
goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg™ collection will
remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
and permanent future for Project Gutenberg™ and future
generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see
Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org.
Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification
number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by
U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws.
The Foundation’s business office is located at 809 North 1500 West,
Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up
to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website
and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact
Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation
Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without widespread
public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.
The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations
where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND
DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state
visit www.gutenberg.org/donate.
While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.
International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation
methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To
donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate.
Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project
Gutenberg™ concept of a library of electronic works that could be
freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and
distributed Project Gutenberg™ eBooks with only a loose network of
volunteer support.
Project Gutenberg™ eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in
the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not
necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper
edition.
Most people start at our website which has the main PG search
facility: www.gutenberg.org.
This website includes information about Project Gutenberg™,
including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
