North of Fifty-Three   By: Bertrand W. Sinclair (1881-1972)

by

BERTRAND W. SINCLAIR

Author of The Land of Frozen Suns, Etc.

With Illustrations by Anton Otto Fischer

[Frontispiece: "Oh!" she gasped. "Why it's gold!"]

New York Grosset & Dunlap Publishers Copyright, 1914, by Little, Brown, and Company. All rights reserved.

CONTENTS

CHAPTERS

I. WHICH INTRODUCES A LADY AND TWO GENTLEMEN II. HEART, HAND AND POCKETBOOK III. "I DO GIVE AND BEQUEATH" IV. AN EXPLANATION DEMANDED V. THE WAY OF THE WORLD AT LARGE VI. CARIBOO MEADOWS VII. A DIFFERENT SORT OF MAN VIII. IN DEEP WATER IX. THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT X. A LITTLE PERSONAL HISTORY XI. WINTER AND A TRUCE XII. THE FIRES OF SPRING XIII. THE OUT TRAIL XIV. THE DRONE OF THE HIVE XV. AN ENDING AND A BEGINNING XVI. A BRIEF TIME OF PLANNING XVII. EN ROUTE XVIII. THE WINTERING PLACE XIX. FOUR WALLS AND A ROOF XX. BOREAS CHANTS HIS LAY XXI. JACK FROST WITHDRAWS XXII. THE STRIKE XXIII. THE STRESS OF THE TRAIL XXIV. NEIGHBORS XXV. THE DOLLAR CHASERS XXVI. A BUSINESS PROPOSITION XXVII. A BUSINESS JOURNEY XXVIII. THE BOMB XXIX. THE NOTE DISCORDANT XXX. THE AFTERMATH XXXI. A LETTER FROM BILL XXXII. THE SPUR XXXIII. HOME AGAIN XXXIV. AFTER MANY DAYS

List of Illustrations

"Oh!" she gasped. "Why it's gold!" . . . . . . Frontispiece

Roaring Bill Wagstaff stood within five feet of her, resting one hand on the muzzle of his grounded rifle

"Hurt? No," he murmured; "I'm just plain scared."

Bill stood before the fireplace, his shaggy fur cap pushed far back on his head

NORTH OF FIFTY THREE

CHAPTER I

WHICH INTRODUCES A LADY AND TWO GENTLEMEN

Dressed in a plain white shirt waist and an equally plain black cloth skirt, Miss Hazel Weir, on week days, was merely a unit in the office force of Harrington & Bush, implement manufacturers. Neither in personality nor in garb would a casual glance have differentiated her from the other female units, occupied at various desks. A close observer might have noticed that she was a bit younger than the others, possessed of a clear skin and large eyes that seemed to hold all the shades between purple and gray eyes, moreover, that had not yet begun to weaken from long application to clerical work. A business office is no place for a woman to parade her personal charms. The measure of her worth there is simply the measure of her efficiency at her machine or ledgers. So that if any member of the firm had been asked what sort of a girl Miss Hazel Weir might be, he would probably have replied and with utmost truth that Miss Weir was a capable stenographer.

But when Saturday evening released Miss Hazel Weir from the plain brick office building, she became, until she donned her working clothes at seven A. M. Monday morning, quite a different sort of a person. In other words, she chucked the plain shirt waist and the plain skirt into the discard, got into such a dress as a normal girl of twenty two delights to put on, and devoted a half hour or so to "doing" her hair. Which naturally effected a more or less complete transformation, a transformation that was subjective as well as purely objective. For Miss Weir then became an entity at which few persons of either sex failed to take a second glance.

Upon a certain Saturday night Miss Weir came home from an informal little party escorted by a young man. They stopped at the front gate.

"I'll be here at ten sharp," said he. "And you get a good beauty sleep to night, Hazel. That confounded office! I hate to think of you drudging away at it. I wish we were ready to "

"Oh, bother the office!" she replied lightly. "I don't think of it out of office hours. Anyway, I don't mind. It doesn't tire me. I will be ready at ten this time. Good night, dear."

"Good night, Hazie," he whispered. "Here's a kiss to dream on."