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at www.1stWorldLibrary.ORG - - Many men were in debt to the trader
at Flambeau, and many counted him as a friend. The latter never
reasoned why, except that he had done them favors, and in the North
that counts for much. Perhaps they built likewise upon the fact
that he was ever the same to all, and that, in days of plenty or in
times of famine, his store was open to every man, and all received
the same measure. Nor did he raise his prices when the boats were
late. They recalled one bleak and blustery autumn when the steamer
sank at the Lower Ramparts, taking with her all their winter's
food, how he eked out his scanty stock, dealing to each and every
one his portion, month by month. They remembered well the bitter
winter that followed, when the spectre of famine haunted their
cabins, and when for endless periods they cinched their belts, and
cursed and went hungry to sleep, accepting, day by day, the rations
doled out to them by the grim, gray man at the log store. Some of
them had money-belts weighted low with gold washed from the bars at
Forty Mile, and there were others who had wandered in from the
Koyukuk with the first frosts, foot-sore and dragging, the legs of
their skin boots eaten to the ankle, and the taste of dog meat
still in their mouths. Broken and dispirited, these had fared as
well through that desperate winter as their brothers from up-river,
and received pound for pound of musty flour, strip for strip of
rusty bacon, lump for lump of precious sugar. Moreover, the price
of no single thing had risen throughout the famine.
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