The North Wind's Malice

"The North Wind's Malice" by Rex Ellingwood Beach is a gripping adventure novel that unfolds in the rugged wilderness of the North, where survival and human spirit are tested against the backdrop of nature's unforgiving elements. The story follows a cast of characters whose lives intertwine through a series of thrilling events, exploring themes of resilience, betrayal, and the quest for redemption. With vivid imagery and an engaging narrative, Beach captures the essence of the wild and the complexities of human relationships, creating a tale that is both thrilling and thought-provoking.

• Short story

								
It had snowed during the night, but toward morning it had grown cold;
now the sled-runners complained and the load dragged heavily. Folsom,
who had been heaving at the handle-bars all the way up the Dexter
Creek hill, halted his dogs at the crest and dropped upon the sled,
only too glad of a breathing spell. His forehead was wet with sweat;
when it began to freeze in his eyebrows he removed his mittens and
wiped away the drops, then watched them congeal upon his fingers.
Yes, it was all of thirty below, and a bad morning to hit the trail,
but--Folsom's face set itself--better thirty below in the open than
the frigid atmosphere of an unhappy home.

Harkness, who had led the way up the hill, plodded onward for a time
before discovering that his companion had paused; then, through the
ring of hoar frost around his parka hood, he called back:

"I'll hike down to the road-house and warm up."

Folsom made no answer, he did not even turn his head. Taciturnity was
becoming a habit with him, and already he was beginning to dislike his
new partner. For that matter he disliked everybody this morning.

Below him lay the level tundra, merging indistinguishably with the
white anchor-ice of Behring Sea; beyond that a long black streak of
open water, underscoring the sky as if to emphasize the significance
of that empty horizon, a horizon which for many months would remain
unsmudged by smoke. To Folsom it seemed that the distant stretch of
dark water was like a prison wall, barring the outside world from him
and the other fools who had elected to stay "inside."

Fools? Yes; they were all fools!

Folsom was a "sour-dough." He had seen the pranks that Alaskan winters
play with men and women, he had watched the alteration in minds and
morals made by the Arctic isolation, and he had considered himself
proof against the malice that rides the north wind--the mischief that
comes with the winter nights. He had dared to put faith in his perfect
happiness, thinking himself different from other men and Lois superior
to other wives, wherefore he now called himself a fool!

Sprawled beside the shore, five miles away, was Nome, its ugliness of
corrugated iron, rough boards, and tar paper somewhat softened by the
distance. From the jumble of roofs he picked out one and centered his
attention upon it. It was his roof--or had been. He wondered, with a
sudden flare of wrathful indignation, if Lois would remember that fact
during his absence. But he banished this evil thought. Lois had pride,
there was nothing common about her; he could not believe that she
would affront the proprieties. It was to spare that very pride of
hers, even more than his own, that he had undertaken this adventure to
the Kobuk; and now, as he looked back upon Nome, he told himself that
he was acting handsomely in totally eliminating himself, thus allowing
her time and freedom in which to learn her heart. He hoped that before
his return she would have chosen between him and the other man.

It was too cold to remain idle long. Folsom's damp body began
to chill, so he spoke to his team and once more heaved upon the
handle-bars.

Leaving the crest of the ridge behind, the dogs began to run; they
soon brought up in a tangle at the road-house door. When Harkness
did not appear in answer to his name Folsom entered, to find his
trail-mate at the bar, glass in hand.

"Put that down!" Folsom ordered, sharply.

Harkness did precisely that, then he turned, wiping his lips with
the back of his hand. He was a small, fox-faced man; with a grin he
invited the new-comer to "have one."

"Don't you know better than to drink on a day like this?" the latter
demanded.

"Don't worry about me. I was raised on 'hootch,'" said Harkness.

"It's bad medicine."

"Bah! I'll travel further drunk than--" Harkness measured his critic
with an insolent eye--"than some folks sober." He commenced to warm
himself at the stove, whereupon the other cried, impatiently:

"Come along. We can't stop at every cabin."

But Harkness was in no hurry, he consumed considerable time. When
he finally followed Folsom out into the air the latter, being in a
peculiarly irritable mood, warned him in a voice which shook with
anger:

"We're going to start with an understanding. If you take another drink
during the daytime I'll leave you flat."

"Rats! How you aim to get to the Kobuk without me?" asked Harkness.

"I'll manage somehow."

The smaller man shot a startled glance at the speaker, then his
insolence vanished. "All right, old top," he said, easily. "But don't
cut off your nose to spite your face. Remember, I promised if you'd
stick to me you'd wear gold-beaded moccasins." He set off at a trot,
with the dogs following.

This fellow Harkness had come with the first snow into Nome, bearing
news of a strike on the Kobuk, and despite his braggadocio he had made
rather a good impression. That luck which favors fools and fakers had
guided him straight to Folsom. He had appeared at a psychological
moment in the latter's affairs, two disastrous seasons having almost
broken Folsom and rendered him eager to grasp at anything which
promised quick returns; moreover, the latter had just had a serious
quarrel with his wife. Harkness had offered a half interest in his
Kobuk claims for a grubstake and a working partner, and, smarting
under the unaccustomed sting of domestic infelicity, the other had
accepted, feeling sure in his own mind that Lois would not let him
leave her when the time came to go. But the time had come, and Lois
had offered no objection. She had acted strangely, to be sure, but she
had made no effort to dissuade him. It seemed as if the proposal to
separate for the winter had offended rather than frightened her. Well,
that was the way with women; there was no pleasing them; when you
tried to do the decent thing by them they pretended to misunderstand
your motives. If you paid them the compliment of utter confidence they
abused it on the pretext that you didn't love them; if you allowed
your jealousy to show, they were offended at your lack of trust.

So ran the husband's thoughts. He hoped that six months of widowhood
would teach Lois her own mind, but it hurt to hit the trail with
nothing more stimulating than a listless kiss and a chill request to
write when convenient. Now that he was on his way he began to think of
the pranks played by malicious nature during the long, dark nights,
and to wonder if he had acted wisely in teaming up with this footless
adventurer. He remembered the malice that rides the winter winds, the
mischief that comes to Arctic widows, and he grew apprehensive.

The travelers put up that night at the Tin Road-house, a comfortless
shack sheathed with flattened kerosene cans, and Folsom's irritation
at his new partner increased, for Harkness was loud, boastful, and
blatantly egotistical, with the egotism that accompanies dense

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