Cup of Happiness
by Zachary Strong
copyright 1940 Northwest Publishing for the 
April 1940 Complete Northwest. 
No record of copyright renewal.

A MONTH ago Bernice Gregory was teaching twenty-five children in the little Alaskan gold camp; now she looked over empty benches. The camp had suddenly "gone busted," and the population had cleared out.
For a girl to be taken from a small Eastern community and plunked down in an Alaska mining camp is an experience in itself, then to have the camp disappear over night is another experience. Bernice was helpless. Back home a mother and two sisters looked to her as a breadwinner. Romance that enters most girls' lives had entered hers somewhat timidly, and as she had resolutely closed the door had departed, literally with hat in hand. "I'll have to stick it out," she mused, "for the sake of the folks, or- No, that's not to be thought of."
And yet as the day dragged slowly, she did think of the unthinkable. It was toward night that she suddenly exclaimed, "And why not? Men do it, why shouldn't I? If worse comes to worse I can find something to do."
An old timer peered into the window. "Still holdin' down the fort, eh? It's kinda lonely for you, isn't it, miss? Well if I wasn't going to the new diggin's myself I'd keep you company."
"Listen, Mr. Denny, will you get an outfit together for me? I'm going down the river to the new strike."
"Lord bless you, girl, I sure will. Men take a chance, why shouldn't you? Can you handle a canoe? Good, you won't have any trouble. But don't go any farther than Little River; you go ashore there and get some man to take you through Boulder Rapids."
Denny disappeared, and by noon the next day he announced he had gathered sufficient supplies together for the trip. She sighed a bit as she paid him for the outfit. It had cost much more than she had expected. If necessary she could don rubber boots and pan gold herself, but she hoped to stake a claim, then sell it. She might even get three or four thousand dollars, and that would make it easier sledding back home for the folks.
The canoe rode deeper in the water, but steadily enough. She found it responded to her deft twisting of the paddle, and the current carried her downstream steadily. She camped on the shore at night, sometimes beside, sometimes within calling distance of other stampeders. They stood around awkwardly and asked her if there was something they could do - all of them warned her against going farther than Little River.
Had she been more experienced she might have noticed that the bank moved astern more swiftly than on other days, that lazy water became suddenly active. A man ashore cupped his hands and roared something, words she could not understand. He was big, bearded and capable. Then she understood. With strength borne of desperation she swung the canoe's bow in shore and paddled furiously. For a moment she gained, then the current of Little River caught the heavily laden craft and forced it into mid-stream. Here and there white water broke over bidden boulders. Ahead the stream churned white, leaping and heaving, sucking beneath, only to hurl to the surface bits of driftwood.
A sullen roar, a new menace loomed ahead where drifting spray showed a falls. 
Above the roar of the falls came a shout. She glanced back and the bearded man's canoe was rushing toward her, the craft fairly leaping from the strength of his mighty strokes. Here was a man, indeed! Fifty feet separated them when he suddenly sheered off and shot inshore. From the corner of her eye she saw his light craft bounding over the leaping stream and always forced ahead with his full strength.
Then her world dropped beneath her. Like some relentless hammer the falls pounded the stern downward and she half leaped clear into the smothering foam. 
Once she came to the surface to gasp briefly before she was whisked beneath. 
Again she came up, something was passing over her, smooth swift. A hand gripped her hair, and, half drowned, she saw the bearded man, with paddle shank between his teeth, peering at her with black eyes in which blazed the fire of desperation. He clutched her collar, then with a sudden lunge jerked her into the craft. Water spilled over the stern as he rolled her amidships. "Don't move!" he shouted the instant he resumed the paddle, and once more paddled furiously.
She was chilled to the marrow, coughing, utterly miserable, yet the grimness on his face told her that danger was not over.
Then the stern lines relaxed and he smiled.
"A mighty close squeak, sister, a mighty close squeak. I just happened to see you by chance. I tried to yell to swing over and go round the falls, but you didn't hear me. Your outfit is gone, but you're alive." He regarded her curiously. "I've been looking for you for six years. I'm going to marry you!"
She gasped, but it was not from the water in her throat.
"For six years," he repeated. "You didn't faint or scream for help, but you kept your head and paddled like all Billy-be-damned. I tried not to run over you, but I had to get into the thick of things to be ready to grab you. I felt the canoe bump against you, and knew you'd come up astern, most likely dead. Why, sister, you blamed near came up smiling. We'll go ashore here and fix you up. Hell's bells, I didn't think there was a girl like you in the world, and here you come floating down the river right into my arms, almost."
It is impossible for a girl to be angry with a man who has risked his life to save her from a watery grave, particularly when that man looks one in the face with open, black eyes and speaks right from the heart. He removed his coat and placed it about her. "That'll keep the cold wind out some," he said. "I'll have a fire in a jiffy. Too bad I didn't have all of my outfit in the canoe, but I was repacking for the trip through the rapids. I got a weak mind and strong back so I'll pack the rest of it down along shore."
From the time he built the fire he said little, except to suggest methods of keeping warmer. Eventually he poured hot tea down her throat, placed plenty of fuel within reach and looked about to assure himself he had done everything possible. "Now, sister - Say, my name is Bill Provost, and so long as there isn't anybody around to introduce us, we'll have to introduce ourselves."
"I am Bernice Gregory!"
"Pretty name, Bernice. Well, Miss Gregory, I'm going downstream to see if I can find some of your things. There's a shallow spot three miles down and I may be able to save something. I'll be gone about three hours, and my advice is to shed your duds and hang 'em up to dry. You can keep those blankets around you and nobody will bother you here. Anybody that comes downstream will keep a-going. 
That's all. Lord, but you certainly kept your head! You must have been raised in this country."
She smiled, and he was thrilled as never before. "On the contrary I come from a little town in the East!"
"Then it's in American blood to rise to the emergency, that's all. Gosh, can you beat it! Right down the stream into my arms when I least expected it."
Bill Provost swung down the stream at a pace amounting to a slow run, and he made the three miles in little over an hour, for he had to push his way through dense brush in places. He stripped and plunged into the icy water, rescuing clothing mostly. "She can't buy clothes at the new camp, and the grub is ruined anyway. The canoe is shattered beyond repair, too."
He surveyed the sodden pile of salvaged clothing and smiled softly as he wrung the water from soft garments. "Gosh my kid sister used to have things like that," he commented as he dried them before a fire.
It was four hours and nearly dark when he again joined her. He dropped a large pack at her feet. "I am bringing 'em back rough dried as the laundryman would say, Miss Gregory. I found what I could, swam for some of it and waded for the rest, but your outfit, and the grub and the like of that is gone."
She tried to smile, but the future was dark indeed, and she had been taking stock while he was gone. The fact that he had rescued her clothing was something, and she realized it was a vital something in this region where women's clothing was not shipped in, and very little of men's.
Bill Provost prepared the evening meal while she packed and dried her clothing. 
Later he fixed a bed beneath a tarp. "But you are giving me your blankets!" she protested.
"Why not? I'll sleep by the fire and keep warm," he replied.
"But you'll freeze!"
"No, I won't. When I get cold I'll wake up and put on more wood. Your blankets are damp, and after your ducking we can't take chances. I'll get the rest of my stuff down tomorrow, and next day we'll go on to the placer excitement. What did you intend to do, if it's any of my business?"
"Prospect. I had to do something. I couldn't sit idly by and twirl my fingers."
"That's the spirit. Well, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it." She crawled in between the blankets and listened to the rush of the stream. It had been an eventful day.

***

Bill Provost kept a watchful eye on Bernice Gregory in the days that followed, but he never infringed on her independence, sensing instinctively she did not want to be "babied."
She staked a claim, but no one had the heart to tell her that the good ground had all been taken before she arrived. The others placed the responsibility of breaking the news on Bill's shoulders, because they were broad and he knew her better than they.
Bill hedged, and then the flu struck camp. Because she could not stand idly by when stricken men needed good nursing, prospecting on the Bernice Gregory claim came to a sudden end.
Two months later convalescent patients saw a different girl, careworn, dog-tired, but with the backbone of the epidemic broken. Then she went under the day Bill's partner's wife arrived. The camp waited, and Bill Provost hovered by her bunk when he was permitted to, but there was a long time when nobody was allowed around.
A hollow-eyed man stood before most of the camp one night. "I'm Don Gunther," he said and coughed. "The reason I'm Don Gunther instead of his remains is Bernice Gregory. She pulled me through this side of death's door. She played a, man's game in a man's country because she had a mother and sister to support. Then when we needed a woman, she played a woman's game, and now she's paying for it. 
She won't accept charity, but we can put one over on her. The Dalton crowd has options on most of this land, so nothing that's worth anything is for sale, but downstream ten miles the old Ace of Clubs claim is idle. Jensen took fifty thousand out of her, then headed outside for a spree. He'll sell as she stands for ten thousand. We know the Ace is worth many times that. We'll frame her, boys, get her to trade her worthless claim for the Ace, and we'll pay the difference. It's going to cost ten thousand dollars; dig, you hell-hounds, dig!"
The "hounds" dug from pokes stiff with virgin gold.
When Bernice was able to sit up she sent for Bill Provost, who had been letting his partner do the work at their claim, his mind not being on placer mining. 
Bill's appearance was startling. He had shaved and was at least ten years younger on that account. She found him handsome, too. He took her hands between his strong paws as if he were afraid he might break them. She got to the point. 
"I've made a fearful mess of things getting sick when everybody else was getting well, and the assessment work hasn't been done."
"Yes it has. I did it!"
"Mr. Burson, who represents the Daltons, was here today, and wanted to trade me the Ace of Clubs for my claim. What do you think?"
Bill Provost cleared his throat and registered deep thought. "Better do it, 
Bernice, better do it. The Ace is good for some real money, and all the dead work has been done on it. On your claim, most of the dead work remains to be done. The Daltons are going to operate here on a large scale."
"Then if you think it best, Bill-?"
"Best thing in the world! I'll have him bring the papers around at once."
Burson went through the motions of a transfer the following day. While the Daltons might not have a heart, Burson did, and he played his part well. The "boys" smiled knowingly and slapped one another on the back when she wasn't looking.
"You've got a claim that will start paying from the first, Bernice," said Bill, "and if you're needing a good man-"
"Not yet, Bill," she replied with a soft smile. "Let me establish myself first to prove that I can do it."
Bill looked her squarely in the eye. "Well, 'not yet' isn't 'no,' so I am hopeful and confident but you can't go down there alone."
"Burlap Mary is going with me."
"Good, then I won't worry."
"Burlap Mary" was an Indian with a grammar school education who annexed all the loose burlap in camp, then sold it at a fat figure when the commodity was badly needed, thereby proving education pays, and winning undying fame for herself.
Bill watched the trio go down the river and then returned to his claim.
"Listen, Bill," said his partner frankly, somebody's got to earn some money. No bank has been established here yet, and we can't borrow. We've got a good thing if we can hang onto it."
"Shoot! What's your plan?"
"The Daltons are going to send their money downstream to the end of navigation, then ship out there by steamer. You're the best white-water man in the country. 
Tackle 'em for the job."
To himself Bill thought, "It'll take me by the Ace mine frequently, and every time I go by I'm going to repeat that question." He made a bluff at considering. 
"All right, I'll go over and make a contract with Burson today if he's willing."

***

The canoe grounded in the shelter of a bend, and Burlap Mary stepped out. "Ben, take a look," she directed. "If the cabin's a fit place to live in build a fire while we are unloading. If it isn't fit for a lady, then clean it up!"
Ben did not argue the point, but vanished. Within ten minutes he returned. 
"'Rabbit' Shelton is working the mine," he announced. "He's got five men helping him."
"Who is Shelton?" queried Bernice.
"A claim jumper," Mary explained. "He likes to get miners into court and get a settlement. He's jumped your claim, and that means trouble." Mary yielded the leadership of the party which she had assumed since leaving camp. Tackling Shelton called for a keener mentality than she possessed, and she knew it.
Bernice Gregory examined the automatic pistol she carried, then set forth for the mine, followed by the two Indians. She was in the cabin before Shelton realized it. At first he thought she was a man, but as she appeared in the door, gun in hand, and ordered him to keep his distance, he changed his mind. He was tall, with shifty eyes and ears resembling a mule's rather than a rabbit's.
"Who are you?" he demanded.
"I've bought this place," she replied.
"That's news, because I happen to own it."
"I bought it from Jensen," she repeated, not caring to go into details.
"From Jensen, eh? Well, that's too bad. You see Jensen never really owned it. There was a flaw in the title, and so I located this claim myself. You've been stung, and you'd better sue Jensen for damages. Or, if you don't believe me, you can take it up with the commissioner."
Bernice heard a soft step behind her, and before she could swing her pistol around, a hand knocked her arm up and held her helpless. A burly brute leered at her. Shelton's soft voice changed to a snarl. "When I hire a man I don't ask him if he's a gentleman or not," he said. "My advice to a girl as pretty as you are is to clear out and stay out, because I have a sneaking notion some of my boys aren't gents."
She was helpless, fortunate even at being literally thrown off the claim when she viewed the precious group of villains Shelton employed. Ben and Mary waited stolidly and out of view, knowing they could not help her and might add complications. Badly frightened inwardly, she had shown no outward fear, and this had incensed her captor, who was accustomed to seeing women shrink from his contact.
"Come on!" she ordered the Indians, we'll go downstream to the commissioner's."
She absolved Jensen, Bill Provost and the others from all blame. They had acted in good faith, not knowing the claim had been jumped. It was her fight, and she would carry it through.
Bill was not around, but he wasn't far behind. He was well armed, his canoe laden with virgin gold. He shot his craft up on the beach when the Ace came in sight. Then he saw Rabbit Shelton. "So he's trying that game here, eh, figuring Jensen would stay on his spree all summer? For two cents I'd clean 'em out." 
Then he became thoughtful. "No, Shelton's a bad bird to mix it with. He and the commissioner are hand in glove. On second thought, I'm going to make peace with that bird."
He sauntered onto the claim with hands in his pockets. "Hello, Shelton, got the teapot on the fire?"
Shelton eyed him suspiciously. He knew Bill Provost by sight only, and his code of ethics was yet to be learned. When Shelton learned this, he would classify Bill as a friend or enemy.
"How's things upstream, Provost?"
"Fine. She's a real strike, but most of the boys have sold out to the Daltons. 
I'm trying to hang onto my claim and am bringing gold down the river. It's cheaper than sending it out over the winter trail by dog team, and at that I'm making a good thing. The Daltons have given me all their business and if you can throw anything my way I'll appreciate it."
"I'll think about it. You might call around at the commissioner's office, and see if there's any mail for me. He looks after my mail; he's a particular friend of mine."
Bill drank his tea and departed. "Good thing I didn't declare war," he reflected. "Got five men working for him; that means he's going to work the mine to a finish before something stops him. Noticed he's staked the claim all proper, too. Bernice is in for a sweet time of it. It's a good thing all I've got to do is to think on these trips, maybe-"

***

Bill delivered his gold to the proper authorities and drifted into the little courthouse. From what he had gathered a very indignant young woman was waging war on one Shelton. The latter was represented by an attorney in his absence, while Judge Bart was battling for Bernice Gregory. Bart was restraining himself with difficulty when Bill entered.
"I tell you my client was roughly ejected from her own property by a brute with a scar on his nose."
"Let me remind you, sir, that she was trespassing. Her ejection was proper, though the roughness was unnecessary," replied the commissioner. He relished a pretty face, but not to the extent of awarding it the Ace claim.
Bill mentally noted, "Man with scar on his nose."
Burt exploded. "I've cited you authorities proving Jensen's title was valid."
"And I have held on technical grounds that it was invalid, that Shelton had the right to file, and did file, and his ownership is valid. Of course, Judge Bart, you have the right to appeal, and a higher court might reverse me. "
"You're doggoned right a higher court will reverse you, and in the meantime Shelton milks the claim dry," roared Burt.
"Twenty-five dollars for contempt of court. And let me say that if I am reversed, Shelton will be held to an accounting."
"Old stuff! We can't get justice here. Let's clear out, Miss Gregory."
"The contempt fine is now fifty dollars!" snapped the commissioner. Bart paid.
"As I said in the beginning, Judge Bart, I have but little money and you'll have to do this on credit. Of course, you must include your fines in your bill."
"Include nothing. I've been wanting to tell him that for a year. Fifty dollars doesn't begin to express my contempt. We'll appeal, and hope the Ace is so rich they can't take all of it this season. But if I were as biased that cuss over there I'd go up there and clean 'em out." Bernice glanced up and saw Bill Provost coming toward them.
"Oh, Bill, they have decided against me. Did you know Shelton had jumped my claim?"
"I saw it as I came by."
"I want to fight. I want to go right back there - and fight! It is an outrage."
"It sure is," admitted Bill, who ignored a fine chance to offer to do the fighting, "but with the commissioner, fighting won't help much, except to appeal."
Judge Bart snorted. "So that's the Bill she's been raving about! He's a hulking quitter," was his mental observation. "If I was a younger man I'd do some fighting for her. I may do it as it is."
Bernice was puzzled. Once or twice Bill started to speak during the afternoon, but did not get very far. "The commissioner is crooked and he'll be reversed, so don't worry," was all he said.
"I am not worrying about the justice of my case; I'm worrying about what Shelton will do with the gold he is putting aside with every clean-up," she replied.
Silence fell between them, then Bill said he guessed he would be going. There was no reason for it, she told herself, but she cried a little bit after he was gone.
Bill Provost paused for his cup of tea at the Ace on his next trip down. 
"There's a dame putting up a great battle to get the Ace, Bill," Shelton said gleefully. "She lost out before the commissioner, and it'll take some time to get action on the appeal."
"So I heard, so I heard," said Bill. "I must be going."
It was dusk as he left the Ace behind. Down stream a bit of darkness was broken by a flash, and Bill crumpled up. The canoe drifted helplessly against the shore, and a man leaped into the open. The butt of his rifle lifted above the silent form, then he collapsed as an automatic pistol leaped into Bill's hand and flashed.
"You might near got me," muttered Bill. "I've been expecting it to happen right here. I got the man with the scar on his nose, too. Well, that kinda squares things a bit, and I'm still sitting pretty with Shelton."
He did not see Bernice on that trip. She was busy and besides, the commissioner sent for him. "You're a friend of Shelton's, he tells me," the official said. 
"Tell him Bart's put his appeal over, and that he'll have to clear out of the Ace soon. He'll know what to do."
Bill nodded. "Guess I'd better clear out tonight to tell him, eh?"
"The sooner the better."
Two minutes later Judge Bart rushed to the girl's cabin, "Say, if you've got any influence with that fellow Provost use it now. I just got a tip that the commissioner told him the case has been decided in our favor. He's heading for Shelton as fast as he can. I want to land on that Ace outfit like a ton of bricks before they get away with the gold. This decision has come a month sooner than any of us expected it would. Hurry up, and hold Provost on some excuse or another."
She could not believe Bill was a traitor, and yet he had acted strangely of late. She caught a glimpse of his departing canoe as she reached the bank. 
"Bill!" she called, "Bill!"
Bill waved his paddle. "Sorry, girl, can't come back right now. I've got to get up river. I'll see you next time!" He vanished around a bend, and three days later he grounded at the Ace.
Shelton ran down to greet him. "Hello, what's up? Could tell it was important by the way you paddled."
"Commissioner says case has been decided against you, and you'd know what to do."
"So soon, eh? Lucky thing we cleaned up two days ago. You wanted business from me. I'll give it to you. I'll give you five hundred dollars to take me through Crooked Rapids. You don't need to go on to town; I'll manage from the rapids on. 
We'll have to work fast. Old Bart may get a marshal to go overland, and take charge of things."
Four men rushed up from the creek as they loaded the last of the gold aboard the canoe. "Not so fast!" snarled one of them. "We ain't been paid yet."
"You'll be paid later," cried Shelton.
"No, we won't!" And the fight was on.
Bill Provost waded into things with the utmost enthusiasm, while Shelton dropped one before his automatic pistol jammed and made free use of fists necessary. It was three to two now, then two to two as Bill's fist knocked out another. He stayed out with a broken jaw. A queer gurgling caught Bill's ear. The fourth man was slowly choking Shelton to death when Bill cracked him on the head with a six pound rock. He tossed the half unconscious Shelton into the canoe and shoved off.
"It's a good thing there wasn't five of them," Shelton gasped. "The fifth vanished several weeks ago, and I always figured you had a hand in it."
Bill did not reply to that. "If the marshal gets sight of you he's liable to grab this whole shipment of dust?" he asked instead.
"He won't get sight of me, Bill, and if he does, well, the commissioner can help things out a bit - technical grounds, you know."
"Sure."
Not until they were in Crooked Rapids did Shelton's smug expression change. He had sixty thousand in gold stowed in that canoe. Even Bill did not know the exact amount, for Shelton had managed that Bill carry other things beside gold. 
With a sudden sweep of the paddle Bill Provost shot the canoe from the main channel.
Shelton whirled like a flash, his shifty eyes dark with suspicion. "Back into the channel, damn you!" he cried hoarsely.
"This is the way I go," retorted Bill. "Sit down! "
The canoe was loaded, the weight steadied her. Shelton lifted the paddle and brought it down. On shore a woman screamed suddenly, yet neither heard the cry. 
Bill's paddle caught the blow and Shelton's paddle shattered. Bill knocked him back and swung the canoe around once more, his eyes on a deep whirlpool ahead. 
The water spun as if in a great, granite cup, the sides high, the center low. 
Shelton leaped the length of the canoe, and as his hands clutched Bill's throat he bent the body back until it seemed as if Bill's spine must snap. At that instant the waters on the cup's rim licked the sides of the craft. With set teeth Provost wrapped his legs about the other and lurched. Too late Shelton relaxed and made an effort to balance the canoe. A rush of water spilled over the side and with a sudden twist the craft upset.
Bill wore moccasins and he was free of upper garments except his shirt. Hand over hand he fought his way to the rim, as the waters carried him swiftly round and round the cup. Then, with a sudden swirl they shot him clear, and he grasped a jagged rock protruding above the surface like a hungry fang. Shelton was spinning about dizzily in the center below him, clinging to the canoe and making the air hideous with his frightened cries.
The woman's scream sounded again, this time with a note of relief. Then Bill Provost saw her on the bank, and behind her the marshal, Judge Bart and two others. He again looked into the whirlpool; the canoe was there, but that was all! It was empty, shattered.
On shore they were splicing a number of pack ropes, too short it seemed, until they tied the end to a pole and hurled it into the stream.
Bill caught the tip of the pole and leaped. The rush of waters smothered him, the rocks all but broke him, but he was dragged through the rapids, ashore.
"If the fool had kept still," he muttered, "I'd have-"
"You would have brought the gold through to us," whispered the girl.
"-piled the canoe onto the rocks beyond the pool," he laughed queerly, plainly delirious from some below. "They can't get the gold on technical grounds now. I put it where I wanted it. I am tired."
Bart and the marshal were talking of the fight in the canoe. They had seen fights all their lives, but none to equal it in desperation.
"I've got the low down on the Ace," the marshal said later. "There's hardly a thousand left there and the cleanup is at the bottom of the river. Women are queer! I thought she hated Bill Provost, and now she's holding him as if she was afraid he might get away from her."
"So'd I. I thought he was crooked, and now I don't know what I think."

***

One of the first acts of the new commissioner was to perform a wedding. He looked the happy pair in the eyes. "You're happy, so I know you've tried to forget all about that gold that was lost in the river. Still, I'm kinda glad you've lost it. I was cleaning out the commissioner's desk. You know he has to stand trial for his crookedness. Well, I found some bits of paper which I put together; if Shelton had got out with that gold, and it had been taken charge of for an accounting, well, he had the slickest way of eating it up you ever saw. 
This minute he would probably have been using it to hire lawyers, so he'd escape his just dues. Well, God bless you and keep you."
Bernice Provost sighed. "I wish mother could see you, Bill. I had hoped we might go East on our honeymoon."
"Then keep right on hoping, old sweetheart," he replied. "I haven't been saying much on technical grounds, but we're going to start our honeymoon with a canoe."
The river was low, for it was freezing in the upper regions, the cup was barely half full. The hose that had mystified her now came into use. Bill had a siphon working, emptying the cup.
It was barely daylight when he lowered her into the cup and slid down the rope himself. There was some sand in the bottom, golden sands, dully gleaming with countless nuggets.
"Your gold," Bill said.
"Our gold," she corrected him. "You watched over it from the first, and oh, Bill, at times I almost doubted you."
"When gold is involved doubt everybody," he replied. "When I saw Shelton had jumped the claim I knew we were up against it good and strong.
"If he hadn't started a fight I'd have shot the canoe into the cup and we'd have jumped clear, but he spoiled it all."
"But how'd you know, Bill?"
"Oh, I noticed this cup every time I've made the trip downstream or up, and I remembered it because you never can tell when a cup will come in handy. You might even say this is a cup of happiness."