This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1920 edition. Excerpt: ... VI THE WONDER OF WOMAN I "All the same, I notice you ain't tumbled over yourself to get married/'Shortyremarked, continuing a conversation that had lapsed some few minutes before. Smoke, sitting on the edge of the sleepingrobe and examining the feet of a dog he had rolled snarling on its back in the snow, did not answer. And Shorty, turning a steaming moccasin propped on a stick before the fire, studied his partner's face keenly. "Cock your eye up at that there aurora borealis," Shorty went on. "A bit frivolous, eh? Just like any shilly-shallyin', skirtdancing woman. The best of them is frivolous, when they ain't foolish. And they're cats, all of 'em, the littlest an' the biggest, the nicest and the otherwise. They're fair devourin' lions an' roarin' hyenas when they get on the trail of a man they've cottoned to." 180 Again the monologue languished. Smoke cuffed the dog when it attempted to snap his hand, and went on examining its bruised and bleeding pads. "Huh!" pursued Shorty. "Mebbe I couldn't V married if I'd a mind to! An* mebbe I wouldn't 'a' been married without a mind to, if I hadn't set out for tall timber. Smoke, d'you want to know what saved me? I'll tell you. My wind. I just kept a-runnin'. I'd like to see any skirt run me outa breath." Smoke released the animal and turned his own steaming, stick-propped moccasins. "We've got to rest over to-morrow and make moccasins," he vouchsafed. "That little crust is playing the devil with their feet." "We ought to keep goin' somehow," Shorty objected. "We ain't got grub enough to turn back with, and we got to strike that run of caribou or them white Indians almighty soon or we'll be eatin' the dogs, sore feet an* all. Now, who ever seen them white Indians, anyway? Nothin' but hearsay....

Christopher Bellew is a newspaperman who has lived an easy and privileged life. When his uncle and cousin are leaving for Klondike to search for gold, Bellew decides to join them. Living in Yukon is intense and tough – very different to Bellew's life before. In the middle of nature, however, Bellew finds something that had been lost for a long time – his true self, and the feeling of an adventure. ‘Smoke Bellew’ is a collection of stories that tell about Bellew's life. The book was first published in 1912. Jack London (1876–1916) was an American writer and social activist. He grew up in the working class, but became a worldwide celebrity and one of the highest paid authors of his time. He wrote several novels, which are considered classics today, among these 'Call of the Wild', 'Sea Wolf' and 'White Fang'.

Christopher Bellew, a San Francisco newspaperman and dandy, sets off on what he believes will be a brief trek into the Klondike to cover the latest gold rush.

Jack London was an American novelist, journalist and social activist. Pioneering the genre of magazine fiction and prototyping science fiction, he became one of the first writers, who gained worldwide fame and a large fortune. "Smoke Bellew" is a set of stories that tells the tale of Christopher Bellew who, When Klondike fever emerges, starts a journey over mountains and rivers to seek fortune. Taking the name "Smoke," he learns how to survive and thrive in the wild lands of the frontier.

Reproduction of the original.

"[...] Several minutes later, half-swamped and lying against the bank in the eddy below the White Horse, Shorty spat out a mouthful of tobacco juice and shook Kit's hand. "Meat! Meat!" Shorty chanted. "We eat it raw! We eat it alive!" At the top of the bank they met Breck. His wife stood at a little distance. Kit shook his hand. "I'm afraid your boat can't make it," he said. "It is smaller than ours and a bit cranky." The man pulled out a row of bills. "I'll give you each a hundred if you run it through." Kit looked out and up the tossing Mane of the White Horse. A long, gray twilight was falling, it was turning colder, and the landscape seemed taking on a savage bleakness. "It ain't that," Shorty was saying. "We don't want your money. Wouldn't touch it nohow. But my pardner is the real meat with boats, and when he says yourn ain't safe I reckon he knows what he's talkin' about." Kit nodded affirmation, and chanced to glance at Mrs Breck. Her eyes were fixed upon him, and he knew that if ever he had seen prayer in a woman's eyes he was seeing it then. Shorty followed his gaze and saw what he saw. They looked at each other in confusion and did not speak. Moved by the common impulse, they nodded to each other and turned to the trail that led to the head of the rapids. They had not gone a hundred yards when they met Stine and Sprague coming down. "Where are you going?" the latter demanded. "To fetch that other boat through," Shorty answered. "No, you're not. It's getting dark. You two are going to pitch camp." So huge was Kit's disgust that he forebore to speak. "He's got his wife with him," Shorty said. "That's his lookout," Stine contributed. "And Smoke's and mine," was Shorty's retort. "I forbid you," Sprague said harshly. "Smoke, if you go another step I'll discharge[...]".